The two stared at each other for a few seconds. It was a peculiar scene; one didn't have eyes, and the others were covered. Then Root moved.
It burst through the ceiling in a cascade of obsidian rubble, sending a wave of dust crashing into Leonidas's face.
They slammed into the ground with a deafening sound, spreading like marble balls.
How annoying.
Root descended like a writhing plant, which it was, slamming into the chamber floor with the force of a falling god. The ground split beneath it, cracks spiderwebbing outward in every direction, obsidian tiles shattering into fine powder.
Leonidas, however, was already gone.
He sprinted left, a crystalline rose forming in his palm, small, hastily made, nothing like the careful constructs he usually built.
He hurled it at the root's flank. It stabbed into the damned pilgrim's hide, showering green pus across the ruined floor.
