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The root loosens.

My throat tightens.

Choice.

Even now.

Even here.

I smile.

“Good.”

Then I close my hand around it and pull.

The root tears free.

Ward Farm screams.

Not the creature.

The farm.

The house groans behind us. Windows shatter. The barn buckles. Fence posts rip from the ground. Fields split open as one enormous scream tears through every inch of the property.

The root thrashes in my hand.

Black turns red.

Red burns gold.

Then everything goes dark.

The root crumbles between my fingers.

Ash slips through them.

The hole closes.

And for several seconds, nobody speaks.

There is nothing left to say.

Ward Farm is dead.

Completely.

The corn lies flattened against lifeless soil. The trees stand bare. Rotten fruit litters the ground. Not a single flower remains.

Ash drifts through the air like snow.

And in the middle of all that death… the crowned figure remains.

I look at it. “What now?”

It raises one hand and points at me.

“Yeah, I gathered that.”