The Wrath Of Lunawood

After many years, the planet Alvion had seen its share of battles, but something new was about to emerge. About a few kilometers away from the holy city Tristan, an army from the war-torn city of Vorrengar was seeking aid from the holy city Tristan. They were transporting large quantities of starsteel as tribute, but they were attacked by both monsters and unfavorable weather conditions multiple times. Their number was greatly reduced from five thousand to about two thousand people. After weeks of travel, they finally escaped the great forest of Lunawood. The holy city Tristan was finally in their sight, they decided to camp for the night and head to Tristan in the morning.

 The soldiers work quickly, setting up tents and lighting fires, but the flames seem to burn dimmer than they should. Scouts return with strange reports—trees shifting in the mist, whispers echoing from nowhere, and footprints that appear behind them when no one is near. The commander of the army decided to increase the number of soldiers patrolling the camp. No more reports of soldiers going missing were reported. At the break of dawn, a soldier woke up the commander.

"Commander Draven, come look at this, " the soldier said. The campsite was covered in a thick fog; you couldn't even see your own hands. The commander felt something was amiss, for they never had a moment of peace since their journey began. Suddenly, a thud sound was heard, as if something hit the floor, followed by a screaming sound. It happened two more times. "Wake up, men, it's an attack," the commander Draven shouted. The soldiers quickly armed themselves but couldn't see where their enemies were, for they were blinded by the fog.

The cries of the fallen sent waves of panic through the camp. Swords clashed against unseen foes, arrows were loosed into the mist, and the sounds of combat echoed all around them—but the enemy remained unseen.

The commander, Draven, clenched his jaw as he strained to see through the unnatural fog. His instincts screamed that this was no ordinary ambush. "Hold formation!" he bellowed. "Tighten the perimeter—don't let them pick us off!"

Then, a thud.

A soldier near the camp's edge let out a strangled gasp. His comrades turned just in time to see him being yanked into the fog, his body vanishing into the thick mist. His screams were cut off by the sound of something snapping.

More cries followed. One by one, men were being dragged into the ground, hoisted into the air, or crushed under an unseen force.

Then, the fog shifted, revealing the horror.

The trees were moving.

Vines as thick as a man's leg slithered through the camp, coiling around soldiers like living serpents. Ancient roots tore through the soil, grabbing men by their ankles and dragging them down. Branches whipped through the air, sharp as blades, slicing through armor as if it were paper.

"The forest is attacking us!" a soldier screamed.

"Cut them down!" Draven roared, swinging his greatsword. He severed a thick vine, but instead of falling dead, it writhed, twisted, and fused back together.

The Lunawood did not forgive intruders.

The battle turned to chaos. Swords clashed against unfeeling bark, arrows lodged in twisting branches, and fire spells flickered, only to be smothered by damp moss.

Then, from the heart of the mist, a deep, resonating voice echoed through the trees.

"Thieves… desecrators… your kind has taken too much… now you shall return to the soil."

Draven's blood ran cold. The forest itself was alive. And it wanted vengeance for being used as firewood.

They had to get out. Now.