The ominous warning pulse of Azoth's jade leaves casted a green tint on Nico's stunned expression as the terrifying implications of "localized mana desertification and death of local flora" sank into his brain.
[This thing can spread to the city?]
The thought sent a violent shiver down his spine, conjuring apocalyptic images of Shinkotsu turned into a grey, barren wasteland, stripped of its crops and the mana that fueled the city's infrastructure.
The damage to the agricultural sectors and the foundation of magecraft would be incalculable, a catastrophe that would leave them defenceless, specifically now, with the Night of the Red Moon looming only a few months away.
But as the terror of the potential destruction reached its peak, the gears in his mind clicked into place with a sudden, sharp clarity that replaced the image of a dead city with the memory of a wounded dragon.
