One week. Seven full days of blood, poison, explosions, and endless piles of infernal flesh.
Now, in the middle of a valley that had become a black crater the size of a city, Sylvia sat atop a mountain of monster corpses hardened like stone. Her black dress was torn in several places, but the fabric slowly moved like a living creature threads stitching themselves back together, flowing and closing every rip with an organic motion that tickled her skin.
"…finally, it stops."
Sylvia leaned back slightly.
The small Treant, once again in its tiny doll-sized form, lay limp on her head. Its two tiny branches drooped to the sides like a baby's exhausted arms.
"You're tired, huh?" Sylvia patted it gently.
The little Treant didn't respond. It only let out a faint *plop*, like a miniature tree too tired to breathe.
