*Slash!
With a clean arc of thundering crimson, Jinn sliced through the tendrils wrapped around his feet.
*crack! *snap! *thud!
They fell apart like brittle wood, cracking and snapping as they dropped to the ground.
But before he could even take a step, more vines erupted from beneath, wrapping around his legs once again.
These were tighter, stronger, more aggressive.
"Tch. It's no use," Jinn muttered, trying to shift his stance.
The vines weren't letting go.
He had to think of something else—fast.
Jinn's eyes moved from his trapped legs toward Hector, who was already charging forward.
His blade was raised high, ready to strike again. The hilt of Hector's weapon still shimmered green, pulsing with life, as more wooden veins snaked behind him as if they were loyal beasts.
Jinn's mind raced.
What if I do the same thing as him?
He remembered how he had once copied one of Zendrell's attacks—not exactly, but in his own way.
