New growth rises from the old.

The vines coiled and twisted up her arm, blooming their deep purple as they settled over her glove. She flexed her fingers and felt the thorns at her wrist.

The Thralls ran towards her, their claws outstretched. Her Void Soul shimmered into being as she stood her ground. She fired her weapon and the Void Soul fluttered towards them, reaching out with its dark web of Light as it weakened and drained the life from the Thralls. They fell one after another—then the Acolytes advanced.

She sprinted towards the Void Soul. The delicate tendrils on her glove unfurled. She could feel the faint call, the scent, the color that drew the eye. The Void Soul was drawn to her as she to it.

She raised her weapon and fired again.