The forest resonated with the haunting melody of the flute, each eerie note weaving through the air like an ominous spell.

The once-peaceful haven of golden leaves and soft whispers had become a battlefield, tainted by Tores’s sinister power.

The vines, summoned by his dark magic, lashed out toward the elves with relentless fury.

Thick and gnarled, they twisted and writhed as though alive, their movements synchronized with the rising and falling notes of the flute.

The elves moved with agility that seemed almost otherworldly.

They leaped from branch to branch, their daggers slicing through the attacking vines in clean, precise movements.

Their natural grace and speed allowed them to evade the vines' attacks, but their relief was short-lived.

The severed vines writhed on the forest floor, and before the elves could even process what was happening, they began to multiply.

From each cut, new tendrils emerged, thicker and faster than before, now covered in sharp, gleaming thorns.

One elf miscalculated a leap.

The vines shot up and coiled tightly around his legs, yanking him to the ground.

He let out a sharp cry as the thorns pierced his skin, drawing dark crimson blood.

The vines snaked further up his body, their thorns digging deeper with every inch.

His scream of agony echoed through the forest as his struggles weakened.

“Hold on!” cried another elf, her voice laced with urgency.

She leaped gracefully from a nearby branch, her dagger glowing faintly with spirit energy.

In a swift motion, she slashed through the vines holding her comrade.

The wounded elf fell to the ground, his breaths ragged, as another elf knelt beside him, chanting softly.

A warm green glow surrounded her hands as she used healing magic, the spirit’s energy knitting the wounds shut.

Though the immediate danger was averted, the look in their eyes revealed the growing realization—they were being overwhelmed.

The vines were relentless, their numbers growing with every strike.

The thorns glistened with blood, a chilling reminder of what awaited any mistake.

The elves regrouped, retreating to the edges of the clearing, just outside the vines’ range.

Lily, stood at the forefront.

Her golden hair shimmered even in the dim light, and her piercing green eyes glowed with determination.

She clenched her bow tightly, her jaw set.

She was no ordinary elf.

She was a protector, a warrior whose connection to the spirits ran deep.

Her calm demeanor concealed a fiery resolve, and she could feel the forest crying out under the weight of Tores’s corruption.

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She glanced at her comrades.

“Stay back and cover me. This is more than just an attack—he’s stalling us. We can’t let him continue.”

The elves nodded, their trust in her absolute.

A soft green energy began to radiate from Lily’s body, flowing through her bow as she nocked an arrow.

The spirits answered her call, their power infusing the arrow with a faint glow.

She aimed at Tores, who sat motionless, the flute resting against his masked lips.

His melody hadn’t faltered, its dark notes filling the air like a hymn of despair.

She released the arrow, and it streaked through the air with a faint hum.

A vine shot upward, intercepting the arrow just before it could reach Tores.

The melody continued, unbroken.

Lily narrowed her eyes.

She reached for another arrow, firing it without hesitation.

This one pierced through the first vine but was stopped by another.

But Lily did not relent.

She loosed arrow after arrow, each one striking true, breaking through layer upon layer of the defensive vines.

The melody wavered as the vines struggled to keep up with her relentless assault.

Finally, one arrow broke through.

It soared past the writhing defenses and struck Tores in the abdomen.

The melody of the flute faltered, a single sour note ringing out before silence fell over the clearing.

Tores’s head tilted slightly, his masked face turning toward the arrow embedded in his side.

The dark, viscous liquid seeping from the wound dripped onto the forest floor, pooling like ink and staining the earth.

For a fleeting moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.

The vines, which had lashed out in relentless fury moments before, fell still, their movements suspended as if bound by some unseen command.

But then, a low, chilling muttering broke the fragile silence.

It came from Tores, his voice cold and mechanical, reciting incantations in a tongue that felt alien to the elves.

Each syllable dripped with malice, resonating through the corrupted forest like the toll of a death knell.

Tores paid no mind to the arrow in his abdomen, his focus unbroken as his dark magic surged forth.

Beneath him, the ground darkened and cracked, giving way to a blood-red circle etched with ancient runes.

The circle pulsed faintly, glowing brighter with each drop of his blood that soaked into it, as though it were feeding on his very essence.

Realizing the growing danger, the elves sprang into action.

Arrows whistled through the air, their tips glowing faintly with the energy of the spirits.

Each one aimed to disrupt Tores’s spell before it could reach completion.

But the vines reacted faster.

They surged upward, coiling around Tores in a protective cocoon, forming a dense, writhing ball of thorn-covered tendrils.

The arrows struck the vines, shattering them on impact, but for every vine they broke, another would emerge, thicker and more menacing.

Inside the cocoon, Tores continued his chant, his voice blending with the faint hum of energy radiating from the runic circle.

Then it began—a haunting melody, low and sorrowful, rising from the depths of the forest.

Tores’s flute had returned to his lips, and with it came an unholy resonance.

The notes were dark, twisted, each one more oppressive than the last.

The vines uncoiled violently, lashing out like wild beasts.

But the forest itself joined the attack.

The ancient trees, once serene sentinels of the elves’ homeland, now moved as if possessed.

Branches creaked and groaned, twisting unnaturally, their sharp ends striking like spears.

The lush greenery that had blanketed the forest with life began to wither.

Flowers shriveled and turned to ash.

The vibrant grass dulled, then blackened, crumbling into lifeless dust.

It was as though nature itself had succumbed to Tores’s sinister melody, its harmony twisted into a dance of death.

An elf cried out as a thick branch swept through the air, narrowly missing her head.

Another elf parried an oncoming vine with his dagger, the blade glowing with spirit energy as it cleaved the tendril in two.

Yet for every attack repelled, two more followed, unrelenting in their assault.

“Hold together!” Lily shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Don’t let them separate us!”

The elves regrouped, their movements precise and unified.

Each one guarded the other’s back, forming a defensive circle.

Their weapons, imbued with the energy of the spirits, glowed with faint green light as they slashed and parried the onslaught of branches and vines.

A towering tree groaned as it bent unnaturally, its massive branches sweeping downward.

One elf rolled out of the way just in time, the ground where he stood seconds before splintering beneath the force of the strike.

Another elf raised her hands, chanting softly.

A barrier of shimmering green light formed around the group, momentarily pushing back the encroaching vines.

The spirits answered their call, granting them fleeting moments of reprieve amidst the relentless attacks.

Lily, standing at the center of the group, surveyed the battlefield.

Her sharp green eyes scanned the chaos, noting every movement, every weakness.

Her gaze locked onto Tores, still seated within the glowing runic circle.

His form remained motionless as he played, the melody controlling the corrupted forest like a master puppeteer.

“He can’t move,” she murmured, her voice filled with a mix of revelation and urgency.

“The spell binds him in place. That’s his weakness!”

The other elves glanced at her, their expressions hopeful but cautious.

They knew what she meant—Tores was powerful, but if they could endure this, he would tire.

And then, he would be vulnerable.

Renewed determination surged through them.

They fought with everything they had, slashing at the attacking branches and vines, holding their ground despite the odds.

Their connection to the spirits bolstered their stamina, their movements unwavering even as exhaustion began to set in.

But then, as abruptly as it had begun, the melody of the flute stopped.

The oppressive weight in the air lifted slightly, the vines retreating into the ground, and the trees fell still, their branches frozen in unnatural positions.

The elves hesitated, their breaths ragged, their weapons still raised.

All eyes turned to the center of the clearing where Tores had been seated.

He was gone.

A faint trail of blood marked the ground where he had sat, leading deeper into the forest.

The runic circle still glowed faintly, its energy dissipating into the earth.

Lily’s hands tightened around her bow, her green eyes narrowing.

“He’s retreating,” she said, her voice filled with quiet resolve.

One of the elves exhaled sharply, collapsing to his knees. “We survived,” he whispered, his voice filled with both relief and disbelief.

But Lily didn’t lower her bow.

She stared into the darkness where Tores had disappeared, her heart heavy with unease.

They were here to help humans in battle but they were stopped by a single being.

This was no victory.

She made the determination to defeat him next time.