Cang’s eyes bulge. Tendrils of violet energy curl up from the fang and latch onto his fingers, so recently healed by Old Ajralan. His jaw locks, his body convulses, the tendrils creep up his arm.
Shyan shouts. She, Fassn, and Abia grab Cang’s shoulders, try to pull him away from the fang, but it’s as though he’s built of stone.
“Don’t let it touch you,” Abia says, as the tendrils climb Cang’s body. Gurgling noises from his throat burble forth.
When the energy is about to reach them, Shyan and the others back off. It envelops Cang, washes over him entirely. His eyes go from anguished to calm and austere. The energy fades, and he cracks his neck to loosen the stiffness. He smiles, and his whole mouth is full of purple fangs.
In the lich’s voice, Cang says, “Ah, that’s better.”
Fassn says, “Cang, cool teeth!”