I charged like an idiot.
In my defense, I was working with approximately zero good options and a rapidly dwindling window of "not dead yet." The preserved figures moved to intercept, their glass-like bodies refracting the knife's silver glow into a hundred tiny stars. Beautiful. Creepy as hell.
I swung the bat at the nearest one.
It shattered like a champagne flute dropped on concrete.
The figure exploded into crystalline fragments that dissolved into golden dust before hitting the ground. The Arborist's smile finally cracked, replaced by something that might've been surprise.
"Oh," he said. "You have the First Tree's gift."
I didn't waste breath on a response. Already moving, bat in one hand, knife in the other. The preserved figures converged, and I found myself suddenly regretting every life choice that led to this exact moment. Fighting immortal plant zombies with sports equipment. Real peak Hunter behavior right here.
