I blinked away the lingering, peaceful ghost of my childhood hallway just as the freezing reality of the mess hall crashed down on my shoulders.
I stood right in front of the main exit with my hand locked around the cold iron handle of the door, while its massive locking bar lay discarded on the floorboards beside my boots.
And straight across the dim room, Garek hung pinned against the far wall by my own writhing roots.
And as soon as I snatched my fleeting senses, I instantly severed the mana supply to the spell and the roots immediately withered, crumbling into dry, lifeless dust, dropping Garek straight to the floorboards with a crash.
He groaned in agony as his blood began pooling on the dark wood beneath him.
[Shit!] I instantly let go of the door handle and sprinted across the room, sliding to my knees right beside the massive Cultivator, as he bled heavily from multiple deep puncture wounds driven right through his armor.
