Rex, still in his Werewolf form, stood up and faced this figure of sunlight without fear.
He had beaten the Singing Lady, but things kept happening.
Once he met the figure's eyes directly, something churned deep inside his core.
A faint, insistent pull that churned like smoke caught in a sealed chamber.
It was not fear, nor rage—but something far stranger… hungrier—clawing at his chest, coiled around his spine, and whispered with no voice. He could feel the pull beckoning him to strike her, to tear her apart and devour her.
An urge that didn't come from instinct or reason.
As though some hidden part of him that he never knew existed had suddenly awakened.
As if killing this figure was his life goal.
Rex has faced people, monsters, and even Gods, hated all of them to his very core.
