The Gale of Retribution
Just as the group reached the crest of a small sand dune, the air behind them fractured. A chilling, high-pitched shriek—a sound like metal grinding on bone—echoed across the dunes. Jenny Greenteeth materialized directly in George's path, her translucent green skin pulled tight over her bulbous features, distorted by a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Her eyes blazed with murderous intent as she lunged, her moss-stained claws swiping at his head with a ferocity that eclipsed everything they had seen in the marsh.
George's reflexes, honed by the relentless trials of the Maze City and the horrors of the forest, took over. He threw up a braced arm, channeling a shell of pressurized air to meet the blow. The impact was jarring, a bone-rattling force that sent a numb ache through his entire shoulder, but he held his ground.
"She caught up to us already?" Arthur exclaimed, his blue eyes widening. He moved instantly, his silver blade singing through the air in a precise, horizontal arc that forced the hag to recoil.
But as Jenny stumbled back, a horrifying realization dawned on the group. Something was different. She didn't shimmer; she didn't melt into a ripple. She scrambled across the coarse sand, her movements jerky and cumbersome, her form no longer ethereal. Without the surrounding water to serve as her conduit, the reaper of the reeds was tethered to the earth. Her greatest weapon—her teleportation—had been severed by the desert sands.
"Look!" Flynn roared, a savage, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "She's grounded! This is our chance to strike!"
The tide of the battle turned with the suddenness of a lightning strike. Flynn, Arthur, and Siri coordinated their movements in a deadly ballet of steel and light. Flynn's aura-etched knives became extensions of his cynical will, whistling through the air to strike from every angle, preventing her from finding a footing. Arthur was a whirlwind of blue and gold, his sword moving with blinding speed, each strike finding its mark against her leathery, green hide.
Siri, no longer haunted by the fear of being dragged into the dark depths, stood tall. Her reddish-purple eyes burned with the authority of the Heisenberg line as she unleashed a barrage of precise magical bolts. Each projectile struck Jenny with the force of a hammer, forcing the monster to stumble and screech in frustration.
George, witnessing his friends' combined assault, felt a surge of raw, primal power coalesce in the center of his chest. He planted his feet into the sand and drew a deep, ragged breath, focusing every remaining drop of his aura into his open palm. The energy began to swirl and crackle, a miniature storm trapped within the cage of his fingers, glowing with a fierce, emerald light.
"I wont let you hurt any of my friends!" George roared. With a guttural shout, he thrust his hand forward, unleashing his signature technique: Wind Bomb.
A massive, swirling sphere of high-pressure wind erupted from his palm. The projectile shrieked as it tore through the atmosphere, striking Jenny Greenteeth with the impact of a falling mountain. On contact, the sphere detonated in a concentrated gale. The force was immense, a localized hurricane that ripped at the hag's distorted form, lifting her bodily from the sand.
Jenny let out one final shriek of pure agony—a sound that was swallowed by the roar of the wind. She was sent flying backward, a rapidly shrinking green speck against the twilight horizon, until the pressure of the blast caused her form to completely vaporize. A faint, acrid smell of ozone and rotting vegetation lingered for a moment before the desert wind swept it away.
Silence fell upon the sand dune, heavy and absolute, broken only by the ragged, synchronized breathing of the four survivors. They stood there, unmoving, for a long moment as the adrenaline slowly drained from their limbs, leaving a hollow, aching exhaustion in its wake.
George looked at his friends—their faces were streaked with grime, sweat, and the stains of the marsh, but they were upright. They were alive. He looked at Arthur's steady hand, Flynn's guarded eyes, and Siri's small, resolute frame. The nightmare of Jenny Greenteeth was finally over, and for the first time since the drop, George felt that the Forest of Golems might actually be conquerable.