The Root-Soul Ascendant staggered, ribs split by phantom wounds, bark sloughing off its frame like flaking armor.
It should have fallen.
But it didn't.
The Root-Soul Ascendant staggered under the weight of its wounds, massive body swaying like a tree about to crack under its own rotten trunk. Bark sloughed off its limbs in steaming chunks. Roots twitched across the arena floor like dying nerves, slapping wetly against the stone.
For a heartbeat, Raven thought it was finished.
The Vault seemed to agree. The growth mirrors along the walls flickered erratically—reflections glitching, freezing mid-movement like trapped ghosts. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling. The roots binding the arena slackened, sagging downward as if the entire dungeon had exhaled a sigh of defeat.
Raven tightened his grip on the chain. Every instinct screamed at him to strike. To end it now.
But something was wrong.
