Wrath stops only briefly to gape at the big blazing bearweasel as it roars-- then he grabs the coat. He may hate Alphonse, he may be loathe to accept the other boy's help in any form... but he's not stupid. He doesn't want to die.

"WE NEED TO GO! WE NEED TO GO!!"

Behind him, the behemoth rises.

The veritable mountain of vines comes free of the earth with a cacophony of dirt-clods pattering downwards and snapping of tendrils that were rooted too deep.

It's the great grandaddy of all Tangrowths.

And it's about seven times the size of Lisa.

One giant arm the length and width of a redwood tree lifts into the air.