For normal Kilamarans, the rippling waves of heat rising off the scorching sands would prove far too great a trial to pass, but for Kirri - a being some saw as being [b]made[/b] of fire - it was as if he were a strong fish swimming through a powerful current. Compared to the volcanic inferno that was Deimobos, this barely qualified as a refreshing breeze, the smell of which had become gradually rife with the stench of his own rotting people. Through the Fire Stone embedded in his chest, he could feel their spirits crying out in agony, inciting a desperate amount of effort to accelerate beyond his usually controlled speed, the trail of glass he left behind becoming a small forest of of jagged towers in the process.

Approaching the edge of the desert, Kirri slowed himself atop a raised field of dunes dotted with palm trees. The stench of death violated his nostrils, forcing the entirety of his long face to cringe up, the curved spikes protruding from the sides pressed against the back of his skull, small dark spines lined together in a narrow squint over his pitch black eyes as he observed the skeletons with horrified disgust.

Kirri knew not the art of necromancy, this was his first time beholding of such a thing in action, however, it became plain through his concern for all Kilamarans that this magic lied at the interstice between the realms of the living and dead.

Then came the sudden explosion.

Pressing forwards once more, deep crimson flames spilled out of the Fire Stone in his chest, wrapping his body within its shielding embrace. The amber wave collided with his barrier hardened into its namesake shape, cutting through the blast, meanwhile Kirri's legs bent, pressure mounting in the glands situated at his joints. Beneath the armor, his spikes bristled, bloody tinge cracking their way up through bone and flesh alike, his insides undergoing a process of destruction and reconstruction. The split claws on his hands and feet split farther apart, sand being siphoned into his roiling interior. 

Before the flames ceased their assault, Kirri released the pressure in his limbs, unleashing an explosion that rocketed him toward his corrupted Kilamarans, bringing a wave of tidal dunes with him. The constant vibration of unknown impacts against his crystal exoskeleton gave little information as to the context of how they were attacking him, and so he allowed the desert wave to consume him entirely, several feet of sand melting around his form as he passed the still-growing colossal skeletons. Breaking free from the wave, glowing yellow cords protruding from his split digits and extended back into the sand which he had partially buried the creatures within.

Kirri's armor then fell off, revealing his sliced and bruised skin and scorched innards, self-inflicted lesions on organs and muscle tissue which mattered for naught as he had ceased his existence as an organic being from the moment of his ascension. The spikes on coming out of his head grew in size, bristled once more, and Kirri let out a throaty hiss as he tugged on the cords.

Ignorant to these beings' levels of intelligence, the Redeemed Warrior saw little need to speak with what he perceived as minions; his roaring battle-cry breaking the grainy quiet of falling sand, voice still hissing with heat and molten saliva as the stinger on his back fully extended, stretching the full length of his body which at present was a mere sixteen feet long.