He was alone.
He could handle ordinary loneliness, he'd been alone most of his life. But this felt fundamentally wrong. He was surrounded by a dozen creatures made of vines, all bearing his likeness.
Delilah needed saving, but when a mere dislocated arm was enough to send him running, he couldn't win this fight. He'd have to face Holly eventually if he wanted to save Delilah.
More than that, he had to survive this forest and find his way back to his crew. If he wanted any chance at that, he needed to master one thing.
Beelzebub.
His extra ability was powerful, he'd seen that the first time he used it. He just needed to master it, and he'd be a real threat.
If anyone was capable, it was he. He was a pro, after all.
He stood firm, daggers drawn, Beelzebub blazing on their edges. Even on his worst day, these shallow copies weren't threatening enough—but the tree that spawned them? That still demanded vengeance.
