her body. She thrusts her open palms toward Teruya, controlling the assault.

Then, the branches retreat.

The babies cry.

What the hell is going on?

Similar light envelopes Teruya, and petaled limbs explode out of his arms and sides. His branches reach out and snare Siron's. The limbs entangle, ripping and strangling each other, the cherry tree screaming like a banshee as the last of its petals fall upon the battlefield in white floral rain. The swing crashes through the air, rising and falling like a broken pendulum.

Teruya stands tall as Siron screeches: a feminine roar soaked with primal anger. Her eyes bulge from their sockets, her hands twist and her fingers bend in contorted shapes possible and impossible. They pull into her palm and then out, each individual finger co...

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