My world-tree system-Chapter 50 - 49: The mark of a slave

Foster knelt before the Mother Tree, closing his eyes and letting his breathing slow to a trickle. He plunged into a state of deep meditation, trying to synchronise his mind with that of the Mother Tree.

All around him, the city of Vollua was silent, as if frozen in anticipation of some miracle or tragedy. The remaining elves dared not intervene. Only the rustle of the wind in the branches of the plant dome disturbed the oppressive calm.

He could feel the wood pulsing beneath his palms on the ground. A slow, deep rhythm, that of an ancient force, incomprehensible to ordinary mortals. But for Foster, this beat was a language.

A silent exchange.

The Mother Tree didn’t express her thoughts in words.

She projected sensations, images, fleeting impressions, like fragments of a truth that he had to assemble.

And the first thing he perceived was a stain.

A knot of foreign, invasive energy wrapped around Kassandra’s very essence. A parasitic root planted in her soul, fed by an obscure force.

Foster gritted his teeth.

He knew it was the mark of slavery the Lords of the Apocalypse had put on her.

But understanding its presence wasn’t enough. He had to find out exactly where it came from and decipher its mechanisms before he could do anything.

If he failed...

He didn’t even dare imagine what would happen.

The Mother Tree accompanied his reasoning, intensifying her connection with him. Foster felt a shiver run up his spine as streams of natural magic intertwined with his own. He could now see the energy imprisoning Kassandra, like a spider’s web entwined around her being.

It was living magic.

Magic that would fight back if anyone tried to break it head-on.

Foster realised that brute force would not be enough.

He took a deep breath and concentrated even harder.

If this mark was alive, it had to have an origin.

A centre.

A heart.

He plunged deeper into his meditation, his perceptions sharpening as he listened to the muffled beating of the Mother Tree.

And he found it.

A tiny point of energy hidden deep within Kassandra. A black sliver lodged at the centre of her soul, pulsing with an impure light, like a malignant tumour forced into her.

Foster remained frozen in his meditation, immersed in analysing the mark embedded in Kassandra’s soul. It was more than a simple spell, more than a magical constraint.

It was a complex structure, an interweaving of ancient energies, made up of oaths, coercion and an alien will that stifled Kassandra’s own.

He could feel the invisible threads running through his body, woven with surgical precision.

A cage.

A prison that held not just his body, but also his mind, his free will.

Inside this structure, a black heart.

A fragment of magic from the Lords of the Apocalypse, a core of power that kept the mark alive and nourished it.

Foster felt the link between Kassandra and her masters, a thread as thin as glass, but unbreakable as long as the anchor was in place.

If she tried to rebel...

She would suffer.

If she tried to speak...

Her throat would tighten.

If she tried to flee...

Her own body would betray her.

Foster opened his eyes slowly, his gaze dark with tension.

- It’s a work of monstrosity...’ he murmured.

The Mother Tree emphasised her feelings with a deep vibration. A loophole had to be found.

Brute force would do no good. Attempting to tear off the mark would risk destroying Kassandra with it.

He had to weaken it, dissolve it gradually.

But how?

If this mark lived... it had to obey certain rules.

He followed the pulses of the black heart, analysing its flow, the way it recovered energy, the way it responded to its environment.

And then he understood.

This mark fed off Kassandra’s very existence.

More precisely, from her life force.

Her link with nature.

And that was its weakness.

If the brand depended on Kassandra to survive, it meant that if it was isolated, if it was cut off from this source of energy, it would weaken.

Foster opened his eyes, a spark of understanding and resolution shining in his eyes.

- We’re going to starve you out,’ he whispered to the foreign magic.

The mark wasn’t going to die overnight.

Foster closed his eyes again, his mind interwoven with that of the Mother Tree. He had never attempted anything so complex. But he knew that time was against him.

He concentrated on the energy flowing through Kassandra, tracing the invisible roots of the mark. He could see its ramifications, snaking through her being, clinging to her bones, parasitising her very essence.

A tumour.

An infection just waiting to feed again and again.

But if it fed on Kassandra’s life force, then he could starve it out.

He inhaled deeply, extending his consciousness to the Mother Tree.

- Help me.

A dull wave ran through the sacred trunk, a vibration that resonated in the ground and in the air, touching every leaf, every branch.

And suddenly... Kassandra’s energy plummeted.

Her vital flow, usually vibrant and luminous, became dull.

Not dangerously. Not fatally.

Just enough to deprive the brand of its nourishment.

Foster felt the curse’s immediate reaction.

It contracted. Like a predator deprived of flesh.

It tried to dig deeper into Kassandra’s essence, to cling on violently, but the Mother Tree stood like a rampart.

A wall of vegetation, an impenetrable barrier.

The brand’s invisible roots came up against a void.

And for the first time... it faltered.

Foster felt a sudden tension, an overwhelming pressure, as if the enemy’s magic had realised that she was under attack.

She struggled, trying to maintain her hold.

A black sizzle ran through Kassandra’s body, dark veins running up her throat to her temples.

Foster didn’t hesitate.

He held out his hand, calling to the Roots of the World Tree.

Ethereal vines of pure green energy wrapped themselves around Kassandra, containing the mark and suffocating her a little more.

The mark tightened.

Foster gritted his teeth, channelling his power to keep it locked.

It was a first step.

She could no longer feed normally.

And now... he was going to wear her down.

A shiver ripped through Foster’s spine.

First, a cold, insidious thrust. Then, a brutal shock, as if an invisible hand had closed over his skull to crush it.

The mark was defending itself.

Not with a simple spell.

No.

It retaliated with an overwhelming force, a mental assault so violent that the roots of the Mother Tree trembled under the impact.

Foster tensed, feeling his own mind being pulled towards a dark, bottomless abyss.

Emptiness.

An absolute nothingness that sucked in everything he was.

Then came the voices.

Whispers. Diffuse at first. Then clearer, sharper.

They hissed, perfidious, wrapping themselves around his consciousness like snakes ready to suffocate him.

- Bend.

- Give in.

- You can’t win.

Suddenly, the visions burst forth.

His own death.

His broken body, lying at the foot of the Mother Tree.

His spirit consumed, torn from life.

His friends screaming in vain.

And behind these images, a presence.

Overwhelming. Infinite.

Something ancient, something merciless.

The true origin of the mark.

It wasn’t just an enchantment of servitude.

It was a link.

An anchor between this abyssal force and Kassandra.

A padlock whose every rune was a chain driven deep into her being.

The Mother Tree screamed silently.

He felt the threat.

He felt the same pressure.

Foster gritted his teeth, but his muscles refused to obey, his mind cracking under the relentless assault.

The balance was breaking.

The ground shuddered, the roots vibrated, threatening to give way under the psychic attack that struck them.

The Mother Tree struggled, but had never faced such treacherous magic.

Foster understood now.

This wasn’t just a curse.

It was an infection.

And if he let go, it would consume them both.

So he did the only thing he could.

He dug deeper.

Deeper than his own magic.

Deeper than the Mother Tree’s magic.

He dug into the roots of his being.

Into the footprint of the Avatar of Life.

A golden light burst forth inside him.

Violent. Burning.

It tore the darkness apart.

It burnt away the whispers.

It repelled the invisible claws that sought to close in on his spirit.

The dome of Vollua shook violently, its branches bending, its bark rumbling under the force it was releasing.

The leaves rose, quivering as if the whole city were breathing with it.

A mental howl rang out.

The mark screamed.

Not in fear, but in pure rage.

It wouldn’t accept being pushed away.

It would not be defied.

It retaliated with redoubled force.

Foster thought he would explode under the pressure.

But he held firm.

Foster had barely recovered from the mental confrontation. He felt the Mother Tree tremble beneath him, its roots twisting in the earth as it tried to stabilise the shattered balance.

But he also felt something else.

A sudden change.

His gaze fell on the plant cocoon where Kassandra lay.

The bark darkened, the living fibres quivered, vibrating under an invisible assault.

Then horror struck.

Kassandra’s body stirred inside.

At first, just a twitch.

Then a violent, unnatural twitch, like a corpse coming to life under a force that did not belong to it.

- No...’ whispered Foster as he leapt to his feet.

The Mother Tree sent a sensation of panic through him.

Something had changed.

The mark had understood.

It had lost the mental battle.

So it was moving on to the physical battle.

Foster saw Kassandra’s muscles contract abnormally under the thin layer of bark that still protected her. Her limbs twisted at impossible angles, as if something invisible were pulling on her tendons.

A sinister crack sounded.

Her arms arched and her fingers tightened.

Then her back arched violently, sending out a shockwave that shook the ground.

- She’s trying to get out! realised Foster, adrenalin exploding in his body.

The cocoon struggled.

Its plant fibres tightened and the roots of the Mother Tree clawed at the plant prison to keep it closed.

But the mark fought back.

A bolt of black lightning shot through the cocoon.

The surface cracked, dark veins spreading like cracks across the living shell.

Then came the sound of tearing, dry and brutal.

The first splinter of wood exploded, hurled violently through the air.

A second followed, then a third.

And finally-

The cocoon burst.