The air hung heavy with the stench of blood and blossoms. The goblin camp was silent now, silent in the way a cemetery is silent, the air still but swollen with memory.
Ethan's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. His throat was dry, his stomach knotted. Around him, the ground was carpeted in roses blooming from corpses, lilies curling out of ribcages, and black thorns weaving across the soil like a living cathedral of cruelty.
Rosaria stood tall beside him, her crimson habit swaying gently in the wind, her veil streaked with endless tears of blood. She looked as though she had just stepped out of prayer, her face serene, calm… almost holy.
Almost.
At the far end of the corpse-littered clearing, the goblin chieftain staggered into view. He was taller than the others hulking, scarred, his tusked jaw smeared with grime and blood. His eyes darted across the nightmare landscape, chest heaving, as if hoping he had awoken into a fever dream.
But the dream didn't end.
"You..." he snarled, his voice hoarse, cracking. "What are you? You… you're no human. No spirit. No demon I've seen. What does a thing like you want with my people?"
Rosaria tilted her head, amused, her hand trailing idly through the air. A thorned vine sprouted from her palm, curling lazily around her wrist like a snake. She stroked it with her fingers as one might a rosary, her voice as soft as lullaby.
"What do I want?" she murmured. "Only your offering, child. Your blood to water my garden."
The chieftain snarled, lifting his chipped axe though his arms shook. "Monster! I'll---"
"Rosaria, wait."
Ethan's voice cracked through the air like a snapped bowstring.
She stilled immediately. The vine in her hand froze, her veiled face turning toward him.
He swallowed hard, forcing words past the tightness in his throat. "Not yet. I… I need something first."
Rosaria said nothing, though the thorn in her hand pulsed faintly like it hungered for the kill.
Ethan stepped forward, his knees weak, and faced the towering chieftain. "Tell me… where's the nearest human settlement?"
The chieftain blinked at him, confused. "What?"
"Just answer me" Ethan's voice rose, raw and desperate. "Are there humans nearby? A town, a village anything?"
The chieftain's tusked mouth twisted. His chest heaved. Finally, he spat blood to the ground. "Northwest. Two days' travel. Village there."
Ethan exhaled sharply, relief loosening his chest for a brief moment. He gave a small nod.
Rosaria's head turned slowly toward the chieftain. Ethan felt his stomach knot again.
But she didn't ask for permission.
The ground shuddered as black thorns burst upward, wrapping the chieftain's arms and legs, dragging him into the air like prey offered to heaven. His axe clattered uselessly to the blood-soaked soil.
He roared, thrashing, his massive muscles straining. The thorns only tightened, piercing his flesh, drinking deep.
For a long moment, Ethan just watched. Rosaria stood with her hands clasped before her chest as though in gentle prayer, her voice soft.
"Your silence, my summoner, speaks as consent. And so… let us begin."
The thorns slid into the chieftain's flesh, curling beneath the skin, splitting it open in jagged lines. He roared, his voice echoing across the ruined camp.
"Bastard! Witch! MONSTER!"
Rosaria tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Do not be afraid. Each thorn is a kiss of heaven, each cut a hymn in your honor."
She raised her pale hand, blood dripping from her wrist, and the vines responded.
One thorn slithered up the chieftain's chest, curling around his jaw. It pried his mouth open, forcing his tusked maw wide. Another vine slithered inside. He gagged violently, choking, eyes bulging.
The thorn swelled. From his throat, roses burst outward, tearing through his flesh. Crimson petals spilled from his mouth as his roar broke into a gurgling scream.
Ethan staggered back, bile rising in his throat. His hands trembled at his sides.
Rosaria's voice floated calmly through the grotesque symphony. "Bleed beautifully, my child. The garden drinks deepest from the mighty."
The vines twisted his arms outward, stretching them until the joints popped audibly. His muscles tore, ligaments snapping as he was displayed like a grotesque crucifix.
Flowers erupted from his open wounds roses blooming where arrows once scarred his chest, lilies sprouting from the cracks in his skin.
"Your body becomes an altar," Rosaria cooed. "A shrine of blossoms. How blessed you are."
The chieftain's eyes rolled wildly, foam bubbling at his lips as blood streamed down his massive body. His voice, hoarse now, cracked with every word. "Curse… curse you… monster…"
Rosaria reached out, brushing her pale fingers along his cheek, smearing blood tenderly like a mother wiping away a child's tears. "Hush. Do not waste your breath on curses. Offer only your pain. It is the holiest prayer."
The thorns pierced deeper. They crawled into his belly, his chest, writhing like serpents inside his organs. His body convulsed violently. Ethan flinched as a vine burst from his stomach, dragging intestines behind it like wet rope.
The chieftain shrieked, his voice raw, shredding itself with pain. Flowers erupted from his entrails, dripping nectar and blood alike onto the ground.
Rosaria's smile never wavered. "In your suffering, you are closest to the divine. Sing louder, child. The garden is listening."
His final screams tore through the night as the vines consumed him completely, dragging his body into a cocoon of thorns. Crimson flowers bloomed rapidly across the husk, petals trembling as though drinking in the last of his agony.
Then, silence.
The cocoon split apart, scattering petals across the corpses of his kin. Where the chieftain had been, only a towering bouquet remained a grotesque monument of roses and lilies, soaked in blood, swaying gently in the breeze.
Rosaria pressed her bloodied hands together, whispering softly as though in prayer. "Another saved."
---
Ethan couldn't move. He stood frozen, staring at the grotesque shrine that had been a living creature only minutes ago. His skin crawled. His stomach turned.
Rosaria turned toward him, serene as ever, her veil streaming blood down her pale cheeks. "It is done, my summoner. Shall we depart?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came. Only a hollow croak scraped his throat.
She reached down, extending her hand to him. "Come. Northwest, was it not? Let us walk."
He hesitated, staring at her hand. Pale. Beautiful. Blood-slick.
Finally, he placed his trembling palm in hers. Her grip was gentle, warm despite the gore.
Without another word, they stepped past the corpses and the flowers, the ruined huts and the shrines of agony.
Rosaria hummed softly as they walked, a tune like a lullaby carried on the wind.
Ethan kept his eyes forward, forcing himself not to look back.
---
Far behind them, on the road leading toward the camp, six figures crested the ridge.
Armored. Armed. Adventurers.
One is a lean man in leather armor squinted toward the valley below. His voice was low, wary. "That's it. The camp's just ahead."
A woman at his side nodded grimly, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "Then let's finish it. If the goblins haven't already burned themselves out, we'll put them down tonight."