The camp was silent for a heartbeat just one, just long enough for Ethan to hear his own pulse hammering in his ears.
Then the screaming began.
A goblin near the wall of thorns yelped as a vine lanced through his belly, lifting him into the air like a rag doll. The thorn twisted inside him, snapping bone and rupturing organs until crimson flowers erupted from his chest. His shrieks curdled into gurgles as the petals opened, dripping his blood like nectar into the earth.
Ethan's gut turned, but beside him, Rosaria tilted her head as though admiring a painting.
"Do you see?" she whispered softly. "Already the garden begins to sing."
A dozen more goblins broke ranks, charging her with spears and jagged blades. They shrieked battle cries, spittle flying, their yellow eyes wide with fear and fury.
Rosaria didn't move. She simply extended her arm.
Black vines burst from her wounds like serpents, impaling each attacker mid-step. The goblins were lifted high, squirming on the spikes like grotesque ornaments. Rosaria's soft voice carried beneath their screams:
"Do not resist… let the thorns drink, my children. Every drop is holy."
The vines twisted, curling tighter around the goblins' bodies. Flesh tore. Joints popped. Ethan staggered back as their shrieks rose in pitch, until the vines squeezed so tight that blood spurted from eyes and mouths. Rosaria smiled kindly as the goblins' bodies split apart in a shower of gore. Each shredded limb was cradled by blossoms that opened lovingly around them, as though the forest itself was eager to devour their remains.
Ethan pressed a hand to his mouth, bile rising. He wanted to look away. He couldn't.
"Jesus Christ…" he whispered.
Rosaria turned her veiled face to him, tilting it slightly. Her blood streamed down her cheeks like endless tears, painting her smile beneath.
---
The hobgoblin honor guard roared in defiance and surged forward, their massive frames barreling through their kin. Their steel shields locked, their axes raised high. They moved with discipline, nothing like the scattered rabble around them.
"Bring her down!" one bellowed.
Ethan's heart stuttered. They're too big too strong even Rosaria can't---
But Rosaria only spread her arms. Blood poured freely from her wrists, splattering across the soil.
Wherever it landed, roses bloomed. Hundreds. Thousands. A carpet of crimson spread before the charging warriors.
The hobgoblins slowed. Some faltered, sniffing the air. The flowers exuded a fragrance so sweet, so intoxicating, that their steps grew heavy. Confusion flickered across their snarling faces.
Then the flowers exploded.
Petals burst outward like blades, shredding armor, piercing flesh. Clouds of crimson spores filled the air, searing their lungs. The hobgoblins dropped their weapons, clawing at their throats as the spores devoured them from the inside. They gagged and coughed blood, roses sprouting from their mouths.
Rosaria's voice floated through the chaos, soft as a lullaby:
"Breathe deep, my children. Let the garden take root within you. It is a sweeter end than you deserve."
The hobgoblins collapsed, their massive frames riddled with flowers. Some still twitched, vines bursting from their eyes, but Rosaria had already turned her attention to the rest of the camp.
---
Panic consumed the goblins. Some scrambled for their huts, others tried to climb the thorn wall again. A few broke into frenzied prayers, bowing to the ground.
Rosaria walked forward slowly, her steps soundless. Each drop of blood from her veil birthed another blossom at her feet, carpeting the ground in roses. She raised her hand, and the thorns obeyed, surging outward like black serpents.
One thorn lanced through a goblin's leg, dragging him screaming across the dirt. It coiled around him, lifting him to eye level with Rosaria. He writhed, spitting curses, but her smile never faltered.
The thorn split into dozens of smaller vines, each slicing through his flesh, burrowing beneath his skin. The goblin howled as flowers burst from the wounds roses tearing their way out of his muscles, lilies sprouting from his ribs.
Ethan gagged. The goblin was still alive, his body blossoming like some horrific garden display.
Rosaria pressed a finger to his lips, blood smearing across his skin. "Bleed beautifully for me..."
With a final convulsion, the goblin's body ruptured into a storm of petals. The vines dropped his remains like discarded stems.
Rosaria turned back to the camp. Her melodic voice rose, soft but carrying like a hymn.
"Come, children. Do not run from me."
The goblins didn't come. They broke.
Hundreds screamed as they charged in every direction, weapons flailing wildly. Some tried to hack their way through the thorn wall. Others rushed Rosaria in blind desperation.
Ethan braced himself. What followed was not a battle.
It was slaughter.
---
Rosaria moved through them like a dancer, every step fluid, every motion graceful.
One goblin swung a rusted sword at her throat. She caught the blade between her fingers. The steel groaned, then snapped in half like brittle wood. Before the goblin could react, her veil tilted down to him, blood dripping onto his face.
He screamed as vines burst from his mouth, splitting his jaw in two.
Another leapt at her from behind. Thorns erupted from her back mid-air, skewering him before he even touched her. She turned, cradling his twitching body against her chest as the thorns bled him dry.
"Rest now," she whispered, stroking his hair as he convulsed. "Your suffering is the holiest hymn."
Dozens swarmed her at once. Her blood answered, flooding the ground. The soil erupted into a forest of writhing vines, impaling everything in reach. Goblins shrieked as they were dragged into the air, crucified by living thorns. Rosaria raised her arms, and the vines pulled tighter, squeezing blood from their bodies.
The flowers drank eagerly.
Ethan couldn't breathe. His stomach heaved, but he forced it down. He told himself he had to see this. He had to know what she really was.
One goblin half-mad, frothing charged straight for Ethan. His jagged dagger glinted as he lunged.
Ethan froze. His mind blanked. He couldn't even scream.
The goblin never reached him.
A thorn lanced up through his skull, jerking him backward mid-step. Rosaria's voice soothed the air.
"Do not touch him."
The goblin twitched once, then went still. The vine lowered him to the ground, laying him like an offering at Ethan's feet.
Ethan's legs gave out. He fell back, gasping. Rosaria's towering figure loomed beside him, her smile soft and serene.
"You are safe, my summoner," she whispered. "Always."
---
Hours or maybe only minutes passed in a blur of screams. Ethan lost count of how many goblins she killed. Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Each death was unique, drawn-out, agonizing. She could have ended them all at once, he realized. She could have crushed the camp beneath her thorns in a single instant.
But she didn't.
She wanted them to suffer.
By the time silence finally fell, the camp was unrecognizable. Where huts and bonfires once stood, only thorn-covered corpses remained, transformed into grotesque floral shrines. Roses bloomed from broken skulls, lilies grew from twisted spines. The air reeked of blood and blossoms.
Rosaria stood at the center of it all, her black-and-crimson habit soaked in blood, her veil streaming endlessly. She turned her veiled face toward him, her soft smile unchanged.
"Do you see now, Ethan?" she asked gently. "This is salvation. To cleanse the world of its vermin. To leave only beauty behind."
Ethan swallowed, his voice hoarse. "You… you call this beauty?"
Rosaria stepped closer, cupping his face in her blood-slick hand. Her touch was gentle, tender, almost loving.
"Yes," she whispered. "And you will learn to see it too."
Her veil tilted toward the last remaining figure in the camp. The chieftain.
He stood at the far end of the clearing, his massive chest heaving, his tusked mouth twisted in a snarl. His warriors, his horde, his kin all gone. Only he remained.
Rosaria's smile widened beneath her veil.
"Now," she said softly, "let us save the leader."