Levi's transformation

In the dimly lit alcove of this oddly attractive carnival, Leviathan had toiled over the cauldron that bubbled with an elixir of unspeakable power. The potion, a concoction of shadowy ingredients, was not meant for consumption but for an experiment of alchemical prowess. Yet, as the final ingredient dissolved into the swirling abyss, a strange sensation began to creep over Leviathan. It was as if the very essence of the potion had permeated the air, seeping into his scales and whispering of transformations untold as he handed over the potion to the shrouded shiji within the booth. 

His stomach churned and Leviathan's body shuddered as he excused himself. He watched in silent horror as his once majestic form twisted into something grotesque. Tendrils, slick and black as the void, sprouted from his flesh along his Spine. Writhing and reaching out as if to grasp the very fabric of reality, the flickering flash of bioluminescent glow dotted each tip as if mimicking the eyes of the eternal abyss which stared back into one's soul. His eyes, once a singular beacon of wisdom, multiplied, scattering across his form like a constellation of madness, each pupil dilating with the secrets of the cosmos.

A miasma began to pour from his body, a fog of despair that turned the air thick and choked the light from the room. Each strand which once had been Tufts of fur turned fire along his cursed life, now thick and black as ink that fumes like wafts of smoke. The scales that adorned Leviathan's body grew jagged and rough, protruding like the peaks of treacherous mountains, sharp enough to rend the ether. His teeth, once neatly aligned within his maw, elongated into fangs that dripped with an otherworldly venom, capable of corrupting the purest of waters. His Tusks become more exaggerated, honed like razors, and ribbons of flesh torn at the edges of his jaws. 

The transformation was not merely physical. Leviathan's mind, once a bastion of ancient knowledge, fractured, splintering into shards of consciousness that echoed with the laughter of eldritch entities. His voice, when it came, was a cacophony of whispers and screams, a symphony of horror that could unravel the sanity of those who heard it. Was this what it was like to truly lose oneself to the dark magics of the Hollowed curse? 

The potion, the catalyst of this unspeakable transformation, sat innocently upon the workbench, its surface calm as if it had not just birthed a nightmare into the world. Leviathan, now a creature of eldritch horror, turned his multitude of eyes upon it, and it almost seemed as if the world trembled.