[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hSbxgyH.png[/img]
[sup][@Pyromania99][@Rune_Alchemist][@Guy0fV4lor][/sup][/center]
Well then, that was that.

His nose crunched up once more as the sweetness intensified, but Isidore grabbed the massive seed anyways, pocketing it. More of an egg than a seed, from his reckoning; even the great oaks back home sprung into life from something much smaller. He turned to the others, tilted his head in the direction of the exit, and strode off.

Forty five minutes left at this point. He’d have to make use of it while he could.

Tendrils and vines snaked upwards, the chambers and staircase rumbling as the demon flower moved to honor its part of the deal. With its child in tow, it had no recourse but to obey, after all, even if that meant challenging the warden that kept it locked in here. And as for Nick...through the enhanced eyesight that his own energies provided him, Isidore didn’t catch any sign of the brunette’s corpse amongst the five shambling monsters that laid ahead. More thralls of the garden, perhaps? The flower really didn’t keep its children well-disciplined.

He breathed in, but this time, only so he could speak.

[b]“Augusta, Donovan, keep running. I’ll catch up.”[/b]

Those plant-like blades had been potent once, but now that his death-defying will was made manifest, it would no longer harm him. Not to the extent where he needed to play as safe as he did before. Not to the extent where the others will have to assist him in the slaughter.

Bringing his blade up, Isidore drew his left palm against the ancient edge, the ice-hot kiss of a cut further bolstering his armor’s defenses as scarlet stained the arming sword. That scarlet turned a bright red, then burst to flame after, infused with the crackling heat of his soul. A sword of fire, straight out of fiction. What would his wife think, if she saw her husband gallivanting like this?

Probably yell at him for inflicting such a pointless injury.

Mirth flickered, then faded, the cold calm settling back on his features.

And then, Isidore launched himself, a flurry of flame and steel, his armored forearm concerned only with protecting his vital organs as he slashed at the parasitized experiments.