Lightning began to spark and shoot off across the ice, with golden, purple, and now black bolts of raw energy birthed from his body. More chunks of skin and deeper flesh began to burn and peel off, falling away to allow a greater shell to take hold. Bones were broken, were strengthened, and finally grown in an expansive, new form. The cries were hellish. Claws dug deeper into the ice. All three necks were trembling and suddenly curled back.

Each head took a drastic change. The skin seemed to melt away from the onslaught of the lightning, both from its own body and the swirling storm of blackness swirling around the creature. The winds were picking up, and soon ponies from the cult had to hold on to one another just to not lose their balance and slip down the mountain. As if a massive tornado had formed, it swirled around the Dragon and proceeded to strike it with a fury unknown.

The skulls were reshaped, bones growing with new veins and a new skin to take their place. Instead of a multitude of blank, hollow eyes, each head was given two. Sunken, with pale white orbs that shimmered red, but a mighty improvement upon the first evolution. The jaws of each head were interlaced with a fresh skin, connecting them. Making each maw whole with new rows of jagged teeth. More organized. Much sharper. The jagged crowns as the crescent moon grew even fiercer atop his heads, joining the growing horns twisting and curling in their growth spurt.

In many ways, they appeared much like the heads of the former King Ghidorah, prior to his defeat at the hands of the Usurper. And yet they took their own identity, reborn out of the dark mists and hailing lightning to tremble the earth with a new growl. The storm did not calm by any means. The winds continued their assault and the storm only spread. The Occult of Ghidorah held on and watched on, unknowingly protected by a force they were slowly losing the ability to understand.

The whole time, Emrick never loosened his grip on the Bewitching Bell. His hoof, however, somehow held tighter around Dahlia’s hoof instead of the talisman.

They watched together. They trembled under the might of his growl as one unity, beginning to shudder. Out of the shadows, he rose up. Under the brightening storm of his own creation, rising to the clash of lightning and thunder, Ghidorah stood tall. Much higher, much larger, much stronger than before. He raised his wings, not a tear to be found in them, and created something more.

He lifted all three heads to the skies and created another rival alpha call.

And he was complete.