Blood-red light illuminated the gray mist around him, staining it a dark crimson.
His hundreds of gigantic, fang-filled mouths opened and closed at once, as if someone had flipped the same switch.
When the mouths opened, their throats were dark red within, revealing stomach walls still squirming inside, covered in half-digested remnants.
When they closed, their fangs interlocked with metallic clacks. The sound was as dense as rainfall and as shrill as fingernails scraping glass.
The giant mouths frantically gnawed at the shadowy tentacles wrapped around his body.
Once they bit down, they refused to let go. Their fangs plunged deep into the tentacles, into that translucent gray-black mist, and tore with all their strength.
With every tear, great swathes of mist came loose from the tentacles, caught between Kloz's fangs, chewed, and swallowed.
The tentacles were not solid; they were condensed mist. Yet Kloz's fangs could bite them, because his appetite itself was a rule.
The power of rules could touch anything that could be eaten—including energy, ghostly aura, and even nothingness.
With every bite, shadows were swallowed into Kloz's belly.
Those shadows struggled inside him, churned in his stomach, and slammed through his intestines.
But his gastric acid was too powerful—powerful enough to melt even energy.
The shadows let out silent screams in the acid, then fell still.
Across Kloz's body, the areas corroded by ghostly aura began to heal and proliferate wildly.
New flesh burst from the festering wounds like fountains, gushing outward. The fresh flesh covered the old, wrapping up even the flesh that had yet to be corroded.
The new flesh was bright red, tender as a baby's skin, and coated in mucus. Once the mucus dried, it turned dark red, then began to fester again.
"Grind you to pieces! Devour everything!" Kloz's crazed roar