XLI: Live With Trees

What is it with this hells-damned forest? 

I back away from the tree closest to me, which twists and unroots itself from the ground, rumbling something low that shakes the ground. It and its brethren are animating themselves, coming to life, their branches forming their limbs, their trunks becoming bodies, their roots like skittering legs. 

And they move damn fast for trees. 

It all happens so fast. 

The tree closest to me swings a great clump of its branches like a hammer, bringing them down upon my head. I roll out of the way, diving and rolling in the mud as the air from the blow sweeps my back. I feel a rush and pump my legs up, jumping away as another set of thorny branches comes slicing at me horizontally. I clear them, feeling the leaves tickle at my feet. 

Then I'm running, sprinting deeper into woods, weaving around and under the swinging wooden giants. 

Where did the rest of the mancers go? Umbrahorn? They sure would've been useful right about now. But, their disappearance is probably due to the magicks at play here — whatever they might be. It doesn't matter. I can't fight these… things. I just have to survive—

A crooked looking tree cuts my path. It raises three sharp branches, unadorned with leaves or brush, looking pale and blade-like. I skid to a stop on the mud and scramble back as Crooked slashes forth. Just as I turn my back to it, the middle branch smacks into my back, lengthwise at first. When I stumble forward, its edge slices a cruel line across my spine. 

I scream and fall. 

The pain burns and distracts. And I know another million swings are coming, so I pound my fists into the ground and slip forward, running off again. 

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Goes the woods. 

All creaking and cracking and rumbling, a briar-made hell. 

A smaller tree blocks my path, only a head or two taller than me. Two giant oaks converge on my flanks. I must go forward. 

So, I push off my back heel, fly forward, and raise my right knee up to smash against the gangly tree's center. Kneecap cracks against wood, sending an explosion of splinters outwards. The tree stumbles back, falling over in a very… human way. 

Hardened and numbed by days of kicking trees, my knee remains intact, albeit a bit bloodied and red-raw. 

I push forward. 

I can't keep this up. 

The more I run and evade, the more their numbers conglomerate. 

"RAITEN!" A voice calls. Zyla? My eyes search for her, only to find Crooked sprinting around its other brethren, trying to cut me off once more. Gritting my teeth, I slide under the slow swing of a giant tree and grab hold of one of its larger roots, pulling it hard. Surprisingly, its constitution does not hold — the lumbering tree crashes down, tripping some of its pursuing brethren. 

"Raiten, it's an illusion. Kill the node-creature and you'll be free! Either that, or find the exit! If you don't, you'll die!" Again, Zyla's voice calls out, but I don't see her at all. 

"Where are you lot?!" I ask. 

"The others are dealing with the same thing. I got out first—"

"Forget that, what is the node-creature?" 

"The strongest looking monster in illusion-scape!" 

I take one look at Crooked, who hurdles over the tree that I felled with ease. It practically skates across the mud. 

"Of course it's you," I mutter, eyes now searching for an exit instead. I can't take that thing on. Maybe if I had my amulets… 

But if this an illusion, would those even matter? 

Focus. Where is the exit? 

"Zyla! What does the exit look like?" I ask. 

No answer. 

I search the skies, as if her voice would be there. Yet, the sky has gone red. Bleeding crimson, dotted with maroon clouds. 

Looking ahead, I am forced to stop once more. The trees have formed a wall, impenetrable and thick. Cursing, I cut right, only to find the very same wall being formed there. Left, back, East, West — it doesn't matter. They encircle me now, forming a great ring by interlocking their roots and branches, their crowns and brush. 

Turning around, I spot Crooked—the only tree not part of the wall—striding toward me on root-shaped legs. Its left branches coalesce and form into one giant, bludgeoning arm. The three right branches remain bladed, white against the darkness of the rest of its wooden body. Like snow against ash. 

The sky roars before issuing forth the first drops of rain. 

I extend my hand and feel the droplets. They score crimson along my skin. 

I can't help but laugh. Whoever made this illusion obviously has a flair for the dramatic — for blood rain now splatters against me and Crooked as we face each other in an arena of dark briars. 

I suppose it can't be helped. I'll have to kill it. 

"Well come on then!" I call, egging the tree on. "Let's get on with it." 

Crooked seems to tilt its head — or whatever the top part of its crown might be called — before flicking its three sword-arms out and giving me a… bow. 

I scoff. "What the hell are you?" 

The tree doesn't answer. 

Instead, it stands straight and raises its left hand. From it, five twigs sprout forth and curl inwards. Like fingers. 

It repeats the motion, as if trying to tell me to come here.  

Smiling, I approach the tree as blood drapes across my back and the sky screams out in some eldritch language of old.