The power of the magical missile began to swell inside the energy holding magazine of Cain's casting rifle, absorbing the last lingering traces of shared energy as his teammates stepped back, each of them having contributed ten percent of their own reserves.
Cain inhaled, slow and deep, steadying his shoulders and aligning his body with the sight of the scope.
The blast fired — not with the usual deafening roar of combustion, but through a veil of utter silence.
Through the small digital display , the world narrowed to one glowing arc of devastation.
The silencing spell wrapped the magic missile in stillness as it surged forward like a star collapsing into purpose.
It wasn't so fast as to blur, nor so slow to be evaded.
Carving across the terrain with calm inevitability.
Ironically, it was the blight centivine's own spore-laced haze that betrayed it.
One meter in diameter, perfectly spherical, and shimmering faintly beneath the golden fog in cyan blue.
The powdery cloud parted unnaturally in the path of the incoming magic.
Its fan-like petals fluttered ever so slightly, detecting the subtle vibration.
But by the time its core consciousness registered the anomaly, it was too late.
Boom!
The boundaries of the silent spell shattered, and then a concussive detonation erupted like thunder.
A massive bloom of explosive force tore into the surrounding air, rippling through the wide cavern.
"Pumba, charge in. Fara, Ricky, Tol, anchor the rope to his armor. Beany, watch their backs their six."
Cain's voice cut through the toxin-laced mist with firm clarity through the communication.
The team didn't hesitate. They let the shockwave pass behind covers.
With a synchronized hiss, their suit vents activated internal filtration systems, purging the toxic air from their helmets.
One by one, they surged forward, diving into the fray.
Pumba moved first, his large frame bolting forward with his riot shield braced tight.
A simple charge spell surged through him, but with Cain's double-stacked swiftness enchantment layered over it, the half-beastman wasn't running anymore but skating.
His boots no longer churned the bog, they skimmed just above the terrain, avoiding the uneven, treacherous holes of mud and root.
He looked like a maglev engine given flesh and momentum, barreling straight toward the towering plant creature without even a hint of drag.
The earlier explosion had wounded the blight centivine, but not mortally.
A massive burn still sizzled across its body, caving in its segmented steel-hard carapace like splintered wood, but that didn't mean the fight was getting any easier.
The beast was recovering, piecing its wits back together.
And just before it could fully reorient itself, Pumba slammed into it with all the accumulated force of his enchanted sprint.
The plant shrieked — its body recoiling, appendages flailing as it was driven back several meters.
Fara, Ricky, and Tol grunted as they gripped the line, grounding themselves.
Their heads kept flicking back to Cain, over and over, waiting for the signal to pull Pumbo out.
"Not yet. Steady the line."
Beany raised her staff, channeling barrier on the ready, watching for the unpredictable.
Then the creature screeched with fury.
Its fan-blades whirled violently.
The trap was working, but not how they hoped.
It wasn't choosing to flee.
'Nice! It's working.'
Cain was elated and so was his colleagues, the logic was simple, they pressure it hard enough, and it would commit, fight it too hard and it would rather than retreat.
If they played it soft, it would simply wait, conserve, and see them as prey.
The air trembled as its root-legs stabbed deep into the earth, its bulging trunk flexing with a furious shudder.
Cain felt the change instantly.
He didn't hesitate, he'd already asked how much explosive Pumbo could tank.
A kilogram of C4, if the riot shield was angled right.
"Abandon the rope and take cover! Pumbo, brace for impact."
The blight centivine suddenly convulsed, its towering bulk arching as a disturbing transformation rippled through its body.
From its thick trunk-like torso, dozens of tube-like proboscises erupted, their forms jutting out like the quills of a maddened porcupine.
Each one glistened at the tip, leaking a thick, oily purple fluid that hissed the moment it made contact with the damp ground.
Cain didn't need an analysis to know it was corrosive, venomous, and potently engineered by nature to dissolve whatever it pierced.
Then it fired a rapid, shocking volley.
The wooden nails launched outward, more like shrapnel than projectiles, screaming through the air in unpredictable arcs.
The sharp impacts were followed by wet pops as the stakes exploded on contact.
Several nearby man-sized mushrooms dotting the battlefield burst into pulpy clouds the moment they were struck.
It was like watching flesh ignited by pistol fire, the burst surprisingly violent for such natural weaponry.
Pumba took the brunt.
Cain's eyes locked onto him just as the riot shield, made from military-grade titanium and magic-forged alloy.
The front of it was peppered with thousands of nail-sized holes and long acidic gashes, steam rising where the poison chewed at metal.
Pumba stood his ground, knees bent, grunting through the force, his entire frame rattled like a bell struck wrong.
Even with bracing, the impact was enough to jar the bones in his arm.
His shoulders sagged, not from weakness, but from raw, concussive fatigue.
"Pull him now!"
Merely a second after the barrage, the team moved into action immediately.
The rope went taut with a sharp snap.
Pumbo was yanked backward, his boots dragging muddy lines along the soft terrain.
The riot shield scraped against the mossy ground, hissing where remnants of the corrosive liquid still clung.
But they got him out, just in time.
"Ricky, take the left plank. Tol, the right."
Cain's voice was curt but steady. He didn't wait to see if they followed he made the next move himself.
From his belt, Cain took the plastic pouch with the rodent carcass he'd harvested hours earlier.
He lobbed it just short of the burrow mouth. The container ripped open on impact, releasing the pungent scent of blood.
The blight centivine's petals flared, its antennae-like fans twitching as it swayed, confused by the sudden burst of stimulus.
"Ricky. Tol. Take a petal each."
The petals, ribbed like gills and shaped like broad fins, quivered as they scanned the air for movement.
Taking out even one would sever a channel in the creature's eight-directional sensory net.
Ricky went first.
With a low breath, he surged forward, channeling a focused stream of magicule into his blade.
The air around it vibrated, his sword resonating with a high, eerie pitch that drew the centivine's full attention.
Its fans angled toward him, but he was already in motion.
Using the monster's own reflexive turn, Ricky pivoted with the shifting air, his body following the counterweight of his weapon.
His blade arced with a clean, scissoring deep into the joint of the petal.
"Yeah!"
One severed. One blind spot earned.
Tol followed, he raised his spear, locked onto his target, and fired a concentrated piercing beam. It struck the petal's base with enough force to burn through flesh, but not fully sever it.
The petal convulsed, wounded but only disabled partially.
Tol clicked his tongue, frustrated.
"Great job you two."
Cain didn't pause. He released the wasp drones, splitting into a loose web of surveillance.
Nothing was moving beyond the canopy nor a third party approaching.
But he knew better than to trust that calm.