Survo, defiant as always, and well aware of the capabilities of the Imp Vitc, struck out at the mere mention of servitude to the ancient queen. Survo sprang from his place and in a blink appeared behind Agemestes, the spiral knife, dead to her like an enemy, drawn and pressed against the heart spot. But an action, so many times lethaly stuck, was stopped short of the blood draw. Survo was rooted in place. The already so pale El, further drained of his opacity. In the draw of his knife, 500 years of regality in the Blood Court was halted, held captive by a power beyond that of Survo or the Ordinatum. Figures once foliage on the looming cave walls, awoke from their slumber. They moved faster than the Impish Crest before them, who was moments away from quenching his thirsting blade.
The same face that once greeted the few that remained of the Ordinatum now stared into the eyes of Survo, “A waste of your life. But an example I need make only once.”
A twitch of the Vitcr hand and the Engraved pulled the limbs of the Crested Survo taught, spreading him flat in the air. From the shadowed ceiling crept a spindle of that lustrous root. It began to unravel, spinning towards the suspended body. As it reached closer, small feet sprang out, falling limply to the exposed flesh. As those minor limbs met surface they wriggled and squirmed, lightly digging between small fresh lacerations that they drew and sliced across the body. As the descent slowed, the main form of the root landed above the pectoral. The once solid root unraveled starting from its tip. The feet, now entwined at but a few points of the flesh, constricted, engorged and pulsing as their small frames began drawing blood from Survo. As this pumping beat on, the core root sprang to life, its once creeping nodes and tendrils now sprinting up and down Survo. They choreographed themselves in a hungry dance. They rushed to his mouth, the nostrils, the eyes, and the ears. More feet sprang forth from the writhing mass, stretching the orifices and openings to their extents.
The core bodies crept up slower than the tendrils, leaving nodes that sliced and delved, further rooting, engorging, and pumping from the body they constricted. As the core roots moved to the openings on his face, they dove in through the stretched openings, the deeper they delved, the
more gaping they became, forced open by their presence. As they pushed further, the edges of the nose, the mouth, the eyes, and the ears began to tear. And when they tore, fingers of the roots latched to the tears before any blood could flow.
What happened to the face was happening further down the body as well. The majority of the rooted worked its easy under and down the Crested garb that Survo wore. The tentacled roots here were larger and more furious in movement than the ones working Survo’s face. The Imps witnessing this dissection stared in silence, eyes wide but bodies still as the fist sized roots wormed, shuddered, and grew underneath Survo’s clothes.Greater lengths of root shot up and down his body, digging deep through the face and down inside. The roots digging below the clothing began to grow in girth, the adorned fabric tore, revealing the work of the roots. They had conquered Survo. All of his being was wrapped in the constricting grip of the silver shimmering roots. But conquering requires resistance, and there was none here. This was domination. This domination punctuated by the dull thump the spiral knife made as it fell from Survo's limp hand.
The two Engraved holding Survo’s arms brought them above his head, interlocking his fingers. The root further unraveled part of itself, twining together his hands, binding them. They let go of his arms, and Survo was left to dangle here, suspended from the dark cave ceiling by the glimmering root mass. The roots that bound Survo’s hands coiled down. One thin, articulate arm shot out. It sparkled unlike the rest in its menacing slender form. However thin, it danced with an unbreakable pride and a palpable viciousness. It overlapped the roots beginning at hands, coiling around and down the arms, the face, and hovered just below Survo’s left breast. It studied, swayed, and sketched a target, slowly descending closer to the skin. This was the last stretch of flesh unmarred by the cruel roots.
The thin root landed with lurid grace. Tiny feet shot out, forming suspension and a target above Survo’s heart. Tendrils and nodes weaved together, creating a web with a narrow hole. A thin root finger sprouted from the articulate body, pointed, sharp. In a performative gesture, it plunged itself through the webbed target. It punctured in through Survo, and jutted out the other side. It stopped, quiet, still. It seemed as though it had killed.
All together the writhing tangle of roots shuddered, engorged, and beat. That thin silver articulate finger shot down and around, continuing its looping and binding down the chest. It stopped its growth a moment above his naval. A small bud formed, and the articulate body continued its spiraling descent, binding the waist, the rooted groin, the posterior, the legs, the feet. A mass of the roots marched their way to the cave floor, which they dove into, digging. The hurried beating slowed, resting. The constriction tightened, and the remaining exposed flesh seemed to disappear among the thick roots. The once great Crested Imp was rendered in a burlish thing, the only flesh still visible under the webbed target above the heart, pale and exposed. The bud above the naval grew, its rough silver skin pulling back in four parts, blossoming delicate white petals speckled with black and gray spots. In the center a sphere of red sap, swirling with gold and silver clouds.
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