The eight men Xu Zhenlan dropped in front of the porch barely had time to understand where they were and what was happening before the plants closed around them.
One tried to scramble back toward the bottom of the driveway, only for a root to wrap around his ankle and drag him across the pavement. Another rolled onto his knees and reached for the knife still strapped to his leg. Yuche flicked his fingers, and the blade tore free from its sheath before burying itself in the man's shoulder.
The remaining six managed to stand. It was nice to see that they understood the assignment.
For a moment, they looked toward the road as though someone might still be coming to rescue them, but they were only disappointed. No more engines came screaming into my territory thinking that it belonged to them, no one answered the frantic voices crackling through the radios scattered among the bodies.
The fight was over, and they had lost.
