The viscous, obsidian residue of the Abyssal energy still bit at the air, a sharp, metallic tang that mingled unpleasantly with the acrid stench of scorched foliage. Dayat stood before the primary irrigation hub, his chest heaving as he struggled to stabilize his breathing after the high-octane acrobatic display with the Kriss Vector. He glanced down at the digital display on his monitoring tablet; the numbers were crawling forward with a relentless, cruel indifference.
The necrosis spreading through the World Tree's vascular system was not going to wait for a victory celebration. If he didn't purge the remaining corrosive venom within the next two hours, the entire Western bough of Elarwyn would suffer irreversible tissue death. The city would lose its agricultural heart, and with it, the hope of a thousand families.
