The ground trembled.
A single vine wrapped itself around Ethan's waist, dragging him backward before he could even cry out.
"Wait, Rosaria!"
The voice died in his throat as the vine yanked him through the underbrush. He clawed at branches, dirt, anything to slow himself, but the pull was absolute. His body scraped across roots and fallen leaves until the forest blurred past him. Only when he was far enough, so far the clash of steel was a dull echo did the vine release him gently at the edge of the village.
He lay there gasping, hands trembling. The vine brushed against his cheek almost tenderly, as if soothing him.
Ethan realized what she'd done.
She had removed him.
Because what came next was not for him to see.
---
Back in the clearing, the world erupted.
The first wave of thorns rose like a tidal wall, weaving themselves into black spires that towered above men and horses alike. Roses bloomed upon them instantly, dripping nectar like blood. The soldiers barely had time to form ranks before the forest turned hostile.
"Shields up!" Draves bellowed, his voice carrying like thunder.
The Gold-Rank Elites surged forward, eleven figures gleaming like pillars of war.
The shield-knight slammed his bulwark down, runes flaring as spears of thorn shattered harmlessly against it. To his left, the glaive-woman swept arcs of frost, freezing coils of vines mid-lash before shattering them with precise strikes.
"Advance!" Draves roared again, cutting down a thorn thicker than a man's arm with a single swing. His blade rang like a bell each time it struck, steel sparking against living wood.
But the thorns never ended. For every vine cut, three more sprouted, hissing like serpents as they lashed out. The ground itself writhed, roots cracking stone and shoving up the corpses of long-dead trees.
"Stay tight!" barked one of the twins, blades flashing. "Don't let them separate us!"
His sister echoed him, voice sharp and controlled. "Center line, with me!"
Their blades carved mirrored paths, striking in perfect rhythm, keeping the thorns from encircling them fully.
The brute of the group a red-haired, his war maul crackling faintly with lightning let out a guttural roar. He swung with such force the air shrieked, flattening dozens of vines in a single thunderous blow.
The soldiers rallied behind the Elites, spears braced, swords raised. They hacked, they burned, they prayed. For a moment, it seemed as though sheer discipline might hold.
Then Rosaria moved.
Only a single step.
Her veil swayed, blood dripping from its edge. Where the droplets touched the ground, flowers burst open dozens, then hundreds each one unfurling in a chorus of crimson.
The forest answered her.
From every direction, thorns surged like a flood. Walls of bramble closed behind the soldiers, cutting off retreat. The trees themselves twisted into spiked lattices, sealing the battlefield into a cathedral of roses and shadow.
A thousand men cried out as the living walls closed around them.
"Hold formation!" Draves roared, voice shaking with fury. "We are not trapped! SHE is!"
The priest among the Elites raised his arms, chanting scripture so loud it shook the air. Golden sigils blazed outward, sweeping across the ranks, strengthening blades, bolstering hearts.
"By the Radiant One's light," he cried, "these shadows shall falter!"
And for a time, they did. The soldiers cut harder, their swords biting deeper. The vines seemed weaker, more brittle as though Rosaria willed it so.
But that was worse.
Because it meant she was toying with them.
---
The first screams tore through the ranks when weaker soldiers stumbled into hidden snares roots that coiled around their legs, dragging them screaming into pits of thorns. The forest seemed to swallow them whole, muffled cries ending in wet crunches.
"Keep steady!" the glaive-woman barked. She froze another wall of vines and shattered it to pieces, but even she couldn't mask the sound of men being shredded alive.
"Captain!" one soldier shouted, his voice breaking as thorns wrapped around his arm, dragging him upward into a blooming tree of roses. He hacked at the vines desperately, but for every cut, more wrapped tighter. By the time his comrades reached him, his entire body was wrapped in a cocoon of thorns.
The cocoon pulsed. Flowers sprouted across its surface, blooming from the cracks in his armor, red petals glistening. His scream dissolved into a gargle and then silence.
The cocoon split open, spilling blossoms onto the ground where a man had been.
Dozens of soldiers faltered, faces pale. Even the Elites froze for half a breath.
Rosaria tilted her head slightly, veil glistening crimson. She had not spoken a word.
---
"Break her lines!" the brute roared, fury masking fear. His maul crackled as he slammed it down, a wave of force scattering vines in every direction. "We push through, NOW!"
The army surged behind him, hacking furiously. For every man dragged into the thorns, two pressed forward, desperate to close distance.
But no matter how hard they advanced, they never reached her.
Rosaria remained untouched at the center of the storm.
Vines burst from beneath charging horses, skewering mounts and riders alike. Men cried out as they were pulled skyward, bodies crushed into grotesque blossoms.
The twins fought side by side, their blades cutting with inhuman precision, carving a narrow corridor through the writhing forest. For a moment, they almost looked like they might reach her veil.
But then the ground beneath them convulsed, and a thousand thorns speared upward. Only their synchronized movement saved them leaping back in mirrored arcs as the earth itself became a field of spikes.
"Too close," the brother hissed, panting.
"She's not even trying," his sister whispered, and for the first time her voice held fear.
---
Everywhere, men died.
Vines impaled them through the chest. Roots dragged them screaming into darkness. Cocoon after cocoon bloomed across the battlefield, each one bursting into grotesque flowers.
The air was thick with blood and pollen, a sweet, choking scent that turned stomachs and blurred minds.
Still, Draves refused to yield. His sword arm was tireless, each swing splitting vines apart, his voice hoarse as he roared command after command.
"Keep cutting! She bleeds the same as us, she MUST!"
But even he began to see the truth. She was not defending. She was not desperate.
She was playing.
---
The shield-knight staggered as a vine thicker than a tree trunk slammed into his bulwark, sending him skidding back across the churned earth. He snarled, braced, and shoved forward again.
"Captain!" he shouted. "We can't close distance, she's holding us at bay like children!"
Draves grit his teeth. "Then cut harder!"
But as the words left his mouth, the priest screamed.
His scripture faltered mid-verse as thorns lashed upward, piercing his legs and dragging him off his feet. Golden light flared desperately around him, but the vines tightened like chains, crushing bones with sickening cracks.
"Help me!" he cried, voice breaking. "By the Radiant One! help---!"
His words ended in a strangled gasp as thorns erupted from his chest, roses blooming where his ribs had been. His holy light flickered, then died.
The Elites stared in horror as his body slumped into a flowering shrine.
Rosaria did not even turn her head.
---
"Damn you!" the glaive-woman snarled, her weapon blazing with frost as she hurled herself forward. Ice spread in a cone, freezing dozens of vines solid. She leapt, driving her glaive downward with all her strength.
The impact shattered frozen thorns into glittering shards. For the first time, a path opened directly toward Rosaria.
"Now!" she screamed.
The brute followed, lightning sparking as he swung his maul in a devastating arc. The twins flanked him, blades flashing. The shield-knight raised his bulwark, roaring.
For a moment, the Elites surged as one, eleven warriors striking with city-breaking force.
And still, not one reached her.
The ground erupted in a storm of vines, millions rising at once, crashing together in walls and pillars, sealing her from every angle. Their blades cut, their hammers shattered, their glaives split but the thorns were endless.
Every strike that should have reached her veil found only living steel.
The army pressed harder, hacking desperately, but their voices were breaking, their numbers dwindling. Hundreds were already gone swallowed into the garden.
And Rosaria…
She simply watched.
Silent. Unblinking.
The blood dripping from her veil feeding a forest that could not die.
---
By the time its starting to become night, the battlefield was unrecognizable.
What had been a forest was now a labyrinth of roses and thorns. Thousands of blossoms glowed faintly in the dark, each one watered by blood. Cocoon-shrines littered the clearing, grotesque monuments of men who had become flowers.
And in the heart of it all stood Rosaria, untouched, smiling faintly behind her veil.
Not a single soul had come within reach of her hand.
Not once.
The Elites still stood, battered but unbroken, their armor shredded, their weapons slick with sap and blood. Behind them, only a fraction of the army remained and are exhausted, trembling, faces pale.
But none had retreated.
Because retreat was impossible. The garden allowed none.
They had entered her forest.