Jagged blocks and barbed wires that oozed a black substance filled the molten sphere, with six volcano-like protuberances forming a ring around it.
The sphere didn't burn so much as liquefied and reformed as the volcanoes erupted, each spreading a different kind of sickly light. The molten sphere changed its color accordingly, often turning grey when too many volcanoes erupted together.
The melody of the Vurdalak, instead, was a discordant mess of flat notes. It sounded as if a group of teens had put together a band even though none of them had ever played an instrument.
There was no harmony, tune, or feeling to it. It was a cacophony of noise that desperately wanted to be music, but didn't know the first thing about it. Like a spoiled kid who believed putting on a lab coat would miracolously grant him the skill of a real doctor.
