Yes , I thought to myself . That must have been Visceroy . He just sent Royce flying with his giant staff attack . The way Royce was sent flying through those trees . Im sure that he's not getting up any time soon . Sure enough I saw him running up to where I was still standing in shock . He started to speak to me when he arrived . "Hey Bright , sorry if I was late . I noticed you guys fighting , but I had to fight through a few foot soldiers myself . I can sense the others by their scents . Their magical pressures all seem faint though ." I told him no problem he came just in time . I let him know that I had confidence that our friends would be just fine . They were just knocked out at the worst . I did want to check them out and make sure they were not gravely injured . He agreed with me and we gathered them in one spot . Lillandra was in the best shape . She had blood coming out of her mouth but she could sit up , everyone else was knocked out cold .
After locating our allies we decided to find our enemies . Both to confirm their deaths and to restrain anyone that was alive . We planned to drag them to the same clearing that our friends were at . Syltana was dead , but Royce was only knocked out . We tied Royce up . Lillandra started being able to walk on her own so Viceroy asked her if she could still heal .
Lillandra took her time analyzing herself . Then she said to Visceroy that she has enough strength to possess one tree . With that tree she'll heal herself and use it's branches to help hold Royce down . On the other hand , she’ll only be able to possess a few bushes to heal everyone else . The smaller the plant that she possesses , the lower the healing factor. She concluded that after possessing a tree and a few bushes to heal us , she’ll be tapped out .
So she used the tree to start healing herself , while holding Reus down and its branchesn . He was still tied up in the ropes as well. Hopefully if he woke up they’d be healed up enough to put him right back down . The plan seemed solid , they’d have a strong force here holding Royce down and maybe even defend him against a few groups of foot soldiers here and there . That’ll leave an opportunity for me and viceroy to go help Draco . I can still hear the loud sounds of a battle being waged in the distance .
When we left they were all recovering . Royce was still knocked out and we didn’t see any foot soldiers nearby so we headed towards the sound of battle . Lillandra let her tree heal me a little bit and thanked us for fighting hard . We gave her our thanks as well before heading off . It was daytime now and security will be on high alert . So we decided to change clothes with some regular foot soldiers that we defeated earlier . We won’t pass as Rottweilers up close , but when we’re spotted from a distance it’ll make a significant difference . Their outfits had hoods so we could also put those on . We continued to head down a narrow alleyway . It was much quieter than the streets . A soldier even rushed past us . We played it cool and didn’t reach for our weapons .
About the Creator
Terrence
Releasing an ongoing online book called Zaigon. If you are new here I strongly reccomend you start reading from page 1(the oldest). Comic located at www.patreon.com/zaigon. Merch at https://digishoppe.creator-spring.com/listing/comic-zaigon
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
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