The beast looked like a product of pure rage, forged in the image and likeness of wickedness personified. Its eyes were a pool of red, fangs bared and ready. A loud growl pierces through the air as it lunges, its claws tearing at the air. Marisol could feel its power, its anger, its hatred aimed at nothing she could currently make out, but she couldn't look away.

That pull was there once again, a strange and irresistible itch that blocked out any chance for rationality. She knew she ...