The ground trembled again, closer this time. The undergrowth cracked beneath an invisible weight.
Julius spun on his heels, his lone sword drawing a silver arc through the humid air. "The tree, Dylan! Now!"
Dylan didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed hold of the oak he'd only just uprooted—fifteen tons of concentrated wood and rage. No chance he'd set it down gently. With a roar that drowned out the hiss of the Darkclaws, he swung it like an oversized club.
CRACK–BOOM!
The trunk crushed the first two charging creatures, reducing their spider-like bodies to a black, slimy pulp. The rest, faster, dodged by leaping onto nearby trunks, their eight bloodshot yellow eyes locked onto the two men. Their claws, as long as sabers, scraped against the bark.
