Chapter 70: Fallen Martyr Met the Peacekeeper
Blood-gel crossed collided roots, the old colliding with new beginnings, yet beginnings were nothing before millennium-old grief as the bloodied cross chewed through the root, each splutter containing a thousand slices within the cross’s edge. Adil trembled as she swung off the roots, her green children now splurted black sap from the marred woods, her lily staff splinted where she gripped it too tightly, hesitating, yet it was a mirage to pretend weakness and cowardice to buy time, as the child sovereign merely observed.
"Come to think of it, I never give my thanks."
A chuckle spurred from the sovereign, as teethed roses sprouted from around her. The rosery petals carassed her cheek, as the sovereign leaned into the touch, like a mother willingly lending her cheek.
"For you to willingly give petals instead of runes for the child’s funeral, you must feel quite a connection to her."
Adil glanced at the thin line of the sovereign’s lips curving, yet no hints of admiration could be found, but just pure silent, quiet, graceful rage, amongst the rosery sea of giggles.
"So, allow me to return the favor by painting your grave with your favourite reds."
Teethed roses then clattered, as Adil gritted a gasp as they sprankled their vines like necks, teeths glimmering like glares for a prey, giggles no longer echoing as if to mirror the master’s wrath before they darted for the Elder, her own magic tested against hers.
Adil groaned as she swung her staffs, leaves-knives flying to meet the teeths, yet roses chewed and swallowed without a trace of sharpness it had, as the roses lunged again with thier lips licking the teeth meet rooted walls, yet they chewed through the branches as well before meeting Adil’s Adil’s <Leave Barrier>.
Shrouded leaves flooded the roses’ petals as they slumped, their eagerness waned under leaves’ fierce protection as Adil swung her staff to push them aside, revealing a vampire who was not even gazing at her, but looking at the fogged sky with interest, before closing her eyes, as if to contemplate, as if to communicate with someone afar.
It’s time to gamble. Adil closed her eyes, the land spoke of stomping steps of a Dragon, and the runes glowed not of malice and sanctity. She knew from the other elders that interrupting the World’s <concept> is near-impossible for a human, but for Rouen, she would burn her roots to fuel the future, let alone tearing through <perception> at the costs of her life. So, in the Druidic language she has not spouted for a long time, she muttered.
<Motherly Trees, Roots for Visions. Guide paths so that Evil may descend to hell.>