Chapter 30: guardian of the great tree

The Guardian of the Great Tree: Uhtem's Eternal Vigil

Uhtem was not merely a warrior, nor just a guardian—he was a legend, an immortal protector, a sentinel standing at the crossroads of existence. For untold millennia, he had been entrusted with the defense of the Great Tree, an entity beyond mortal comprehension. This was no ordinary tree—its roots stretched beyond time itself, its branches were the multiverse, and every leaf bore the weight of infinite worlds. Each branch, each extension of its being, was a cosmos of its own, a boundless realm teeming with life, destinies, and the ceaseless march of creation.

Uhtem had not sought this role, nor had he been born to it. He had been chosen—by the tree itself, by the will of something far greater than any divine decree or mortal ambition. When he took up his mantle, he swore an unbreakable oath: to guard the sanctity of the tree, to ensure that none would pervert its power, to stand as an unyielding bulwark against those who sought dominion over reality itself.

And many had tried.

Through the endless tides of time, Uhtem had faced pantheons of gods, legions of cosmic warlords, and civilizations that had clawed their way into the unknown seeking to harness the multiverse's root system. Many sought knowledge. Others sought control. But all who attempted to lay claim to the Great Tree's power met the same fate: defeat at the hands of the Guardian.

Even the I.S.S, the interdimensional organization known for its relentless pursuit of power and order, had once attempted to unravel the Great Tree's secrets. Deities of forgotten pantheons, alien monarchs who believed themselves omnipotent, and eldritch horrors that lurked beyond existence itself—all had come with ambition burning in their hearts, and all had been met with Uhtem's blade.

But there was one enemy unlike the rest.

One who did not merely seek to use the Great Tree's power, but to reshape existence itself.

The Demon King of Salvation: The Forsaken Elder God

Long, long ago—before the concept of time, before even the first cycle of creation had begun—the Demon King of Salvation was not a demon at all. He had been an Elder God, a being of incomprehensible might, a sovereign of higher existence. But with awareness came pain, and when he gazed upon the vastness of reality, he saw the suffering woven into its fabric.

The higher Elder Gods, his kin, did not act. They did not mend the wounds of creation; they merely existed as distant overseers, beings too far removed from the agony of existence to care. And so he made a choice.

He sought to eradicate the higher Elder Gods, to shatter their dominion, to reshape the multiverse in his own vision. But he could not do so in his current state. And so, in a single act of defiance, he consumed his own siblings, absorbing their power and descending into something both lesser and greater—a being that straddled the boundary between divinity and monstrosity.

He became a Lower Elder God.

Thus began the war against the heavens.

The higher Elder Gods rallied against him, and for eons, reality trembled beneath their battle. The multiverse itself cracked under the weight of their war, realms collapsing, stars weeping, and dimensions unraveling like frayed threads. But the Demon King of Salvation was relentless. He would see the Elder Gods fall, no matter the cost.

And yet, for all his might, he was not invincible.

Three of the most powerful Elder Gods opposed him—not as protectors of the old order, but as agents of balance. They would not allow one being, even one of their own, to tip the scales of reality itself.

Together, they enacted the Hanging of the Elder God.

In a battle that defied time itself, that saw entire cosmic eras born and erased in the span of their war, the three Elder Gods stripped the Demon King of Salvation of his power, binding his might into seven divine artifacts—the Seven Treasures. No longer the god he once was, the Demon King was cast down, his essence dangling on the edge of oblivion, his power forever severed.

It was before even the first year of existence had been counted.

The Seven Treasures & Uhtem's Burden

The Seven Treasures—the crystallized remnants of the Demon King's divinity—were scattered across the multiverse. These artifacts, forged from the very essence of a fallen god, contained the power to reshape reality, to defy fate itself. They were sought by many, coveted by civilizations, fought over by those who barely understood their significance.

But Uhtem had two of them.

The Wheel of Fate—an artifact capable of weaving destiny itself, of altering the course of existence with a single turn.

The Sword of Eternity—a blade that could cut through time, space, and even concepts, a weapon of absolute severance.

With these two treasures, Uhtem became more than a guardian. He became a walking paradox, a being who defied the natural order itself, wielding the very power of a fallen Elder God to prevent its misuse. And for countless cycles, he had succeeded.

But the Demon King of Salvation had not given up.

Stripped of his power but not his will, he had spent countless ages rebuilding his strength, searching for the lost pieces of himself. And now, he had come for Uhtem.

Not for the Great Tree.

Not for conquest.

But for the two treasures that had once been his.

The Looming War

The Demon King's return was not unexpected. Uhtem had always known this day would come. The balance of existence had begun to tremble, the very fabric of the multiverse whispering warnings to those who could hear.

The guardian had faced gods, armies, and entire civilizations. But this was different.

This was a battle of inevitability.

The Demon King of Salvation would not stop. He would not yield. His war against the Elder Gods was not yet finished, and his treasures would be reclaimed.

And so, as Uhtem stood before the Great Tree, he knew the battle was coming.

He had lived lifetimes beyond lifetimes, fought in wars that predated time itself.

And yet, he had never wavered.

For as long as the Great Tree stood, as long as there was still something worth protecting, he would fight.

Even if it meant facing the Demon King of Salvation himself.

The Battle of the Great Tree: Uhtem's Unyielding Warriors

The multiversal void trembled as Urbaid, the Cosmic Great Horror, set his sights upon the Great Tree. A being of unfathomable ambition, Urbaid sought to ascend beyond the constraints of reality, to reshape existence to his own design. But to do so, he needed the Great Tree. It was the bridge between realms, the cosmic pillar upon which the very concept of existence was built. If he could claim it, he would transcend, leaving behind the mortal coil and ascending into a higher plane.

But his ambitions would be met with resistance.

The Army of the Cosmic Horror

Urbaid was not alone.

He commanded an army of conquerors, warlords and aberrations pulled from the ruins of fallen civilizations. Beasts of void and hunger, creatures with a thousand eyes and a thousand screams, warriors clad in armor woven from the remains of dead gods.

They were not merely soldiers. They were horrors made manifest.

These were beings who devoured worlds, who had drowned stars in the black tides of their endless war. Their tactics were crude, dishonorable—ambushes, assassinations, traps, mind-breaking illusions, weapons forged from cursed concepts. They thrived in chaos, in deception, in warfare that defied all conventional codes of battle.

And so they came.

They crossed the endless void, tearing through the fabric of space, arriving at what should have been a battleground of titanic proportions.

But instead, they saw only a tree.

Its leaves were green. Its branches were oak. Its roots twisted through the fabric of existence. It was so deceptively simple, yet so incomprehensibly vast. The sky above was clear, the wind gentle. There were no fortifications, no battlements, no sign of war.

But then, the battle began.

The Guardians' Counterattack

Uhtem himself did not step forward. He did not need to.

For before the invaders even set foot upon the sacred ground, they were met with a force unlike any they had ever faced.

Uhtem's warriors were not mere soldiers. They were legends.

They were his creations—beings shaped by his own hands, warriors forged in the fires of cosmic battle. They had fought in wars where time itself had unraveled, where gods had perished screaming. They were the champions of honor, the sentinels of balance, the last line of defense between order and oblivion.

As the invaders charged, the warriors met them in kind.

Swords clashed. Spears shattered. Arrows blotted out the sky.

The battlefield became a storm of blood, steel, and cosmic power.

Urbaid's forces were relentless—creatures that could regenerate from a single drop of blood, warriors that existed outside of time, horrors that fed on the fear of their enemies.

But Uhtem's warriors fought with something greater than power.

They fought with purpose.

They fought with honor.

Where the invaders struck from the shadows, Uhtem's warriors met them head-on. Where Urbaid's creatures spread fear, the guardians stood unshaken.

For every dishonorable tactic, there was an unyielding shield.

For every monstrous abomination, there was a warrior willing to stand in its way.

The Turning Point

The screams of the dying filled the air, the sky darkened with the smoke of war, and the ground was soaked in the blood of gods and monsters alike.

Urbaid's army, for all its cruelty, for all its vast numbers, began to falter.

Their tricks, their ambushes, their deception—none of it worked. The warriors of Uhtem did not waver. They did not fear. They endured.

And in war, endurance is victory.

The invaders who had once drowned civilizations in an ocean of slaughter now found themselves being pushed back. One by one, their lines crumbled. One by one, their strongest champions fell. The horrors that had feasted upon entire worlds were being undone.

Not by power.

Not by cruelty.

But by resolve.

By the sheer, unyielding strength of warriors who had dedicated their existence to the defense of the Great Tree.

And when the last of the invaders fell, when the battlefield lay still, when the only sound was the wind rustling through the leaves of the impossibly vast tree, Uhtem finally moved.

He stepped forward, not as a warrior reveling in victory, but as a guardian who had simply done what needed to be done.

He looked down upon the remains of Urbaid's forces, his expression unreadable.

Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke.

"There was never any hope for you here."

"You sought to desecrate the foundation of existence. And now, you are nothing."

And with that, he turned away, leaving the battlefield behind.

For him, there would be no celebration.

For him, this was simply another battle in an endless war.

The Second Meeting: Uhtem and the Demon King of Salvation

The air was still. The leaves of the Great Tree did not rustle. The very fabric of reality seemed to hold its breath as the Demon King of Salvation stepped forward once more, his armored form reflecting the endless cosmos within its obsidian sheen. The weight of his presence distorted the space around him, an unnatural force that could unmake universes with but a whisper of his will.

And yet, before him stood Uhtem, the Guardian of the Great Tree.

Eight feet tall, broad-shouldered, his posture unshaken, Uhtem regarded the Demon King with neither hostility nor warmth. His presence was not oppressive, nor was it passive—it was simply constant, absolute. He was a being who had withstood the wars of gods, the ambitions of conquerors, and the destruction of entire civilizations, yet he remained as unwavering as the very tree he protected.

The Demon King took another step. The ground beneath his feet did not tremble. It could not. The roots of the Great Tree denied it.

And then, he spoke.

"Guardian of the Great Tree, I have come again."

Uhtem did not react. He simply stood there, watching.

The Demon King continued.

"I have offered diplomacy. I have offered reason. I have even offered mercy. And yet, you persist in defiance. You stand before me, unmoved, as though I am but a passing wind upon an endless mountain."

Still, Uhtem did not falter.

His voice, when it came, was calm, measured, absolute.

"You speak of defiance as though it were a choice," Uhtem said. "Yet a guardian does not defy—he simply is. As the mountain does not yield to the storm, as the river does not question its path, I do not waver in my duty. This is not an act of will, nor is it an act of defiance. It is merely what must be."

The Demon King studied him in silence.

Uhtem did not anger. He did not sadden. There was no rise nor falter in his voice. He spoke as one who had already seen all outcomes, who had already accepted the unbreakable truth of his existence.

"You seek to claim what does not belong to you," Uhtem continued. "And so, I ask: is it want or is it need?"

The Demon King's crimson gaze flickered.

"…They are one and the same."

"No."

The finality in Uhtem's voice was not of challenge, nor arrogance. It was simply truth.

"Need is what sustains. Want is what consumes. You have confused one for the other."

The Demon King's armored fingers curled ever so slightly, a gesture that could have signified irritation in lesser beings. But he did not lash out. He did not attack. He knew, perhaps better than most, that such actions would be futile.

Uhtem was not an enemy to be destroyed. He was not an obstacle to be removed. He was an inevitability.

A silence stretched between them, vast and unshaken.

Then, the Demon King of Salvation turned away.

He did not bow, nor did he curse the guardian's name. He simply left.

And as he departed, his voice echoed through the void.

"We shall meet again, Guardian of the Great Tree."

The Reflection of a Guardian

Alone once more, Uhtem moved.

With slow, deliberate steps, he ascended one of the endless branches of the Great Tree, climbing until he reached a vantage point where he could see everything, and yet nothing at all.

He sat, the vast cosmos stretching before him, the multiversal expanse woven into the branches and leaves of the Great Tree itself. The sheer infinity of it all could drive lesser beings mad. The knowledge that every world, every possibility, every fate was merely one branch among an endless web of existence.

But Uhtem did not waver.

Some called him a giant, others a legend. To some, he was a guardian, to others, a symbol.

But Uhtem was not the legend. He was not the myth.

He simply was.

And that was enough.

King Arthur, The Guardian of the Great Tree

Before he became the Guardian of the Great Tree, before he wielded the Sword of Eternity, before he was feared and revered across the multiverse, he was simply a man.

A merchant, a wanderer, a seeker of truth.

His name was King Arthur Pendragon.

Though history would remember him as a king, Arthur had not always been a ruler. In his youth, he was an adventurer, a man who sought to unravel the world's greatest mysteries. He traveled far and wide, not in search of wealth or power, but in pursuit of truth.

He did not believe in Elder Gods or Outer Beings. He dismissed them as myths, stories meant to frighten children and control the weak-minded. He sought to prove that no gods ruled the cosmos—that only man shaped his own destiny.

That belief changed when he found the sword.

The Sword of Eternity: Excalibur

It was buried deep within a stone altar, in a place forgotten by both time and men. A weapon of impossible craftsmanship, its blade gleamed with a light that neither fire nor forge could create. The moment Arthur laid eyes upon it, something in his very soul stirred.

He did not take it for glory. He did not take it for power.

He took it because it called to him.

With both hands, he drew the sword from the stone.

The sky split open. The ground shook. Reality itself shuddered.

He did not know it then, but the sword he now held was no mere weapon.

It was Excalibur, the Sword of Eternity. One of the Seven Treasures—fragments of power once belonging to the Demon King of Salvation, a former Elder God who had waged war against his own kind. The sword had been forged from the very essence of eternity itself.

And now, it belonged to him.

The Rise of the King of Swords

Arthur's fate was forever changed. With Excalibur in hand, he faced enemies beyond mortal comprehension—kings, gods, warlords, and eldritch horrors who coveted the blade's power.

He fought not as a conqueror, but as a protector.

A knight in bloodied armor. A king with the mask of a demon.

His legend grew. His kingdom flourished. He saved the weak, commanded the dead, and forged an era of prosperity and strength.

But fate had greater plans for him.

One day, while journeying beyond the boundaries of the known world, Arthur came upon a sight that changed everything.

The Great Tree.

It was not simply a tree.

It was the heart of the multiverse.

Each branch was a universe. Each leaf, a world. Each root, a thread of fate.

And waiting for him was the voice of eternity.

"You have drawn the blade of eternity. You have walked the path of a king. But your purpose is not yet complete. The multiverse is fragile, its balance threatened by those who seek dominion. Will you stand as its protector?"

Arthur did not hesitate. He did not falter.

For he was a king, and a king does not turn his back on his duty.

And so, he took on a new title.

The Guardian of the Great Tree.

A King and His People

Unlike those who sought power for themselves, Arthur never abandoned his people. He was still King Arthur, still the ruler of Camelot, still the warrior who had lifted a blade in defense of the innocent. His duty had simply expanded.

Now, he fought not just for one kingdom, but for all of existence.

He faced cosmic conquerors, false gods, and outer horrors. He commanded the spirits of the fallen, wielding Excalibur as both sword and shield.

The Demon King of Salvation sought to reclaim his lost treasures, but Arthur did not yield.

For greed had no place near the Great Tree.

He became a legend among legends. Some called him a giant, others a myth. Some feared him, others revered him.

But one truth remained unshaken.

He was, and always would be, King Arthur Pendragon.

A warrior of eternity.

A protector of the multiverse.

A king who never abandoned his people.

The Great Mirage of Death

King Arthur was many things.

To some, he was a demon. A warlord who carved through fate itself with his blade, a figure so feared that even gods hesitated to speak his name.

To others, he was a miracle. A knight who defied the impossible, who stood where no mortal should stand, who carried light into the void where even divinity dared not tread.

To a few, he was a god. An eternal being, a guardian who had watched over creation for longer than time itself could measure.

But to most, he was a legend.

A myth woven into the very fabric of reality. A being who should not exist, yet did.

They called him The Great Mirage of Death.

He had fought wars that no history recorded, had battled entities whose names only the stars remembered. His duty to the Great Tree, to the multiverse, to existence itself, was unshakable. He did not falter. He did not waver. He stood forever.

And long, long ago, in a distant land, he fought with Cthulhu.

The Battle Against Cthulhu

It was in an age before man had even begun to dream, when the great R'lyeh still stood above the waves, before the Great Old One's slumber consumed the world in silence. The stars had not yet shifted to their cursed alignment, and the cosmos still trembled under the weight of what lay beneath the sea.

The Great Tree had foreseen a calamity—a ripple in fate so vast that it would shake all of existence. And so, Arthur arrived at the edge of the abyss.

The waters churned. The sky darkened. The air itself grew thick with an unspeakable, ancient dread.

And then, from the depths, it rose.

Cthulhu.

A colossus of writhing madness, a being whose presence alone fractured the minds of lesser beings. Its very form was wrong, beyond comprehension, shifting and distorting as though the universe itself struggled to define it.

Its voice was not a sound, but a feeling—a slow, crawling decay that sank into the soul.

"Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!"

Arthur did not kneel. He did not tremble. He stood, unmoved.

And then, he drew Excalibur.

The Sword of Eternity shone like the first light of creation, its blade cutting through the very concept of madness itself. Arthur charged, a lone knight against an eldritch horror that dwarfed mountains.

It was a battle beyond reason, beyond reality.

The waves split. The sky screamed. Time twisted and broke.

Arthur struck with a force that defied gods. He was King of Swords. The warrior who commanded the dead, the knight who wore the mask of a demon.

Cthulhu fought back, not with weapons, but with madness itself.

The void whispered into Arthur's mind. It showed him visions of eternity, of endless futility, of despair woven into the foundation of existence.

But Arthur did not falter. He did not break.

For he was already eternal.

With a final, earth-shattering blow, he banished Cthulhu back into the abyss, sealing the Great Old One into its cursed slumber beneath the waves. The battle did not end in death, for beings such as Cthulhu could not be slain.

But Arthur had done the impossible—he had denied the will of an Elder Being.

And with that, he continued his eternal duty.

The Wheel of Fate

It was after that battle that Arthur came into possession of the Wheel of Fate.

A treasure forged from the power of the Demon King of Salvation, a relic that could alter the threads of destiny itself. It did not grant wishes. It did not rewrite existence.

It simply spun.

And in its motion, possibilities became certainties, certainties became nothing. It was a power that even gods feared, for it was not ruled by logic or control—only by the inevitability of fate.

Arthur did not wield it carelessly.

He used it only when necessary.

Just as he used Excalibur.

For even in all his power, he had never been one to abuse his strength.

The Demon King of Salvation Returns

The Demon King of Salvation came many times to reclaim what was once his.

Each time, he was denied.

And now, once again, he stood before Uhtem, the Guardian of the Great Tree.

The Demon King stepped forward, his presence as vast as the void, yet as calm as a still ocean. His voice carried the weight of ages, yet it was measured, almost casual.

"You know why I am here, Guardian. I ask again—return what belongs to me."

Arthur stood, arms crossed, his golden eyes unreadable. He did not need to draw his blade. He did not need to raise his voice.

His words alone were enough.

"Kings who hang their own people do not deserve treasures. You have destroyed your honor just as you have destroyed your own people."

There was no anger in his tone. No malice.

Only truth.

The Demon King's eyes darkened, though his composure did not break. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

"You still speak as though you stand above all. But tell me, Guardian—how much longer will you deny me?"

Arthur's expression did not change.

"For as long as I must."

A silence stretched between them. A silence ancient, heavy, eternal.

Then, the Demon King of Salvation turned away.

As he walked into the distance, his voice echoed one final time, a whisper carried by the wind.

"I will have my hands on MY treasures one day, Great Old Miracle of Death."

And then, he was gone.

The Guardian of Eternity

Arthur remained standing for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Then, he sat upon the branch of the Great Tree, his eight-foot frame a silhouette against the endless expanse of the cosmos.

Some called him a giant. Others called him a legend.

But in the end, he was what he had always been.

A king. A warrior. A guardian.

He would remain.

For eternity.