"Fuck! I died!" Emerging from the ground in a parched land was a lone strand of grass, one that condensed a mouth that cursed in response.
The stalk of grass slowly grew in size, gaining mass over time as it soon grew into the size of a tree. After that, it squirmed, jutting out of the ground as it condensed into the figure of Dwun that gasped as he collapsed on the ground.
The roots slowly exited the ground and returned to his feet as he panted, lacking energy. Even as a Grassmen, he had taken significant damage.
"That freaking porcelain is dangerous!" He muttered, shuddering in response.
Of course, he was referring to the Elf. Earlier, when he was rampaging around Shyvern's hideout by relying upon the almost infinite vitality of the Grassmen, the other System Hosts were slowly getting cornered.
