While the others worked out a rough system to farm the deathworm materials back at the barren lands, two mechas peeled away from the group, heading toward the edge of the grasslands.
The Duchess took the lead.
Her borrowed mecha, while initially unfamiliar, now moved with the grace of someone who knew how to tread lightly even in the worst terrain.
But the grasslands weren't the same as they had been mere hours ago.
And had it not been for the familiar, dome-like features that remained above them, she would've thought they'd been transported elsewhere.
Where before there had been soft, dry moss and patches of gnarled roots, now the land looked severely overturned, practically unrecognizable.
Thick networks of roots, once hidden safely underground, had been wrenched up by the chaos. Twisting masses of dark tendrils blanketed much of the land like a suffocating net, of which some pulsed faintly, while others lay limp like severed limbs.
