Mahoraga rolled to the side, catching his breath as he looked up at the tree-like monster whose vines had struck the ground where he was a moment before.
The creature did not move its base.
Rooted firmly in place, its lower half remained spread like a grotesque tree fused with the desert itself. But above it, the humanoid torso shifted again — the tendril that had struck him retracted, folding back into its arm as though it had never been separate to begin with.
A growl escaped his mouth as he stood in front of the enchanting sentient tree, its lips curved upwards as it gracefully said:
"Oh, you dodged that huh? You're a peculiar little creature aren't you."
At that moment, Mahoraga found a flaw in his assumption. Nightmare Creatures couldn't speak, not unless they were Cursed or beyond. And yet… this thing had.
The realisation set in immediately.
This wasn't a Nightmare Creature.
It was an Awakened.
And an Awakened capable of manifesting such a complete, monstrous transformation, becoming this rooted, living aberration — meant only one thing.
A Saint stood before him!
"You're a Saint, are you not?" Mahoraga asked without shame.
The woman shrugged, "I guess you could say that."
"My oh my, I really am fucked right now, aren't I? A Sleeper fighting a Saint is unheard of, and a Sleeper beating said Saint is even more unimaginable."
The Saint giggled, "You're such a flattering shadow… Well then, I suppose you should surrender now."
But instead of the usual reaction — panic, desperation and fear. Mahoraga simply laughed without an ounce of respect.
"I said unimaginable, not impossible. I go around killing Awakened and Fallen Nightmare Creatures, today I shall add a Saint to my repertoire of kills."
The Saint blinked once, her smile lingering — but her face went cold.
"...Bold."
Immediately the desert convulsed.
From beneath the sand, roots burst forth in a violent surge, splitting the dunes apart as they twisted and coiled like living serpents. The air itself seemed to tighten as dozens — no, hundreds — of tendrils unfurled around her.
"Arrogance will not give you strength, little shadow," she said softly, as if teaching a child.
Mahoraga moved without wasting a moment.
Outmatched in strength, outclassed in ability, and eclipsed in skill — there was only one path left to him.
He would have to outthink the botanical Saint.
The first wave of roots came fast — faster than something that size had any right to move. He dropped low, letting them tear through the air where his torso had been, and kept moving.
Staying still was death.
She wasn't trying to hit him.
She was trying to pin him.
The roots weren't striking with killing force — they were landing around him, carving off angles, narrowing the space he had to work with. Each tendril that buried itself in the sand reduced his options by a fraction.
Individually, they were meaningless.
Collectively, it was a cage being built around him.
Unless Mahoraga wanted to be shepharded, he had no choice but to break the bars surrounding him.
I didn't want to reveal him this early in the fight.
But he had no choice, and so Mahoraga summoned his little draconic familiar.
Dharma crept down his back and landed on the blazing sand quietly, having Mahoraga distract the abominable Saint as he worked to remove the prison that was being assembled.
"Welp, here goes nothing."
He exhaled slowly, then his eyes sharpened.
Without wasting a second, he released the accumulated causality from fixing their fight with the six Awakened Tyrants.
…
Meanwhile, Mahoraga was adjusting to the frenzy of attacks barraging him. The vines no longer attacked with flawless coordination but came in unpredictable bursts.
Each step carried him deeper into the erecting cage as the Saint's attacks increased in volume.
He vaulted over a thick root as it erupted from the sand to his right, but, as he landed — he felt nothing beneath his left foot.
A vine had wormed its way beneath the sand long before the fight had even begun, coiling there and waiting patiently for this exact moment.
Mahoraga's eyes widened.
The cage hadn't been the point. The roots pressing in from every angle, carving off his options one by one — none of it had been meant to trap him. It had been meant to move him. To guide him to this precise spot.
An insidious trap, laid long before he even realized he was caught in it.
He tried to yank his leg free, but the vine had already coiled tight around his ankle, and its grip was unyielding.
Then it threw him.
Mahoraga's body was ripped off the ground with brutal force, the world blurring as he was flung skyward like a ragdoll. The desert shrank beneath him in an instant, the writhing mass of roots becoming a tangled nest far below.
Before he could even process what was happening, the vine snapped downwards.
The air screamed past his ears and dragged him down. There was no time to brace, the large expanse of sand was ready to consume him whole.
At that height, it wasn't a soft cushion one could land on but stone.
Mahoraga hit the desert like a meteor.
The impact detonated the ground beneath him, a thunderous crack tore through the battlefield as the dunes compacted instantly under the force.
Mahoraga choked, blood spilled from his mouth as the grains of sand lashed across his face, carving shallow cuts into his skin. His chest had collapsed inward from the impact, while his legs buckled beneath him — struggling to hold his weight.
From the vibrations, Mahoraga could feel the alluring Saint step out from a vine, suddenly crossing miles of distance between them.
Fuck…ing hell… This wasn't a cage nor even a trap… maze for her to teleport, he thought weakly.
He felt her arm rise.
A jagged vine unfurled from her wrist, its surface lined with serrated edges that glistened faintly in the harsh light… and then it drove forward unceremoniously.
It punched through his chest with a sickening, wet splat.
_____
A/N - Why we being stingy now, I see those 1 powerstones y'all are dropping. Yes I am a jew! Drop more