Rhykan rose from his throne slowly, almost lazily, as though the announcement naming him the victor had done little more than confirm something he already expected.
The narrow slit in the center of his forehead brightened first, its muted gold deepening until it looked almost molten, and then his body began changing beneath the black robes that had hung loosely around him since he entered the World of Spirits.
Two wings grew from his back, each one spreading wider with every breath until white feathers stretched out behind him in layered rows. Gold gathered along their edges rather than through the feathers themselves, outlining each one so cleanly that from a distance it looked as though someone had fitted delicate pieces of armor over the wings, while two horns pushed upward from his forehead and curved proudly toward the heavens.
Caracos Thar answered the transformation with a roar.
