Fable struggled to his feet, shaking off the last of the scions. Every wound he left, no matter how slight, sprouted vines and thorns. The roses that blossomed on each one continued to absorb their mana until their body was completely drained. It never actually drained their soul, being life magic, but no attributed creature could survive without some trace of mana in their muscles and organs. Those with corporeal bodies became withered, mummified husks, while the demons made of darkness itself imploded into the vines.
As the last scions were torn apart, Fable set his gaze on the sword-wielding evolved demon. He was covered in wounds, and the demon's aura made him shake, but he bounded toward it. Excitement oozed throughout our bond.
