The first blow wasn't physical.It was flavor.
A wave of decay slammed into Yuzu's senses—bitter, rancid, sharp like old vinegar and rotted honey. It wasn't just smell or taste. It was memory spoiled, hope curdled. His knees buckled for a heartbeat, but he dug his heels into the mud and steadied himself.
The Rotborne surged forward.
Mira shouted something behind him—orders, maybe, or a prayer—but Yuzu couldn't focus. His orchard screamed inside him, branches shivering, roots pulling tight against the oncoming rot. His sigil flared under his sleeve, threads of Thornfruit pact weaving tighter around his ribs.
He moved first.
[Flavor Pulse — Activate]
The air shimmered. He tasted them before they struck—sour peaches twisted with blackened figs, broken pomegranate seeds leaking spectral blood. Each Rotborne was a shattered memory, a failed harvest stitched together with hatred.
Yuzu gritted his teeth.
No mercy.
He raised his hand, letting the Thornfruit bloom along his skin. The mark bled light—dark crimson edged in gold.
[Flavor Rend — Activate]
His fingers sliced the air, unseen but not unfelt. Threads of corrupted aura tore free from the leading Rotborne, hissing like wounded beasts. Its body staggered, leaking flavor like pus, and in that moment, Yuzu moved.
Not fast.
Not clean.
But inevitable.
He slammed his palm against the creature's chest.And devoured.
Pain lanced through his arm as the taste of it hit him—clotted, putrid, wrong—but his Thornfruit pact flared, burning the rot away before it could root in his veins.
He stumbled back, gasping. Around him, the villagers fought with desperate ferocity—spirits flashing weakly, thorn-knives slashing at limbs made of rotted wood and spite. Ashroot had no soldiers, no army, but it had something harder to break: stubbornness.
The second wave hit harder.
Three Rotborne at once, moving with jerky, unnatural speed.
Yuzu had no choice.
He closed his eyes. Reached inward.
The Thornfruit tree answered.
[Passive: Devourer's Seed — Stack Increase]
The ground under his feet pulsed. Roots unseen tangled with the mud, anchoring him. As the creatures lunged, he spun low, letting his aura flare outward in a pulse of raw flavor.
They recoiled—just for a second.
Enough.
Mira was there suddenly, her blade singing through the air, cutting down one of the Rotborne before it could rise again. Her spirits hovered at her shoulders—flickering, unstable, but burning brighter than he'd ever seen.
"We can't hold forever!" she shouted.
"I'm not trying to hold," Yuzu snapped back. "I'm trying to break them."
He focused on the largest Rotborne—a mass of old spirits tangled around a shattered pear core. Its aura was vast, but fragile, stitched together with lies and desperation.
Yuzu targeted it.
He ran.
Not away.
Through.
The Rotborne swung a limb like a club, but he ducked low, boots slipping in the mud. His hand found the creature's core—its true flavor, hidden deep—and he unleashed everything.
[Flavor Rend — Critical Strike]
The Rotborne convulsed, spasming violently. Its body cracked down the center, flavor spilling out in a flood of rotten nectar and sulfur.
Yuzu tasted it.
And this time, he didn't just survive it.He owned it.
[New Trait Gained: Rotfeast Resistance]
A shudder went through his orchard. New branches sprouted—darker, gnarled—but his Thornfruit pact coiled tighter, refusing corruption.
Around him, the tide shifted.
The villagers pressed forward, emboldened by the fall of the behemoth. Saro reappeared from the mist, two curved blades flashing with unnatural speed, carving through Rotborne as if pruning diseased branches.
"We can win this!" Mira called, breathless.
Yuzu wanted to believe her.
But then he felt it.
Not from the battlefield.
From beneath.
The ground trembled.
Not with footsteps.
With birth.
He staggered as the flavor beneath Ashroot twisted—something older, heavier, rising. Not just Rotborne. Not just corrupted spirits.
A seed.
Planted long ago.
Awakening.
The villagers felt it too. Faces turned. Weapons faltered. Even the Rotborne paused, heads snapping toward the center of the village, where the roots of Ashroot's oldest tree—an ancient fig, blackened by time—began to split.
A crack raced down the trunk.
Something moved inside.
Yuzu's orchard screamed warning.
Mira was at his side instantly. "What is it?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
From the broken trunk spilled a figure—no, a shape—woven from dead roots, broken sigils, and the last prayers of forgotten spirits. It had no face. No voice. Only a mouth—gaping wide—and in that mouth, a fruit hung suspended: black as tar, veined with crimson.
The First Rotborne.
Not a spirit. Not a person.A hunger.
It turned toward Yuzu.
And smiled.
The villagers broke first. Fear raced through them like wildfire. Saro shouted something Yuzu didn't hear. Mira grabbed his arm, but he barely felt it.
The First Rotborne opened its mouth wider.
And the rain turned to ash.
The flavor of the world collapsed.
Ashroot was dying.
Unless he stopped it.
Yuzu clenched his fists.
Inside him, the Thornfruit pact burned hotter than ever.
He stepped forward.
Alone.
No armor.
No grand spirit hovering at his back.
Just a boy who had bitten the wrong fruit—and learned how to survive the taste.
The First Rotborne lunged.
And Yuzu met it halfway.