Since the young magis had decimated tens of thousands of their kin, bringing the race to the precipice of extinction, the Raffblooms had learned. They understood that a 'Lethal Human' was hounding them; now, the moment any Blood Flora laid eyes upon that white-clad figure, they would flee with frantic celerity. Failing that, they would burrow deep into the loam, attempting to vanish from his mageia-sight entirely.
The hunt for the Raffbloom host had devolved into a wearying game of cat and mouse. Seraph harboured a profound disdain for life squandered on chasing demons with a preternatural gift for concealment—particularly as they retained the ability to proliferate at a staggering pace.
Each nascent Raffbloom brought into existence was a more formidable variant, its strength ascending with every cull. If he failed to achieve total eradication now, he could not be certain his future self would possess the power to suppress them with such clinical ease. Thus, a calculated stratagem was deployed; Seraph intended to see the Raffbloom lineage purged into extinction, leaving not a solitary mote of demonic fel to linger upon the earth.
In nearly every skirmish, he purposefully permitted at least one demon to slip the noose, serving as an unwitting herald to lead him directly to the clandestine hives where the Necro Synapse nodes resided.
Presently, the Jackbloom decelerated, its bulbous form dissolving into the gloom beneath the skeleton of a massive deadwood.
The region was a vast, putrid expanse of toxic slough, choked by drifts of desiccated foliage and tangled briars. The surrounding husks of timber loomed like snarling fiends, while a heavy shroud of miasma saturated the air. The stagnant mire bubbled incessantly, loosing plumes of venomous gas.
The stench of decay was so potent it was intolerable without constant mageia-shielding, and the air held a frigid bite that threatened to congeal the very blood in one's veins.
'Another clandestine nest, I presume...' Seraph mused, his gaze sweeping the terrain with unyielding, clinical scrutiny.
'Given the nauseating state of this mire, it is a habitat perfectly suited to their debased tastes. Were I a Flora Demon, I should be desperate for a breath of pure air beyond these woods, rather than endure an existence in a cesspool of rot that defies the senses.'
[KRA-BOOM!]
A tectonic shudder and the staccato report of a massive detonation slammed into the young man without warning. The multi-layered mageia wards shielding Seraph shattered like brittle glass under the strain. A deafening boom roared through the Darkwood, the concussive force hurling dozens of his flying blades aside, twisting them into shards of useless scrap.
Seraph was struck with absolute violence from both front and rear. He was sent careening through the timber before plunging into the putrid slough. Gritting his teeth against the shock, he surged upward, desperate to hover clear of the corrosive acid pooling across the forest floor.
The rhythmic, synchronised tread of a hundred Raffblooms echoed as a legion marched from the surrounding briars in perfect formation. Hundreds of thorny tendrils lanced toward the firmament, weaving into a dense, tightening lattice that effectively domed the battlefield. The violet twilight was snuffed out, replaced by a starless vault of living timber. Every avenue of escape was severed. The hunter had become the prey; the glade was now a death-trap.
From the lightless hollows, varied breeds of Raffbloom emerged, arrayed with the clinical precision of a royal guard.
Seraph surveyed the encroaching host with stark astonishment. Throughout the harrowing weeks of the Month of Hell, he had encountered numerous specialised evolutions—high-tier entities of formidable power—yet never had he witnessed a congregation of this magnitude.
The vanguard of the legion stepped forward, their forms encased in thick, sombre bark-armour. They gripped their blades with chilling, martial composure, their every movement suggesting they were the true warrior-caste of the swarm.
Barkguards were the undeniable evolution of the Razorleaf. Their carapaces were forged from reinforced timber, providing a threshold of defence that dwarfed any other Raffbloom breed. Their visages were obscured by organic masks resembling the helms of knights—a chilling testament to their role as the sovereign protectors of their race.
The Barkguards each stood a towering three metres, their quaternary appendages evolved into two-metre blades of reinforced, chitinous timber. With four such scimitars per entity, they possessed a lethality that dwarfed any Razorleaf specimen of the prior weeks. Fifty of these armoured sentries now formed a tightening perimeter, their steel-wood blades unsheathed to hem the human in.
Behind the vanguard lurked a diverse and terrifying menagerie: Sawgrazz, Nightshade, Peppershot, and the volatile Paprikabomb.
Every demon in this legion, save for the diminutive explosives, stood at a uniform three metres with weapons of equal reach. The Paprikabombs, however, were mere foot-long parasites of deep crimson, clinging to the carapaces of their larger kin. Their bulbous forms pulsed with a clay-red luminescence, flickering with the erratic rhythm of a fuse nearing its end—the sacrificial ordnance of the Raffbloom race.
Further in the rear, fifty Jackblooms drifted in spectral suspension. The dull amber glow from their hollowed heads provided the solitary light within the vault, yet this eldritch radiance offered no clarity; it only served to heighten the visceral horror of the tomb. With each breed represented by a precise, fifty-strong unit, Seraph now stood at the epicentre of three hundred high-tier Flora Demons.
[Glub... glub...]
An emerald radiance ignited beneath the toxic slough. The viscous fluid began to churn and boil once more, releasing a heavy demonic miasma that saturated the thorny dome. Thirteen silhouettes of a jaundiced yellow hue erupted from the mire with practiced celerity, dropping to their knees in a silent, reverent gesture—as if awaiting the arrival of their sovereign.
The viscous, clay-green mire began to levitate, as if manipulated by the unseen filaments of a demonic weaver. The surface, saturated with demonic miasma, surged upward as something from the lightless depths ascended with a slow, agonizing deliberation. A high-pitched, disembodied peal of laughter resonated through the vault, chilling the very marrow.
The Sovereign of the Raffblooms gradually emerged from the sludge. As she rose above the canopy, the putrid fluids slithered from her form, cascading back into the toxic slough until her body remained pristine, as if the filth itself was unworthy of clinging to her flesh.
A malevolent radiance ensured that, in this heartbeat, no entity was more prominent than she. The Raffbloom Queen stood a towering three metres. Her physique was a disturbing facsimile of a young girl's perfection. Her two pairs of hands were supple and hauntingly beautiful. From the crown of her head, two demonic horns erupted, entwined with a floral circlet. Yet, it was her visage that was truly abominable—a sight destined to haunt a child's nightmares until the grave.
Her face was an unmistakable, grotesque Rafflesia bloom. The flower alone spanned a full metre. At its dark core lay a blackened maw that exhaled the stench of a slaughterhouse without end. Five fleshy petals framed the void, each bristling with jagged, needle-like thorns. The central abyss functioned as her mouth, lined with rows of razor-sharp fangs. Like the rest of her kin, she possessed no eyes—yet most chillingly, fresh, un-dried human blood dripped from her lower lip!