In the beginning, Ruger could still vaguely sense the changes in the outside world. He knew that, under the effects of several spells, his body was undergoing slight alterations. But at some point, he could no longer pay attention to anything else, completely immersing himself in the spell's transformation.
In that moment, he even felt that the word "transformation" was no longer quite fitting.
Just like this strange half-finished spell, Ruger felt that he was not transforming, but adapting—making the spell adapt to him, while he adapted to the spell as well.
Unknowingly, he kept making tiny adjustments here and there, changes so subtle they were almost impossible to notice. Yet they forcibly added another node to the spell model. The spell model kept expanding before his eyes, and their extraordinary compatibility let him swim through it like a fish in water.
For one instant, he felt as though he were reading the spell, while the spell was also reading him, its master.
This time, he did not even spare any attention for whether the spell was stable. Everything fit him so perfectly, as though he and the spell were growing together. A state of greater compatibility was naturally stable; a form unique to himself was naturally the most suitable and secure.
When Ruger emerged from meditation and stared blankly at the bedroom ceiling, he did not react for a while, seeming to remain in that sensation of drifting through the spell's transformation.
Ruger blinked, then scratched his furry head.
He could feel that his mental power had not yet been exhausted, and he also remembered that he had voluntarily ended his meditation and left his mental space.
It was the sensation of total immersion that left him lingering, while his brain, exhausted from running at high speed, left him