The trio pressed forward into the bloated woods, where the mountain seemed to erode into a diseased jungle. Here, the trees held no nobility—they twisted as if seized by spasms, their trunks oozing black, viscous sap, their uprooted tendrils slithering like famished beasts.
They had barely taken a few steps when a wet rattle erupted from the moss, when a chitinous mass lunged from a hollow trunk, claws outstretched.
Maggie moved first. A pivoting step, a rotation of her hips, and her flail-halberd came down with a muffled crack, like a contained storm. The metal seemed to sing as it split the creature in two. Yet her breathing hadn't even changed rhythm.
Her body responded. Better than before. Each movement no longer required the same effort—it was already second nature. The weapon wasn't an extension anymore: it was her.
"Another one, right!" Élisa called, her finger pointing through the tainted foliage.
