My world-tree system-Chapter 68 - 67: Mourning the loss

Foster’s body was in tatters. Every breath tore a searing pain from his ribcage. His muscles screamed in agony, his bones seemed ready to give way under the strain. But he couldn’t stop. Not while this creature was still breathing.

Opposite him, the general of Hell staggered, his armor shattered, his flesh stained with gaping wounds from which trickled dark blood. But he was still smiling. A hideous grin, dripping with pride and defiance.

- You really think... you can finish me off?

His voice, once full of arrogance, wavered under the effect of pain. Yet he refused to bend. His claws, still sticky with Foster’s blood, clenched, and an evil shudder ran through his emaciated body.

Foster didn’t reply. There was nothing left to say. Just steel, rage and death.

The air around him tensed, vibrating with murderous energy. His katana pulsed in his hand, greedily, as if it had tasted the demon’s soul and demanded its due. Foster inhaled deeply. His world shrank to a single point: the general’s throat.

[Tempestive Fulgurance]

The blade sliced through space with a hissing whisper.

The first cut burst into a spray of flesh and bone, wringing a guttural scream from the demon.

The second devoured his torso, severing nerves and tendons in a ballet of red splinters.

The third...

A mournful silence fell over the clearing.

Silence stretched on, heavy, unreal. Then, with an almost imperceptible shudder, the Inferno general’s body cracked.

First a thin, dark line ran down his mutilated torso. Then another. And another.

A dull roar echoed through the air.

Foster took a step back, his katana still raised, as sinister cracks split the demon’s flesh. Black smoke rose from his wounds, swirling in unhealthy wisps, and in his dilated eyes, the shadow of visceral terror finally replaced arrogance.

- No... NO! It can’t be!

His voice was a distorted rattle, an echo of repressed despair. His claws clawed at the void, looking for support, for hope, but there was nothing left to grasp.

Suddenly, his body exploded.

An abyssal blast ripped through the night, sending a geyser of ash and flame skyward. The shockwave ripped through the earth, sweeping the surrounding trees away like twigs. Foster, caught in the turmoil, planted his feet in the ground and took the impact, his katana pointed at nothingness.

Then nothing.

Just an oppressive silence and, in the center of the still-smoldering crater, a single black stone.

Small. Smooth. Pulsating with an unhealthy glow.

Foster reached out and picked up the black stone. An icy heat ran up his arm, pulsing under his skin like a silent poison. He felt the raw power contained in this fragment, a vestige of the evil he had just annihilated.

A shiver ran down his spine, but he clasped it in his palm and made it disappear into his pocket. He had no time to think about it now.

His steps led him to Orwen’s body.

As he knelt beside him, the rage dissipated, replaced by a painful emptiness. His friend lay there, eyes half-closed, skin marbled by suffering and the shadow of death. Blood had congealed in dark streaks on his shattered armor.

Foster felt his throat knot. His trembling fingers brushed Orwen’s shoulder, as if to shake him, as if he could still bring him back.

- Another..." he murmured, his voice breaking.

Another one of theirs fallen.

There were only twenty of them left. A handful of survivors fighting against the inevitable, against a war that was taking everything from them.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, silent, bitter.

Foster watched the black stone in his palm, its fateful glow pulsing with an obscure gleam, the remnant of a fallen enemy. He closed his fingers over it, slipping it into his pocket with a weariness tinged with disgust. His gaze lingered on Orwen’s body, stretched out on the cold ground, his blood soaking the earth like a last oath to the forest in which he had been born.

He knelt down, his shoulders heavy with pain that would never subside. Another one of them. Another lost brother. There were only twenty of them left, survivors of a doomed people.

A shudder ran through his body as he placed a trembling hand on his companion’s lifeless torso. His tears, silent, traced a path down his cheeks, mingling with the dust and ash. There were no cries, no rage. Only deep, ancient grief, a wound that grew with every sacrifice.

He inhaled slowly, feeling his grimoire vibrate against his hip. The energy was still there, a last hope in the hollow of his fingers. He let it open of its own accord, its pages illuminated by a pulsing green glow, imprinted with the memory of centuries past.

- Renewal of Life]... he murmured.

The ground shuddered beneath him. From the dead flesh a breeze arose, and from this breeze a wave of light. Around Orwen’s body, the earth cracked gently before young shoots emerged, rising in supernatural growth, accelerated by the power of the spell. The roots intertwined, fusing with the bones of the deceased, accepting his essence within them. Then, in a wave of transcendent energy, the tree grew.

Its branches spread out, immense and vibrant with new sap. Its bark, smooth and pearly, already bore the marks of a world wood. A shiver ran down the trunk as its foliage came to life, capturing the light of the moon and stars in an emerald glow.

Foster stepped back slightly, knees still anchored in the earth, eyes filled with solemn bitterness. The tree was there, alive, bearing Orwen’s soul. But it would not stand. Not without one last sacrifice.

Without a word, he pulled the black stone from his pocket. It still pulsed, the remnant of an evil power wrested from the enemy. An impure vestige, and yet... a priceless source of energy. He brought it up to the trunk, and the tree reacted immediately, its branches quivering with instinctive greed.

- Take what you need, Orwen... he breathed.

The stone seemed to vibrate between his fingers before being caught by the bark. A wave of energy ran through the tree, and its leaves lit up, their brilliance gaining in intensity. The wood of the world was stabilized. Orwen would stay.

Miles away, in the heart of Vollua, the Mother Tree shivered. An imperceptible wave ran through her being, a familiar resonance that awakened something within her, a call beyond time and space. Lïanna, in her elven form, stood motionless atop a natural promontory, bathed in the spectral light of the moon.

She closed her eyes.

The echo of new life vibrated in her soul, faint but very real. Another wood of the world had been born.

She inhaled deeply, a sad smile gracing her lips, and her essence stretched, extending through the roots, through the sap that snaked into every trunk, every branch of the 156 woods of the world she watched over.

Her mind slipped between the foliage, finding a path that connected these trees to each other.

Then she found it.

A shudder ran through her being as she touched the spirit of the world’s new wood. Its energy was unstable, fragile, still imbued with sacrifice and mourning. It had been nourished by death, but also by a foreign power, a dark force she recognized without fearing.

Lïanna frowned slightly and stretched her mind more deeply. She wanted to touch it, welcome it, guide it. Her hand rose gently in front of her, as if she could caress this distant essence with her fingertips. Her breath became slower, her heart beating in harmony with the earth’s pulsations.

- Orwen... she whispered, her whisper carried by the night wind.

Then she felt a vibration in return, faint, hesitant, but very present. The wood of the world was responding. It recognized her.

A sad smile touched her lips.

- You’re one of us now. Rest in peace in the light of our roots.

She intensified her connection, enveloping the tree in her spiritual embrace, anchoring it more deeply to Vollua, to the ancient network that bound them all. Its branches quivered under the impact of her power, and the emerald glow of its leaves grew in intensity, like a silent promise.

Then, slowly, she opened her eyes again, her gaze shining with unfathomable wisdom. The wind died down. The night began to breathe again.

The 157ᵉ wood of the world had just awakened, and Lïanna would watch over it, as she watched over all the others.

- Foster, what’s going on over there???

Köflik and Kassandra came running, panting after a long chase through the ruins and ashes of the battlefield. Their gaze immediately fell on Foster, kneeling in the earth stained with blood and magic, his body shaking with silent tremors. Tears streamed down his face, falling to the ground with a weight that seemed heavier than the world itself.

Kassandra wanted to speak, but no words came. She stopped dead in her tracks. Köflik, for his part, moved slowly forward, his gaze fixed on Foster, on Orwen’s inert body, on the tree that was growing at an abnormal speed, its bark still pulsing with an unstable essence.

They understood.

Kassandra brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes immediately misting over. Köflik lowered his head, his fists clenching in spite of himself. There was nothing to say, nothing to add. The pain was there, raw, indelible.

- One less..." murmured Köflik, in a hoarse voice.

Foster didn’t answer, he just stood there, his hand clenched to the earth, as if he could still hold Orwen, as if a simple touch could bring him back. But it was all over.

Kassandra knelt down in turn, placing a trembling hand on Foster’s shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t even lift his head.

- We’re here..." she whispered.

Foster wiped his face and stood up.

- Let’s not delay, there are still the others who may be in danger. Kassandra will look after Giovanni and Malia, and when he wakes up, go back to Vollua.

She nodded silently.

- Let’s get going!