CHAPTER 8
*Chapter 8: "The Black Iron Glade"*
*Year: 4175 BC*
*Location: Northern Europe – Forest of Svartgrove (Proto-Nordic Region)*
The forest was older than the stars above it.
At its heart, no birds sang. No leaves rustled. Trees stood like spears, tall and gnarled, their bark blackened with unnatural age. Snow fell but never touched the ground. It melted mid-air, absorbed by something *hungry*.
Locals called it *Svartgrove*—the Forbidden Glade.
No one entered it twice.
Pluto did.
He arrived cloaked in furs, hooded, carrying no flame. Fire was useless here; the wind devoured it. His footsteps made no sound. He had taken on the identity of a pale-skinned northern hunter named *Volundr*, but his silver eyes still burned beneath illusion.
And the forest *recognized* them.
The system buzzed low in his mind.
*[BIOME DISRUPTION DETECTED]*
*Source: Deviant Variant – "Morr'Keth"*
*Class: Entropic Leech / Psionic Drain Node*
*State: Anchored to Forest Core – Feeding Off Regional Life Web*
*Stability: Fracturing – Entropy Reaching Critical Spread*
The entire forest was the body of the Deviant.
Each tree a nerve. Each root a vein.
Pluto stepped deeper.
***
A young man had followed him—unaware.
The boy, no more than sixteen, wore hand-wrapped boots and carried a dull bronze spear. He'd tracked Pluto from a nearby village, thinking him prey or perhaps a lost spirit. His people were desperate; the forest had been expanding for decades, swallowing land, people, animals—*hope*.
The boy didn't even make it ten paces inside before the fog began to twist.
He dropped, choking.
Pluto appeared beside him in silence, picked him up, and placed him beyond the tree line.
When the boy awoke, he was alone and somehow *warm*.
Inside, Pluto walked on.
***
At the glade's center stood a lake, black and still. At its center, rising from mirrored water, loomed *Morr'Keth*.
It was beautiful in a horrifying way—tall and skeletal, its flesh made of woven forest matter, a crown of branches growing through its skull. No mouth. No eyes. Yet it saw everything.
*"You walk untouched,"* the being said inside his mind.
*"Why?"*
"I am beyond your hunger."
Morr'Keth pulsed with curiosity.
*"You adapt. That is rare. You could serve."*
"I do not serve. I *erase*."
And with no warning, Pluto attacked.
***
The battle was psychological first.
Morr'Keth lashed at his mind with despair — manifesting illusions of the lives Pluto had never lived. Children. Lovers. Peace. Time. It showed him what he could never have.
But Pluto had already let those things die.
He moved without resistance.
Adapted to psionic erosion in seconds.
Then came the physical strike—roots sharp as iron, tendrils of darkness, clouds of sentient spores. The creature warped the lake itself into spears and rain. Trees screamed. The forest tried to *fold inward*, crushing him.
But Pluto did not yield.
He let it hit.
Each injury taught him more. The pain became a map. His flesh hardened. His limbs became fluid motion.
He found Morr'Keth's core—a pulsing black crystal buried beneath its chest—and drove his hand into it.
The being shrieked as its entire network spasmed.
And just like that, Svartgrove began to *die*.
***
By morning, the forest was ash. The glade, silent. Black bark peeled into dust, and green began returning to the edges.
The villagers would not find Pluto, but they would tell stories of a pale stranger who vanished into cursed woods, only for the curse to vanish days later.
They called him "The Winterfire."
He did not wait for thanks.
He walked north, into deeper snow, already sensing the next ripple in the world's unnatural blood
—-
A/N: I just wanted to post please manage with me for the time being thanks