The Elements of Zion: The Vine, The Branch, and The Thorn

Chapter 18 Dance of Death

With Rose cradled tightly in my arms, Trose spreads his majestic wings and propels us out of the crumbling spirit temple. The deafening sound of destruction follows us as we soar through the storm of dust and debris.

"Hold onto her Lad!" Trose roars.

We are embraced quickly by the dust shooting out from the temple. Trose struggles to navigate and suddenly begins to descend. We hold our breath as the dust swirls around us and obscures our vision. Finally, after what feels like an endless eternity, a small patch of clear ground comes into view and we quickly land.

As we make our escape from the crumbling temple, a hulking monstrosity materializes in front of us. Its scaly hide bristles with vicious thorns that glint in the dim light. The dragon's malevolent gaze locks onto Rose's motionless body, hunger and malice burning in its eyes. But I will not let it take her. Not after all we have been through. Steeling my resolve, I raise my sword and prepare for one final battle.

"Watch out!" Trose's warning cuts through the haze of my mind, sharp and clear. Instincts honed on distant battlefields surge within me, carrying my legs faster than thought. We dodge just as the dragon lunges, its jaws snapping shut where Rose had been mere moments before.

"I won't let you have her..." I gasp, feeling the rush of air from its missed attack. The beast recoils, ready to strike again, but Trose is quicker, his form blurring into motion. With a mighty flap of his wings, he thrusts us out of harm's way.

"Not this time!" Said Trose. The creature hisses, a sound that scrapes against my soul, reminding me of mortar fire and screams.

"Let's move, Isaac!" Trose commands, and I follow his lead, running with everything I have left. Our escape is a blur, a dance with death where the music is the rumble of the earth beneath our feet, and the flicker of a dragon's rage close behind.

There's no time to think, only to act, with The Rose of Life clutched in my arms and the prayer that we'll see this through, together.

The ground trembles, a relentless shudder that speaks of the temple's demise. I clench Rose tighter, her form limp in my arms, as the world threatens to crumble away beneath us. And then, with a roar that splits the chaos, Oak, the mighty Oak of Truth, rears from his knees, his bark-like skin oozing sap-blood.

"Stand back!" His voice is a deep thrum, commanding and powerful even in this dire hour. Oak faces the second Thorny dragon, an unyielding force against the onslaught of malice. The beast rears before him, its vicious spines bristling, eyes aflame with the promise of destruction.

Oak stretches wide, his branches reaching into the sky like spears of ancient timber. He is wounded, yes, but there is no quiver in his stance, no hesitation in the creak of his limbs.

"Go, Isaac! Protect her!"

I steal a glance at the fray just as Oak swings a mighty limb, connecting with the dragon's hide with a thud that echoes like distant thunder. The dragon recoils, its thorns scraping against Oak's solid form, leaving fresh wounds upon his trunk.

"Rose... hold on," I whisper, more to myself than to her still form, as I watch Oak grapple with the massive creature. He is but one against the fury of the beast, yet it is as if the entire city stands with him, ancient and indomitable.

The battle rages, a dance of primal forces, while the temple continues its descent into rubble. With each passing moment, the odds stack higher against Oak, but his resolve does not waver. It is as if he fights with the strength of every root that ever clung to the earth, for every leaf that has ever turned towards the sun.

Then, in a burst of unexpected vigor, Oak heaves the dragon aside. Its giant form stumbles, tripping over the debris, giving Oak the moment he needs. With one last effort, he sweeps toward Rose and me, his branches enveloping her gently.

"Well done, my boy. You have given her a second chance."

With that, he turns, Rose nestled safely within his boughs, and retreats into the mayhem. His pace is steady—a guardian retreating with the most sacred of charges—leaving me to follow, my heart torn between relief and dread.

As the temple gives its final groan and succumbs to its fate, the dust rises like a veil, obscuring Oak's retreating figure. But I know he will endure; he must—for within him lies the hope that Rose, might bloom once more.

The ground trembled with the fury of a thousand storms as I clutched my sword, dust and shadow swirling around us. Trose hovered at my side, his wings beating against the tumultuous air, feathers ruffled and eyes fierce. Our breaths came in ragged gasps, the weight of dread heavy upon our chests.

"Look sharp, Isaac. The final show is about to begin!"

Out of the thick all-encompassing dust the Thorny dragons, monstrous beings of spike and sinew, began a grotesque dance of merging flesh and thorn. Their bodies twisted and contorted in an unholy union until they were no longer two but one. And from the writhing mass of scales and spines shrank forth The Thorn King, his form of that familiar owl, cloaked in barbs that seemed to writhe with malevolence. His eyes, twin orbs of infernal flame, fixed upon us with a hatred that pierced deeper than any blade.

With a shriek that split the sky, he launched himself forward, his presence a blight upon the air. Dark magic unfurled from him in waves, striking us with force enough to fell ancient trees. I raised my arm to shield my face, the dark energy searing my skin, biting like a winter gale.

"Isaac!" Trose cried, swooping down to knock me aside as another volley of curses sizzled where I had just stood. "We must stand firm!"

But it was like holding back the tide—the Thorn King's assault was relentless, overpowering. The very earth beneath our feet shook with his rage, the air thick with the stench of his spite.

Then, with a sudden shift in the vile wind, the Thorn King's attention turned. He spied Oak limping away with Rose cradled within his wooden embrace. A vicious glee lit the Thorn King's eyes—an opportunity to strike at the heart of our hope.

He cast forth a storm of thorns, sharp as betrayal and swift as despair, aimed to pierce them both. I could only look on, horror-stricken, as death hurtled towards them.

"Dad!" I roared, the word a tangled mess of rage and longing. In that single breath, he was both my father and a complete stranger - a source of comfort and a wellspring of confusion. My heart hammered a painful rhythm against my ribs, yearning for my father, yet burning with a white-hot fury at the unseen evil threatening to consume him.