Staring at the monster struggling to defend itself against Gale, a trace of doubt appeared on Michael’s face.
Against the undead griffin, the monster looked… weak.
It had even resorted to sacrificing its flying minions—creatures that barely accomplished anything—just to absorb Gale’s onslaught.
“It seems Gale alone is enough to defeat it… given enough time,” Michael muttered, his eyes narrowing.
But then a new thought struck him, making his heart race.
What would happen to the controlled monsters if their master died?
They had no consciousness of their own, only puppets bound to that thing’s will.
But if that will disappeared—if there was nothing left to control them—wouldn’t they become mindless, motionless husks?
Wouldn’t they become easy targets for me to harvest?
The logic was sound. At least, it seemed that way.
Still, doubt lingered.
But Michael didn’t let that doubt stop him. He wasn’t the type to hesitate once he saw an opportunity.
“I won’t stop casting my net just because the waters are murky,” he muttered. “But I need to speed this up.”
He took a deep breath.
“I’ll send Prince to help Gale. The sooner that thing dies, the better—whether or not I lose a few experience points.”
Without wasting another second, he gave the command.
A few heartbeats later, deep in the forest, a mind-controlling tentacle monster felt a sudden spike of panic.
The wolf that had always ignored it—the one that had kept its distance despite being terrifying—was now rushing in with killing intent.
It didn’t understand.
All it knew was that its situation had just gone from bad… to much, much worse.
A blur of red and writhing green vines burst from the treeline.
Prince.
The corrupted monster had just barely begun to adjust to Gale’s relentless wind assaults when the wolf-turned-nightmare tore into its flank.
Prince didn’t waste time.
His vines shot out in all directions like coiled serpents.
With a growl that rumbled like thunder, Prince directed them with eerie precision—each tendril winding and weaving between debris, monsters, and broken roots to strike true.
The first to suffer were the minions surrounding the beas. They didn’t even get a chance to react.
One by one, the vines found them.
Piercing.
Gripping.
Tearing.
Some were crushed in place, their bodies folding like paper under pressure.
Others were flung through the air, lifeless before they hit the ground.
One unlucky creature was hoisted high and slammed repeatedly into the earth until it burst like rotten fruit.
And still, Prince advanced.
The monster reeled, its massive red form writhing and pulsing like a wounded heart. It lashed out with several thick, slimy tentacles, aiming to crush the wolf where he stood.
But Prince was faster.
Far faster.
The moment the tentacles descended, vines coiled around him like armor, lifting him high above the ground and pulling him to safety.
At the same time, several other vines speared forward—skewering two of the attacking limbs straight through their pulsating veins.
Black ichor sprayed into the air, hissing as it splashed against the ground.
Then came Gale.
The undead griffin circled above like a god of storms, his wings glowing with a pale green hue.
With a screech that split the skies, he beat them once—once—and summoned a tempest.
Wind blades surged down like razors.
They ripped through the battlefield like nature’s fury unleashed.
More tentacles fell, severed by the barrage.
It tried to retreat, to shield itself using its remaining minions—but Prince’s vines wove a massive net of green, sealing every escape route.
Each time the beast shifted its bulk, a vine would snap forward to anchor it down.
Prince didn’t stop.
He charged in, fangs bared, a swirling cyclone of vines.
Gale swooped low, wind circling his claws like drills.
He struck just as Prince disengaged, slashing across the exposed wounds with enough force to rupture flesh and muscle.
More ichor gushed out, steaming as it hit the air.
A scream came from the monster.
It had no mouth yet it could still let out loud sounds
It was unraveling.
Truly a taboo.
Gale soared upward, avoiding a desperate lash of tentacles, while Prince circled low.
The mind-controlling abomination thrashed violently, its tentacles trying to burrow into the earth and create distance, or at least hide. But the vines wouldn’t let it.
Wherever it turned, there was a wall of green.
One tentacle wrapped around a large chunk of broken bark and hurled it at Prince with impressive force.
Prince didn’t dodge.
He caught it.
His vines wrapped around the chunk of wood midair, slowed its momentum, then used it as a stepping stone—vaulting off it to launch himself high into the air.
Straight toward the monster’s center mass.
Gale descended at the same time.
Wind spiraled around his claws, denser now, sharp enough to cut through steel.
His wings beat once—twice—sending blades of compressed air straight into the writhing red flesh of the monster.
Deep gashes appeared, black ichor spilling like oil from a punctured tank.
Then Prince landed.
He didn’t aim for the body.
He aimed for the brain.
Or whatever passed for one in this thing.
Prince landed there, claws first, then dug in with a roar that echoed unnaturally through the clearing.
Vines burst from his shoulders, from his back, from his chest.
They weren’t striking now—they were burrowing.
Straight through the flesh, weaving into the creature’s insides with unnatural precision.
The monster screamed again, its massive bulk rising from the ground as if trying to dislodge the wolf clinging to it.
Too late.
Gale struck next—diving with all the force of a meteor.
He slammed into the back of the creature’s head, claws forward.
CRACK.
The sound echoed like a bell being struck underwater.
At this point, Michael had stopped fishing in troubled waters.
His level had increased to 22 and was already a quarter filled, but that wasn’t his focus anymore. His eyes were locked on something far more important.
The monster’s flesh was shrinking.
Not on its own—but because something was forcing it out from the inside. Vines drenched in a dark liquid burst forth intermittently, and with each eruption, the creature’s strange screams of pain only grew louder.
Then, Michael caught sight of a flying monster speeding toward Prince’s location.
A strange feeling surged in his chest.
Without hesitation, he dashed in the same direction.
It wasn’t something he’d normally do. But deep inside, a voice warned him—if he didn’t act now, he’d regret it. So he trusted his instincts and moved.
As he neared, Michael watched the airborne creature descend like a hawk. It slashed its claws into the monster’s collapsing body, cutting free a piece of raw flesh. Clutched in one claw was a squirming ball of meat—something Michael didn’t recognize.
The monster turned, preparing to flee.
But just as it flapped its wings to take off, a storm of wind blades rained from above, shredding it mid-air.
The ball of flesh tumbled from the sky.
Before it could hit the ground—
A spear pierced it cleanly in mid-air.