The moment Lyrate brought her hands together, the ground under Ragnar's feet rumbled like a living thing. With a sharp crack, two enormous black roots burst out of the stone.
They slithered around his legs in an instant, then coiled higher, wrapping tight around his torso. Before Ragnar could react, the roots bound his arms as well, forcing them against his chest like chains made of living wood.
Ragnar let out a deafening roar that shook the mountain, his chest swelling as his muscles bulged against the black bindings. The ground quivered from his struggle, but the roots only tightened, pulsing as if alive.
Lyrate didn't give him a moment to breathe. Her body blurred forward in a flash. One moment she was standing in front of him, the next she was right behind Ragnar. Her sword gleamed black, and with a clean, sharp motion, she slashed across his broad back.
