A shadowy figure loomed, sprouting from the golden rift below. Its massive form blocked Midgar's vision, causing him to pull back.
"Everyone, fall back!" he warned, which the soldiers immediately heeded. They abandoned the monsters they were fighting and regrouped right behind their leader.
More cracks emerged across the bleeding ground, accompanied by shards of radiant gold that seemed almost eager to widen the rift.
From within the dark pit, a thing began crawling to the surface. A giant, gnarling tree sprouted, its sap reeking of burnt ozone. Far behind it, a hooded figure whispered an incantation, its hands glowing with the same molten gold as the rift.
"What is this?" Midgar growled, his sword vibrating at the tree's unholy energy.
The tree's roots dug into the battlefield like veins feeding on blood and thunder. Midgar gritted his teeth—whatever this thing was, it wasn't meant for mortals to fight.
