His arms extended, branches growing longer and splitting into dozens of smaller tendrils that whipped toward me like a hydra made of wood. I activated Protection from Arrows. The world slowed fractionally as my Tori Sense kicked in, showing me the trajectory of each attack.
I weaved through the first wave. Ducked under the second. But the third caught me across the chest, slamming me into the tree trunk with enough force to crack stone.
My vision whited out. My ribs, already damaged from the Necropolis, gave a concerning crunch.
Cool. Great. Fantastic.
The Arborist loomed over me, his flower-face opening wider.
"You fight well. But you are wounded. Exhausted. Your companion can barely stand." His voice carried genuine curiosity now, that same detached fascination a scientist might have watching a rat solve a maze for the hundredth time. "Why do you persist in this suffering? Why not accept the peace I offer?"
