In the grim battle against the Malignant One, Buren had witnessed makeshift troops, farmers with their crude tools, and elderly town militias who'd chosen to stand their ground rather than abandon their homes. Their intentions were as pure as spring water, but innocence alone couldn't repel the horror they faced, and their battles often concluded with the shedding of familial tears.

  Yet the pitiful procession trailing behind the Knights as they trudged towards the Ancient Forest made those pathetic troops seem like warriors of legend in comparison. Here, the destitute and starving staggered forward, many clutching scorched wooden sticks, their only defense. Shoes were a luxury few owned, and the despair in their eyes was tainted with an impotent rage. But it wasn't fury that put them on this path; it was the allure of promised daily rations.

  The truth, however, was a harsher reality. The collected provisions from the nobles' stores and the Faith's reserves would only last until they reached the forest, assuming they made haste. Upon arrival, they would then be informed of the situation. Tales of the forest's bountiful harvest, ripe for the taking, would be spun, and the commoners' minds filled with images of succulent fruits, vegetables, and even the alluring Dryads.

  The image of this desperate swarm descending upon the tranquil Grove sent chills down Buren's spine. But even this ghastly scene paled before the looming horror of the creatures from his dreams.

  Ensconced in his mobile command center, a grand pavilion in the Faith's colors of white and red, Buren prepared his gear. The wagon, drawn by a powerful sextet of horses, was topped with a carved symbol: a fist clutching an eye, signifying the unity of the Faith's branches.

  He meticulously sharpened his throwing daggers, arranging pouches of various substances onto a bandolier concealed beneath his cloak. The many pockets of his cloak were filled with practical items, all strategically placed. In the heart of Dryad territory, a moment's hesitation could mean death, and he needed every advantage he could grasp.

  "Those who return shall be hailed as heroes," Buren pondered, the term 'hero' bitter on his tongue, like a cruel jest. The motives of the famished and vengeful rabble were abhorrent, their impending actions unforgivable, yet their return laden with bounty would be a salvation for a starving city. Their deeds would be set to song by bards, their vile acts repackaged as heroic deeds. And yet, if saving so many of the unfortunate was not right, then what was? The question went unanswered, fueling his determination to forge ahead.

  The Knights of Penance formed the cutting edge of the makeshift levy, their polished armor and impressive stature a strategic play to strike terror into the hearts of their adversaries. Their impressive front masked the pitiful truth of the ill-equipped peasantry lurking behind their ranks. Even their steeds seemed to share their owners' vitality. Buren surmised that the Faith had been more frugal in handing out their reserves than they had led on, ensuring their mightiest warriors were well-nourished.

  To their left, the King's guards rode in formation, albeit their numbers were smaller, held back by their ruler's paranoid grip. The right flank was bolstered by city guards, a mixture of mounted and foot soldiers. Buren's wagon-tent trailed the vanguard, the crimson and white of the Faith waving above it.

  Inside the tent, his companion stirred beneath the plush blankets. Bringing Inanna along had triggered speculation and whispers among the ranks, even eliciting disapproval from some higher-ranked Knights. However, no one was in a position to challenge the decision of the man leading their campaign.

  Emeric, a figure of authority chosen by Buren, entered the tent. "We're making good time," he stated. "No opposition thus far." Buren gave a curt nod, "Yet, we bleed numbers. Some unfit to leave the city falter, others perish over food squabbles." A casual wave of his hand dismissed the subject.

  "But the more we number, the more the Dryads must split their focus," Emeric argued. "These losses shouldn't be in vain." Buren let out a sigh. "State that discord won't be tolerated. Make an example if needed. Those who falter wouldn't survive the forest, leave them be." Emeric looked as if he might argue, but thought better of it and retreated from the tent.

  "Not that we are losing anything valuable. Closer to animals, they are."

  Guilt jabbed at Buren's insides, "Who am I to judge their actions?" he mused. "Their current plight, fighting for scraps, is my doing." As they neared the Ancient Forest, he noticed a shift in the environment. The previously lush and welcoming vegetation growing at the forest's edge had turned foreboding and grim, and it wasn't just the winter's touch.

  The road was choked by dark, spiky undergrowth, the trees warped and shadowy. Peasants armed with sickles and machetes were set to work, hacking a path through the tangled mess. But the silence was soon shattered by anguished screams. Buren rode to investigate, only to be met with a grisly sight: the workers' skin had erupted into blistering rashes upon contact with the plant matter, their labored breathing a grating wheeze. As they tried to crawl away from the thicket, they succumbed one by one.

  Buren stood silent, a hooded specter amidst the chaos and corpses. "Have them moved," he instructed Emeric, his voice a whisper. "Ensure the next group is properly clothed." Emeric's gaze lingered on the twisted forms, tongues grotesquely swollen, hanging from their open mouths. "I doubt there'll be many volunteers," he responded. "Throw in an extra ration," Buren commanded, before turning his horse and retreating.

  Their journey into the forest deteriorated further. Once they managed to carve a path through the vicious thorn barrier, the weary travelers settled down to camp, chopping down trees for firewood. However, those seated closest to the flames and the emanating smoke soon began to cough violently, tears streaming from their eyes. This quickly escalated into violent seizures. The camp had to be relocated upwind.

  The following day brought even more bizarre sights. The trees they passed were twisted into grotesque shapes, like tormented humans imprisoned within the tree trunks. "A macabre showcase of the Dryads' craftsmanship," Buren mused, studying the frozen expressions of sheer terror etched onto the bark.

  The sight didn't faze the hardened fighters, but the peasants were visibly rattled. Their terrified whimpers echoed through the woods as they were ushered past the eerie wooden statues. All the while, the gargantuan First Tree at the forest's heart loomed ominously ahead, its intimidating presence growing more threatening with each passing day, much like a wrathful parent towering over her child.

  Despite the horrifying landscape, the horde managed to trudge forward, their hunger overpowering the terror. The gaunt figures stumbled forward, occasionally tripping over gnarled roots, some managed to rise again, others did not.

  Observing the grim parade from a nearby hill, a sudden, loud laughter erupted from Buren, his head thrown back in mirth. "What is it?" Emeric asked, disturbed by the unusual display.

  "I just realized," Buren replied, the laughter slowly subsiding, "This horde, it's eerily similar to the Fouled, the Malignant One's forces. I've lived long enough to become what I despise."

  Emeric, still troubled by Buren's manic outburst, suggested, "You should rest."

  Buren, however, waved him off, his demeanor returning to its usual sober mask. "No, I'm fine. Just a thought that struck me."

  Soon, they reached the boundary of the Ancient Forest. The formidable trees stood there, silently watching over the land. Waiting for them near the forest edge was the Elder Mother, the Dryad Buren had met previously. She stood with an imposing grace, her unblinking gaze coolly assessing the ravenous army before her. Buren dismounted his steed and approached her on foot.

  "In fallen grace doth mighty lie," she began, her voice like a wind rustling through the trees. Buren halted before her, silently waiting for her to continue. "Azure's tales, tales of a human bright and true, warmed the hearts of our trusting kin, dared us to believe in you. . Yet, here you stand, a twisted sight, a grievous blow, Azure's human beacon having lost its light."

  Buren responded, his voice low and steady, "Let us pass into your sacred lands, leaving behind the fruits of your trees. We won't pursue you. You have my word."

  "Retreat to where?" she retorted, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. "With winter's grasp, the plants to fuel us unprepared, our sustenance slows, our might seriously impaired. Either we defy you on our terrain, or in the untamed land, we are ensnared."

  "Then retreat deeper into the forest," Buren persisted, "I am here for the cliff alone. They will be sated with full bellies, at least for a time."

  "Nay," she declared, her voice resolute. "Thine kind have claimed too much from us already. After the envoy returned from thy capital, we let our kin choose: those wishing to flee could. Alas, only a scant few chose to flee."

  "You are dooming your people to another calamity," Buren declared, his voice heavy with regret.

  "Nay, it is your path that breeds this agony," she countered, her tone irrevocable. Buren averted his gaze for a moment, and when he met her stare again, there was an unexpected plea in his eyes. "Tell the Dryads who survive that once I have done what I must, I will free those in bondage and give them back what is rightfully theirs."

  Turning his back to her, he strode away, each step echoing the weight of his burden. The Dryad Elder watched him retreat, deep in thought. "A man so peculiar, so full of torment," she mused, "Perhaps striking us brings him pain, yet his side is amiss, his choices in vain. Even a viper, though true to its kind, must be met with force if to harm it's inclined."

  "So, war it is?" Emeric inquired as Buren returned to their ranks. Buren nodded in affirmation. "Arrange the first wave," he commanded. Emeric asked, "Should we open with a volley from the catapults?" Buren declined with a shake of his head. The unspoken question in Emeric's gaze was met with silence. "Well, this is your stage," he conceded, dropping the matter.

  Composed of the destitute and the frail, the first wave trembled at the sight of the Ancient Forest, a foreign and magical entity seemingly hostile to the intruders. A sense of dread was building among them, held at bay by the more formidable combatants standing at their rear, not for support, but to prevent any attempt at desertion. The trees moaned ominously, and the dense underbrush writhed as if infested with serpents, the very landscape weaving together to hinder their progress.

  "The men need a spark of hope," Emeric commented as they surveyed the ranks, riding in front of them. Buren hung his head low. He shared the sentiment, but found himself incapable of painting their mission in a heroic light. "Take on this task," he suggested to Emeric. "They hold more faith in you, anyway."

  Emeric, well-known among the ranks due to his duty as Buren's mouthpiece and his affable, jovial demeanor that helped ease the bitterness of harsh commands, agreed. "I'll do my best, and I hope there's a scribe among us who can preserve this moment for the bards," he replied, his grin returning. "Stay near, your presence alone inspires the men."

  Emeric drew in a deep breath, taking a moment to survey the sea of expectant faces before him. Raising his voice, he began, "Brave souls of our beleaguered city, our fate hangs in the balance on this very day. We stand at the precipice, the edge between salvation and despair, between the succor of full bellies and the gnawing torment of starvation.

  "We march not for conquest or glory, but for survival. The suffering we have endured, the hunger that gnawed at our guts, the hopelessness that darkened our spirits, it ends today! Today, we fight for our future, for our children, for our very right to live!

  "Who are we to fight against, you ask? The Dryads! Creatures of ancient lore, who, as the unerring teachings of the Faith tell us, are beings of unyielding malevolence. Creatures that have for too long drained the land of its natural bounty, keeping it to themselves while we, its rightful inheritors, starve.

  "Do not be fooled by their allure, their seeming harmony with the natural world. They are not our friends, not our allies. They are our oppressors, living in opulence while we languish in squalor. Today, we will rectify that!

  "Heroes! That is what you will be called when we return triumphant. For standing against an ancient enemy in the name of survival, for braving the odds and fighting not just for yourselves, but for the survival of all our people. It is a heavy burden, but it is one we bear with pride and determination.

  "The city's state is desperate, our plight seemingly endless. But imagine, my friends, a city reborn. A city where hunger is a ghost of the past, where our people thrive, and joy and laughter fill the streets. This is what we fight for today!

  "We shall bring the Dryads under our yoke once again, force them to relinquish their unnatural hold on our land, and restore the natural balance. With their power harnessed for the benefit of mankind, the city will flourish once more.

  "Stand firm, stand strong. Today, we march not just for ourselves, but for all mankind. Today, we make history. Today, we reclaim our destiny!"

  His voice echoed over the silent crowd, then a roar of agreement burst forth, a renewed sense of purpose igniting in the hearts of the desperate men and women. Buren watched from the sidelines, his face unreadable, but inside, his heart ached with a deep sorrow. Yet, he knew he had no choice but to lead his people in this dire endeavor.

  Emeric turned to look at Buren, his eyes gleaming with a fierce determination. "And fear not, for we do not stand alone in this battle. With us, we have the Bearer of the Gauntlet, the man who single-handedly - and quite literally," he added with a wry grin, "defeated The Malignant One."

  A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, a brief moment of levity in the face of impending doom. Emeric waited for the echoes of laughter to die down before continuing, "Today, we get to be part of another legendary feat. Today, we fight alongside the Hero of the Grey Battle!"

  His gaze once again found Buren, a silent expectation in his eyes. With a sigh, Buren raised the Gauntlet high above his head. A cheer erupted from the crowd, fists pumping in the air in response.

  Emboldened, Emeric shouted, "Stand with the Hero of the Grey Battle! Stand for your families, for your city! For survival!"

  Buren brought his metal arm down decisively, the arch pointing towards the forest, like a judge marking the start of a footrace. The men took their cue, their collective roar piercing the heavy silence of the Forest as they charged forward.

  The men plunged into the forest, their freshly issued blades cleaving through the thick undergrowth with ease. As they delved deeper into the seemingly sentient woods, they cast around flaming oil bottles to keep the encroaching greenery at bay. The oily flames devoured the brush and vines with alarming speed, creating a smoky path through the forest.

  "Your plan appears to be working," Emeric observed, watching the determined throng of men push forward. Buren, however, remained silent. To him, they resembled an army of ants attacking a human foot, unaware of the inevitability of their own crushing defeat.

  As the first wave of men penetrated deeper into the forest, the greenery they had left smoldering behind began to resurrect itself. The vines and shrubs that had seemed beaten back animated again, re-weaving into an impenetrable wall that blocked their retreat. Buren watched as the tops of the towering trees began to shake, the gargantuan plants twisting their trunks and branches as if coming to life. Even without direct sight, Buren knew that their roots were likely snaking through the underbrush, seeking out his men to crush them.

  The screams of terror and agony that erupted from the dark depths of the forest confirmed his fears. The underbrush rustled and thrashed violently as trapped men struggled desperately to free themselves. But the more they struggled, the tighter the thorny vines constricted around them. One by one, they fell silent, their lifeless bodies suspended in the malevolent grip of the forest.

  "Give the order to fire the catapults," Buren commanded, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  "But our men..." Emeric began to protest, his gaze darting between Buren and the raging forest.

  "They are already lost," Buren cut him off, his tone as cold as winter's grasp. "Fire now, before the Dryads retreat deeper into the forest."

  With a grimace of reluctant acceptance, Emeric signaled to the commander of the catapult regiment stationed on a hill behind their ranks. The command was relayed swiftly and, within moments, a barrage of fiery projectiles soared through the air, hurtling towards the heart of the forest.

  Upon impact, the barrels shattered against the ancient trunks, their contents catching fire from the burning wicks attached to their sides. An inferno erupted, quickly consuming the section of the forest. The towering trees writhed and released a series of horrifying, almost human-like screams. The Dryads, trapped within the burning wooden hosts, were in mortal agony.

  "Destroy the Dryad's tree, and you destroy the Dryad," Buren mused to himself. His plan was dark but pragmatic. If they had ample oil supply, he would've torched his way all the way to the Holy Grounds. But given the scarcity of resources, he had to rely on more targeted assaults, first sending in men to lure in the Dryad defenders, the bombing the area once the Dryads had concentrated there. That meant sacrificing more of his men, and more of the Dryads. But that was the hand he had been dealt, and it was all he had to play with.

  Their troops plunged deeper into the forest, their path marked by fire and destruction. Every inch of advancement was bought with the blood of their soldiers. They succumbed to the deadly snares of the forest — venomous plants, strangling vines, and poison-tipped arrows flying from unseen assassins in the canopy above.

  Once the expendable vanguard had somewhat pacified the area, the main phalanx moved in. They painstakingly dragged the heavy catapults with them, knowing they would have no clear line of sight from outside the woodland.

  Buren understood the perilous game they were playing. Each stride deeper into the wilderness tilted the scales further in favor of the Dryads. He was well aware that their tactic was to lure the enemy into the heart of the forest, into the very midst of plants under their influence. But they had no choice.

  Their initial intrusion into the forest had been met with limited resistance, but Buren knew the worst was yet to come. A fiercer counterattack from the Dryads was inevitable before they could reach the sanctity of the Grove.

  The night had fallen, and their camp settled into a restless slumber. Buren, in a semi-conscious haze, was jolted awake by the urgent sound of warning horns. He hurried out of his tent, still clad in his battle gear, ready for immediate action.

  The ground beneath them trembled, and the surrounding forest appeared to be animated. The trees swayed and twisted as if under the control of an unseen puppeteer. Soldiers, still half-asleep and disoriented, stumbled out of their tents, only to be swiftly felled by a sudden volley of arrows.

  Panic swept through the camp as the reality of their predicament set in. The fist of the forest was closing, about to crush them within.

  All unfolded precisely as Buren had foreseen. "Initiate operation lightshow," he commanded to the officers nearby, his gaze seeking the absent Emeric. "Sir!" they responded in unison, swiftly rushing off to execute his orders.

  A towering pillar in the camp's center abruptly shot upwards as its counterweight was released, and a dazzling radiance bathed the clearing. At the pinnacle of the pillar, a specialized glowstone, nestled in a flaming brazier, intensified its luminosity under the influence of the intense heat. Although not overpowering, the brightness was enough to dazzle the Dryads stationed at the forest edge, making their aim akin to shooting arrows into the sun.

  Simultaneously, plumes of orange-tinted smoke began to rise around the perimeter of the camp, marking the second phase of the strategy. The soldiers ignited stacks of carefully prepared powder, and the thin, glowing clouds gently wafted into the air. The windless night proved fortuitous; while the smoke screen was too thin to provide concealment, it wasn't intended for that purpose.

  Suddenly, an object disrupted the smoke layer, slicing through the ethereal film, leaving a visible trail. A heartbeat later, more soldiers fell, clearly marking the origin of the silent attack. "There!" Buren identified the source, made perceptible by the hovering haze.

  The catapults rotated on their platforms, launching a barrage of oil barrels towards the identified target. Upon impact, the barrels erupted, the trees immediately consumed by voracious flames. Buren watched as the silhouettes of flaming Dryads plummeted from the treetops, making him avert his gaze.

  The forest seemed to rise and march forward, trees uprooting themselves to rumble menacingly toward the encampment, their massive forms flattening men, tents, and horses alike. The operators of the catapults fought fiercely, launching flame after flame, yet their efforts had limited effect. Their monstrous foes attacked from all angles, too quickly for the men to reload and respond effectively. Buren watched as a flaming barrel arced through the air, only to be swatted away by the lithe branch of an enemy, a stark reminder that the Dryads had dispatched their most skilled warriors to the front line.

  In a fleeting moment, Buren found himself wondering if Azure was among the assailants before hastily pushing the thought aside; he couldn't afford any additional distractions or conflicts.

  Mimicking human tactics, a nimble birch outside the camp perimeter twisted its crown to the ground, its branches enveloping a large stone. With a resounding groan, it snapped upright, catapulting the stone into one of their machines and obliterating it upon impact. As more stones rained down on the catapult regiment, Buren's grim realization was clear: the Dryads were using human strategies against them. His only hope was that this would mark the limit of the Dryads' learning from human tactics, for he feared that more human influence would only further corrupt their inherent goodness.

  "Commence operation anchor!" he roared to his men, confident that the order would be swiftly relayed through the impeccably established chain of command. Knights saddled their horses and charged towards the colossal trunks, each bearing a chain with a hooked end. With impressive skill, they swirled the chains to gather momentum before launching them at the trees, the sharp hooks sinking deep into the bark.

  Next, they rode in rapid circles around their targets, winding the chains taut around the towering trunks. Once secure, they galloped towards stout poles that had been driven into the ground at regular intervals earlier in the day. Each pole, equipped with barbed teeth, was virtually impossible to dislodge without digging away the surrounding soil.

  The knights tossed the ends of their chains to waiting men by the poles, who quickly fastened them, effectively anchoring the tree-bound Dryads. As chains crisscrossed the battlefield, restricting movement, the once advancing phalanx of verdant warriors found themselves effectively immobilized.

  The wooden behemoths strained against their chains, their movements creating a haunting symphony of creaks and groans. One unfortunate Knight, unable to release his chain quickly enough, was swept through the air like a stone at the end of a sling when the chained tree yanked forcefully. His body hit the trunk with a sickening thud, hanging limply amidst the swaying branches.

  Taking in account the isolated groups of concealed archers and the ensconced Dryads within their timber fortresses, and the need to burn their path ahead in the coming days, Buren had recognized that they would run out of oil before they could reduce these arboreal warriors to ash. Thus, he had engineered another plan.

  From his command post on top of a hill in the heart of the camp, he held out the Gauntlet towards one of the shackled tree warriors, fingers spread wide. He noted a faint tremor near the top of the tree, a pulse where the majority of the branches sprung forth. A place akin to the human heart, he mused, mentally marking the spot.

  A soldier came forth at Buren's outstretched hand and placed a solid metal spear in his grasp. "A ballista would be too slow, too inflexible," Buren thought, narrowly avoiding a rock that sailed towards him from the shrubbery. With careful aim at the spot he had previously discerned, he braced his feet, lowered his center of gravity, and with a powerful thrust, launched the spear across the battlefield.

  Like a bolt of judgment, it pierced the tree warrior, the tip exiting the other side. The tree shuddered, its leaves shaking violently before falling into stillness. An uncanny shower of leaves began, at first a trickle, then a downpour. "That seems to have hit the mark," he thought grimly.

  The other tree-bound Dryads reacted with palpable shock, their branches stretching wide, leaves standing on end reminiscent of a terrified cat. "Another," he commanded, extending his open palm towards the soldier beside him. Two more spears were launched, eviscerating the warriors who had deemed themselves invincible within their barken armor.

  Realizing they were simply awaiting a death sentence, many of the Dryad warriors fled their wooden sanctuaries, only to be met by the unyielding numbers of Buren's men. Despite their prowess, they fell victim to the overwhelming force, their noble resistance smothered under a tide of human cunning.

  Buren watched as a Dryad found herself encircled, the men jabbing at her with their spears. She snarled defiantly, spinning and slashing with her daggers, but the odds were against her. As the men took in the sight of the young woman - her tunic hiked high to expose long, graceful legs - their expressions shifted from fear and aggression to predatory grins, their eyes glinting with unsettling anticipation. All around the camp, similar scenes were unfolding with her sisters.

  But before these men could overpower the Dryads, a disturbance rippled through the veil of orange smoke on one side of the camp. A whirlwind of leaves, as lethal as shrapnel, burst forth, obliterating the closest cluster of men before they had time to comprehend the threat. Buren recognized the devastating maneuver as the Elder Mother's handiwork, a deadly dance he had once witnessed on the Holy Grounds.

  The hardened leaves, honed as sharp as razorblades, swirled harmlessly around the besieged Dryad, leaving her untouched but splattered with the blood of the dismembered men. Seizing the opportunity, she darted towards the relative safety of the woodland fringe as the leafy vortex advanced to its next group of victims.

  "Implement 'Horns'," Buren instructed a nearby runner, relinquishing his position and darting towards the source of the deadly vortex. The courier would disseminate his directive, leaving Emeric to manage the overarching conflict while Buren took to the front lines where his unique abilities were desperately needed.

  He propelled himself into the trees with a powerful Gauntlet-assisted leap, moving through the branches with the nimbleness of a forest squirrel. The path carved by the whirlwind was clearly visible - plants hacked down, tree trunks scarred - enabling him to track the source with ease.

  He soon came upon the Elder Dryad, her arms spread wide and eyes vacant as she manipulated the deadly whirlwind. Nearby stood Leva and two other Dryads he'd previously encountered in the city; their skin hues of vibrant purple and crimson, brandishing punch daggers and a whip-like vine respectively. He halted on a high branch.

  "The time for diplomacy has passed," he thought, drawing back, preparing to launch a stone at the unsuspecting Elder with a lethal flick of the Gauntlet's wrist.

  But just as he was about to release the projectile, the branch beneath him contorted abruptly, sending him spiraling towards the ground. He managed to orient himself mid-fall, his claws sinking into the tree trunk to arrest his descent. Wheeling around, he noticed the Gauntlet had perfectly accommodated his sudden shift in weight, ensuring that the stone would have struck the Elder squarely had the purple-skinned Dryad not intervened, throwing herself between the projectile and the Elder. The purple-skinned warrior now lay on the forest floor, writhing in pain, her hand clutching her back where the stone had lodged, fracturing her spine just between her shoulder blades. Her sisters rushed to her aid, their faces stricken with panic.

  The Elder snapped out of her trance, her eyes widening in horror at the sight of her injured comrade before narrowing dangerously as she spotted Buren's silhouette looming overhead.

  With a swift release, Buren descended from the tree, his body relaxed and poised for the impact. His Gauntlet crashed heavily onto the forest floor, absorbing the brunt of the force as he landed in a tripoint stance from his great fall, his landing stirring a cloud of dust around him. Shrouded by his cloak, he rose to his full height, his formidable, dark figure a stark contrast against the female fighters'.

  "Fiend of night, ye art cursed," the Elder declared, her voice like rustling leaves. "Our weaknesses we shared, and thus we erred, the trust of Azure, she be lured, now our doom, it might be ensured, as this knowledge you abused. Live by the sword, die by the sword, this I vow, by the ancient word."

  With a swift downward motion, leaves poured down from the surrounding trees, not falling gently like typical leaves but plummeting with violent force, akin to sharp icicles. Buren launched himself sideways as the leaves stabbed the ground, their trajectory shifting in his pursuit. He barely stayed ahead of the leafy whirlwind that threatened to shred him to ribbons.

  In mid-stride, he flung another projectile at the Elder, a dagger this time, but Leva was ready, interposing herself and deftly knocking the dagger out of its path with her staff - an impressive feat given the force of the Gauntlet. Leva and her crimson-skinned companion stretched their arms towards him, and the saplings and vines sprung to life, barring his path.

  He leapt towards the sky, propelling himself from tree to tree in rapid ascension. But the branches contorted, hindering his progress. He could have hacked his way through in mere moments, but with the trail of deadly foliage behind him, he knew he wouldn't have the time. He barely dodged the swirling leaf storm, the closest edges grazing his skin, and tumbled back to ground level. Rolling to absorb the impact, he immediately sprang back to his feet, but his breath was coming in ragged gasps. He couldn't sustain this pace for much longer.

  "What's the matter?" Leva taunted, morphing her staff into a bow and letting loose an arrow in his direction. He deflected it mid-air with the Gauntlet. "Brother, why the need to scatter? Thought yourself so strong, Could the decision to take on three strong warriors at once have been wrong?"

  "Time to level the playing field, then!" roared a voice from above, giving the Dryads just enough time to glance upwards before a massive figure plunged into their midst. The robust, red figure swung its heavy fists, sending each of the Dryads sprawling in different directions. As the Elder tumbled, the leaves she controlled lost their force and fell gently to the ground. The muscular creature rose to its full height, showing off a row of long, sharp teeth in a triumphant grin.

  "What's the problem?" daemoness-Inanna taunted Leva. "Thought making rhymes would see you through? Seems like a bad move in hindsight, wouldn't you agree?"

  Leva pushed herself to her feet, clutching her ribs. "Despicable creature, you have no place here. Though it's no surprise that you and Buren make a good pair."

  "Hear that, darling?" the daemoness chirped at Buren. "Guess it's true that couples start to resemble each other over time."

  Buren remained silent, focusing on the fact that once she outlived her usefulness, he'd get rid of the daemoness, and deal with Inanna as well.

  As Inanna advanced towards Leva, enormous roots burst from the ground, wrapping tightly around her. Simultaneously, the ground beneath her feet collapsed, swallowing her whole. Buren noticed that the Elder had been feigning unconsciousness and used her contact with the ground to cast the trap spell.

  "Bury her deep," Leva yelled.

  "Nay," the Elder moaned, "this snare will not last. We must go the Grove, and fast. There, our power united, we can this monster have annihilated. Aid thy sister, move along—"

  A sudden move from Buren cut her off. Leva lunged too late to shield the Elder from Buren's thrown dagger, which lodged itself into the back of the Elder's skull. Her face hit the ground, eyes wide open.

  "No!" Both remaining Dryads cried out, falling to their knees next to the Elder's lifeless body.

  Leva turned to Buren, her eyes aflame with a hatred born from a longstanding distaste for humans, now at its peak. "You will regret this," she promised, reaching for her weapon.

  Before she could make a move, a clawed arm shot up from the ground, wrapping around the purple-skinned Dryad's thigh and breaking it in its vice-like grip. The Dryad collapsed to the ground with a scream, and the daemoness-Inanna emerged from the hole. She looked at the dead Elder and flashed a cruel smile. "Did I miss something important?"

  She lifted the Dryad by the leg, dangling her upside down so that they were eye level. "Do you know how dirt tastes?" she asked the warrior. Before the Dryad could respond, she slammed her face-first into the ground, her bones shattering and piercing through the flesh in a spray of blood. "Now you do," the daemoness said, and brought her heel down of the back of her prone form for good measure.

  The daemoness turned to Leva. "These toys didn't last," she said. "I'll take my time with you." Buren's Gauntlet gripped another dagger. He would end it quickly for her, a small mercy amidst the carnage.

  But Leva was not done fighting. She sprang upwards, her staff morphing into a spear in mid-leap, and drove it towards the daemoness' eye. The daemoness recoiled with a growl, clutching at her wounded eye. Leva twisted in the air, gesturing to a nearby birch that bent like a drawn bow, parrying the dagger Buren had hurled. With a swift grab of the branches, she let the tree catapult her into the canopy. In mid-flight, her spear transmuted back into a bow, releasing a pair of arrows at her adversaries. Buren sidestepped his while the daemoness shrugged off hers, her hardened magical skin impervious.

  "I rather like her," the daemoness murmured, already healing, her gaze fixed on the fleeing warrior. "I think I'll have her stuffed and keep her as a soft toy." Her eye, which she had bruised, was already healing.

  "Return to your tent," Buren instructed, his voice a steely command. "Stay there until I say otherwise."

  "And just when I was getting turned on," she said. "Are you sure you don't want to release some steam? Few things better than doing it on top of the bodies of your enemies."

  "Remember," Buren growled. "I can always take back my decision to suffer your existence. If you don't do as I say, you'll soon lie among them, but you'll go from heated to cold as stone in no time."

  "Your loss," she taunted, but nonetheless obeyed his command, disappearing into the treetops.

  Buren surveyed the scene one last time. The fallen red-skinned Dryad wasn't dead, but slowly healing herself by drawing energy from the surrounding flora. He approached her cautiously. Up close, he could see the fear prickling on her skin. He leaned close, his voice barely above a whisper, "Don't come back. Take as many as you can, especially the young ones, and hide."

  Her wide eyes turned towards him, the only movement she dared. But he was already retreating, convincing himself, "If she succeeds, it will be fewer enemies to face." He shook off a pang of guilt, "I did not do it out of sympathy. Of course not..."

  On foot, Buren retraced his steps to the battlefield. The uproarious symphony of war — the explosive roar of oil barrels, the dolorous groans of uprooted trees, the metallic clamor of clashing weapons, and the defiant cries of soldiers — had ebbed away, supplanted by the anguished wails of the injured and the exultant cheers of survivors. A pungent smell of smoke pervaded the air, reaching him before he entered the fray. The delicate snow blanket had given way to patches of scorched earth, the grass beneath blackened from spilled flaming oil.

  A group of Dryads knelt in the clearing, their limbs bound by chains, a sobering sight amidst the chaos. Emeric had assumed command over the captured, ensuring their safety despite some having suffered at the hands of the men prior to his intervention. The perimeter of the clearing told a grisly tale of the battle, with mangled and mutilated bodies of fallen soldiers strewn across the field, a grim testament to the ferocity of the conflict.

  "The remaining Dryads managed to escape," Emeric reported as Buren joined him by his command tent.

  Buren nodded, "We'll set up camp until dawn. We'll retrieve the incapacitated on our return."

  Emeric grimaced, "Won't they be vulnerable out here?"

  "Dryads aren't foolish enough to waste energy on men who can't fight," Buren reasoned. "After their defeat, they'll likely consolidate their strength at the Grove, their last bastion."

  In his mind, he added, "And that is exactly what I'm banking on." The intruders had demonstrated their strength, showing they could hold their own, even on the Dryad's home turf, making further assaults risky. They would likely want to preserve their warriors by taking on their enemy in the very heart of their power.

  About to depart, Buren paused at the threshold of his pavilion. "Commend the men on a battle well fought," he told Emeric, the words bitter in his mouth.

  "Will do," Emeric nodded in understanding.

  With the dawn breaking, they left their wounded behind in makeshift encampments, each accompanied by a meager ration supply. The relentless march towards the heart of the forest, guided by the First Tree, pressed onward. The pioneers tirelessly took turns at clearing the path, setting alight obstacles to make way for the cumbersome war machines. These catapults required dismantling and carriage over the difficult terrain, and their reassembly would assuredly delay their subsequent assault.

  The deeper they ventured into the forest, the more they encountered its abundant fauna. Birds, deer, rabbits, all unaccustomed to human interference, and thus reacting to them with curiosity rather than fear, presented themselves as easy meals for the ravenous soldiers, an unexpected bounty that significantly lifted their spirits. The captured Dryads, shackled with iron collars, remained under careful supervision. Buren had strictly warned against any harm coming to them, under threat of being nailed to a tree and being left to die of exposure. This stark deterrent kept any predatory advances in check.

  Instead, the Dryads were made to harness their power for the benefit of their captors, coaxing sustenance from the earth to feed the men. It was clear that their subjugation, particularly after tasting the freedom of the recent past, was a fate worse than death for them. Buren was acutely aware of their predicament and recognized that their plight would worsen once he handed over control to his superiors. Nonetheless, an army cannot march on an empty stomach. The men, glimpsing their future ease with the Dryads bending to their hunger and desires, were further emboldened.

  However, when one Dryad poisoned the fruit she had cultivated from a tree, Buren, stiving for all the detachment he could muster, ordered her to be made an example of. Her pained screams echoed into the night, serving as a stark lesson to her fellow Dryads who thereafter caused no further mischief. Buren had listened as well, the shrieks now seeming to echo in the vast emptiness he felt inside him.

  As they advanced towards the forest's heart, the landscape underwent a stark transformation. The thick blanket of snow receded, replaced by lush greenery, vibrant blossoms, and a palpable rise in temperature. Buren swapped his heavy winter attire for lighter clothing, still clad in his signature boots, black leather pants, jacket over a tunic, and a dark hooded cloak. He had anticipated the climatic transition, well aware that areas with potent magical influences often experienced heightened temperatures, the energies heating the very air. Dryadic magic would amplify this effect, turning the heart of the forest into a verdant oasis. He figured the only reason there had been winter in the first place was that the Dryads wished to honor every type of natural phase.

  While the flourishing flora created a breathtaking spectacle, it also revealed the Dryads' heightened powers. Their magical prowess was evident in the steel-like vines obstructing their path. The men's machetes rebounded harmlessly off these formidable barriers, grinding their advance to a halt. Buren ordered the captive Dryads to dismantle the enchantments. Initially, they resisted fiercely, even as executioner's axe loomed inches away from their necks. But they couldn't endure watching their sisters tortured and finally yielded, neutralizing the barriers.

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  With the path cleared, Buren, who had been orchestrating the ordeal, retreated to his tent. He was feverish and gasping for breath, his skin crawled with phantom insects, while the real ones buzzed around his face.

  Inanna sat on her bed, hands delicately poised on her knees. "I could alleviate your suffering," she purred seductively. "Grant you respite from your pain." Buren shook his head. He pondered, "Why should I merit relief from pain when they have no such choice?"

  Inanna persisted. "To ensure our victory, you need to be at your peak," she continued, extending her hands towards him. "You know how crucial our success is." But Buren remained unmoved. She dropped her hands in defeat, her face puckering into a pout, and she flung herself onto the bed dramatically. "Every other man would give anything for what I offer," she lamented, "Yet, I remain devoted to you alone. This must be real love."

  As they closed within an hour's march of the Grove, Buren commanded his men to reassemble the catapults and remain on high alert. He anticipated that the final battle, undoubtedly the most brutal, would unfold here. However, he could not foresee the extent of the Dryads' potential at their prime. Consequently, his strategy entailed keeping his forces united to prevent them from being picked off individually, while also maintaining mobility to evade area-wide attacks. Buren recognized that he and his daemonic bride would probably have to undertake a significant portion of the fighting themselves.

  However, upon reaching the outskirts of the Grove, they encountered an unforeseen barrier. Towering trees, side by side, created an impenetrable, continuous wall encircling the Grove. Their axes were futile against the unyielding bark, and even the Gauntlet could barely scratch the surface. The captive Dryads also proved incapable of shaping an entry point. They eventually collapsed from exhaustion, explaining that the barrier was imbued with the collective strength of their kind—it was like a game of tug of war, where they were vastly outnumbered. Attempts to dig under the wall were quickly thwarted as the roots were found to be just as sturdy as the trunks, extending wide and deep, making an underground tunnel implausible.

  "So, this is their plan?" Emeric questioned in the command pavilion as he and Buren studied rough maps of the area, illuminated by the soft glow of glowstones. "To simply wait it out?"

  "Can they seriously still harbor hopes of resolving this without further bloodshed?" Inanna scoffed, the tone of her voice indicating her derision for such a concept. Buren sighed. "That's likely their strategy," he mused silently.

  "But they likely also wish to hurry things along," Buren mused inwardly.

  His hypothesis was confirmed as dusk descended, and the camp still deliberated over their next move. A thunderous, droning hum abruptly disrupted their discussion. Emerging from the tent, they arrived just in time to witness swarms of insects envelop the camp, assailing the panicking men who dashed about in terror, writhing in agony.

  A sudden sting caused Buren to reflexively swat at his neck. Upon inspection of his hand, he found a grotesque, engorged wasp—its green innards now staining his palm. The site of the sting on his neck rapidly blistered. "Start fires," Buren commanded, swiftly knocking a torch into a pile of discarded branches and leaves, intended to clear the campgrounds. "Use the smoke."

  His orders were swiftly propagated via the efficient network of runners, and soon enough, smoke billowed throughout the camp. Soldiers ignited whatever they could—grass, branches torn from trees, even clothing torn from their backs. The hornets quickly became lethargic, clumsily plummeting to the ground, unable to regain flight, and were promptly squashed underfoot. Men brandished smoking bundles of green branches, waving them vigorously to further dispel the insects.

  As the smoke dissipated and the insects dispersed, their magical control evidently broken, the horrifying aftermath came into view. The unfortunate victims lay piled atop one another, their skin grotesquely swollen to resemble toad-like protrusions. Overseeing the devastation, Buren realized he needed to devise a plan—quickly—lest he run out of men to command.

  The Dryads' assault from within their barricaded sanctuary was far from over. The overhead trees suddenly blossomed, discharging a dense cloud of pollen that descended upon the camp like a veil of flour. Those who inhaled it were lulled into a slumber so deep, they eventually ceased breathing altogether. Buren managed to revive a few with his red lotus powder, but they were forced to leave the rest behind as they rapidly relocated the camp.

  As they attempted to transport the catapults, however, the machines disintegrated. Resigned, Buren made the call to abandon them. Upon later inspection, he discovered they had been consumed by oversized termites, their mandibles snapping shut like scissor blades as they feasted on the wooden beams.

  Upon reaching their new campsite, Buren ordered the men to fell trees and construct replacements, despite the knowledge that what they had lost could not be quickly regained. As if they had not suffered enough, the following day saw the camp assaulted by an enchanted bear. Its fur was coarse and tough, akin to steel wool, and its claws and teeth tore through steel armor. It rampaged through the ranks of the knights before finally being stopped by the might of the Gauntlet. Buren smashed its teeth down its throat and shoved the metal arm down its gullet, tearing apart anything within reach with the razor-sharp talons. The bear convulsed and fell, its blood and the remains of the soldiers it had devoured coating Buren.

  "Get ready to move," Buren told Inanna as he entered their tent, discarding his gore-soaked garments into the wash basin. "We're going to have to infiltrate and find a way to retaliate."

  Inanna regarded him pensively. "I know you're willing to die for your cause, but I have too much to live for."

  "Then get up, or I'll end your life right now."

  She rolled her eyes, but complied. "Threats like that are certainly one way to rouse a girl."

  Once Buren was equipped with a fresh set of gear, they ventured out of the camp and into the forest, with Buren leaving Emeric in charge and providing him with some directives.

  "If we're attacked again while you're gone," the knight stated, "there's little we can do to resist."

  "Just try to keep as many alive as you can," Buren responded.

  Once they were out of sight of even their most remote sentries, Inanna transformed into her daemonic form, and they swiftly navigated through the trees at a breakneck pace.

  As a cacophony of shouts echoed from the direction of the camp, it was clear that Emeric had initiated the attack Buren ordered. The aim was to draw the Dryads' focus, buying them some time, but the imminent counterstrike would undoubtedly wreak havoc on Buren's forces. Thus, time was of the essence. Buren, accompanied by the demonic Inanna, ascended the formidable wooden wall, eventually reaching the expansive canopy.

  From their lofty viewpoint, Buren could see the transformations within the Grove. Large roots, extensions of the First Tree, protruded from the earth, pulsating with a stream of ethereal light. The trees composing the impenetrable barrier appeared to sprout from these roots. He scrutinized the scene with the Gauntlet, sensing an overwhelming surge of magical energy converging at the colossal tree at the heart of the Grove.

  "What do you see?" Buren questioned Inanna, whose formidable figure caused the branches beneath her to bow.

  "The Dryads have manipulated the currents of magic, focusing them around there," she said, indicating the towering arboreal centerpiece.

  "And?" Buren prompted her further.

  "The phenomenon mirrors the magical shield that encases my flesh – a natural flow of magic redirected achieve an effect."

  "Can this redirection be undone, like your protection?" he inquired.

  "You can undo my weaves any time you want, just say the word," she purred.

  Buren's frown was his only response, prompting her to add, "Yes, if you locate the nodes where the magic converges and sever them, the enchantment should break."

  "I can't blindly fumble around for these junctions," Buren stated. "It would be a waste of time. Can you pinpoint them?"

  She squinted, scrutinizing the distant landscape. "Yes, I believe so. However, from my assessment, these key junctions are nestled within the tree itself."

  Buren furrowed his brow. "How can that be?

  "The tree is a physical barrier, while the magical flows exist in another plane," she clarified. "It poses an obstacle to us, not the unstoppable magic flow."

  Buren stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "Yet, a Dryad would face no obstruction from the timber," he mused aloud.

  "Yes, they likely achieved this by placing their kind within the trunk. It would require a Dryad to reach them and untangle the magical knots."

  Buren surveyed the scene, weighing his options. He noted a small contingent of Dryad warriors assembling by the wall, preparing to counter the attack from his forces. The Dryads gathered briefly before melding into the wall one by one, an ominous sign of the impending counterattack. The solution to their predicament had already presented itself in his mind, like an intrusive thought or bile rising up his throat.

  "Could you seize control of a Dryad to dispel this effect?" he asked, a hint of apprehension creeping into his tone.

  Her grin widened, eyes glowing like embers in the dark. "She would undeniably resist possession, so I'd need your assistance in accomplishing the task." Buren's lip curled distastefully. "What exactly would I need to do?"

  "You'd have to create sigils, place certain items within them, and chant particular magical incantations, which would redirect the magical currents, opening a pathway into their minds despite their resistance," she explained. Her expression then fell into one of resignation. "However, considering our current predicament, I doubt we could pull this off. Where are we going to find ritual catalysts like rotten eggs and an umbilical cord at this hour?"

  "So it's impossible then?" Buren inquired.

  Her eyes sparked with a cunning glint, as though she'd been awaiting his exact words. A foreboding feeling settled in Buren's gut; he had a hunch he wouldn't appreciate her impending suggestion. "Well," she began, her voice laced with mischief, akin to a cat toying with its cornered prey, "there is an alternate route."

  "Spit it out," he demanded, eager to get it over with.

  "If you could manage to put her in an open state of mind, where she forgets all her inhibitions and even her very self, I could utilize that receptive moment to infiltrate her mind," she elaborated, her gaze averted as though she were merely verbalizing a fleeting thought. "Considering the potent magical currents here, it might work."

  Buren closed his eyes, the weight of the situation sinking in. "And how am I supposed to achieve that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  "You're a handsome man. Surely, you know a trick or two to help a lady 'open up'," she chuckled, the sound holding an ominous echo, a resonance akin to chilling reverberations from the abyssal depths of Tartarus. She then slapped her forehead as if recalling a forgotten detail. "Oh, and isn't your dear sweetheart somewhere around here? She could be our best shot."

  Buren was silent, having already anticipated her unsavory proposition. What she proposed would be a new low, even for him. But was there any other way? Was there any sense in turning back now? To make meaningless all the sacrifices he, and all those he had used in his schemes, had endured?

  He distanced his mind from his body, attempting to become a detached observer of his own predicament. His speech felt alien, as if he was a puppet uttering words while he watched from afar.

  "Azure's dwelling is over there," he murmured, pointing towards the peculiar tree with sky-blue leaves and purplish bark. "Follow me."

  Azure had surrounded her abode with a circle of saplings, their trunks adorned with flourishing garlands of vibrant flowers. Buren, however, was oblivious to their enchanting beauty; his attention was solely focused on their potential to provide cover from prying eyes. They stealthily moved through the village, concealed under a dome of invisibility weaved by the daemoness.

  "You never mentioned you could do this," Buren grumbled as they advanced. Due to the limited size of the protective dome, they were forced to crouch, resulting in the daemoness bent awkwardly over him, her heated breath against his neck and the unsettling sensation of her stomach and breasts brushing against his back.

  "Well, no woman reveals all her secrets right away," she countered. "For instance, I didn't mention I could have easily expanded this bubble."

  Buren shot her a disgruntled look. "Why didn't you, then?"

  She merely smirked. "And miss the opportunity to get a little closer to you? Not a chance."

  As they reached the outskirts of Azure's dwelling, Buren stepped out from the magical cloak, leaving the daemoness hidden beyond the boundary of Azure's flower-adorned saplings. Up close, the central tree looked forlorn, its branches drooping, its leaves limp. "Can a tree be sad?" Buren wondered fleetingly, before shaking off the whimsical thought. "No time for such nonsense. It must be something else."

  With a growing sense of dread, he approached the purple-barked tree, his legs feeling as heavy and unyielding as timber. Uncertain how to announce his presence, he rapped lightly on the bark.

  Initially, there was a subtle stirring of leaves, then a sudden, vigorous rustling that reminded Buren of a slumbering person abruptly awakened, first opening their eyes drowsily before springing from their bed in realization of unexpected company.

  The tree's bark undulated like water's surface, and Azure burst forth, seizing him by the lapels and dragging him down onto his knees. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, her gaze darting around for potential eavesdroppers.

  Buren's focus was entirely on her: he noticed with immense relief that there were no visible signs of enduring injury from their last encounter, and other than an apparent exhaustion, she seemed to be unharmed.

  Buren's relief and delight at seeing her intact remained even when he felt the cold sting of a blade pressed against his throat. "One swift move of my hand, and I could eliminate a host of problems," Azure declared, her grip firm and unwavering on the weapon.

  Buren remained silent, his gaze locked onto hers. "You'd better have a compelling explanation," she warned.

  "I've made a huge mistake;" he confessed. Azure scrutinized his face for a moment, reading his regret and sorrow, and slowly lowered her blade. Buren gently grasped her hands in his. "I've realized that the only thing I truly desire is to be with you. To hell with all the obligations and duties."

  The creases of worry on her face gradually smoothed out, replaced by a flicker of hope in her eyes. "Considering my actions," Buren continued, "I'll never be welcome here again. Any Dryad associating with me would certainly face ostracism."

  "You've attacked our sisters," she stated flatly. Buren dropped his gaze in guilt. "But you've also saved many more," she countered. "That has to count for something, doesn't it? It does to me," she added, her lashes fluttering.

  Buren moved his hands from hers to her waist, drawing her closer. Their bodies seemed to align flawlessly, like two halves of a shattered whole finally reuniting. "I have no right to ask," he whispered. She tilted her head to meet his gaze, their faces inches apart. Buren found his own reflection mirrored in her mesmerizing eyes. "But I want you to run away with me."

  "And the battle?" she whispered back, her breath warm against his skin.

  "My troops stand no chance. They'll retreat once they realize I've deserted them," he assured her.

  "You disappearing like that would violate the Treaty, and the other factions would likely use it as an excuse to void it... My people would still face peril." Azure blinked rapidly, shaking her head.

  "Not if I publicly declare I'll personally punish any leader who dares attack the Forest," Buren declared. "They know no castle can shield them from my vengeance."

  Azure sighed, her body relaxing against his. "I'd have to leave my people," she confessed. "It would take them an eternity to forgive me. Possibly longer than a human lifespan."

  "I understand a better man would have allowed you to live peacefully among your own kind," Buren admitted. "But I couldn't stay away." He swallowed hard, and Azure looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I love you," he whispered.

  "I love you too," she murmured back, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss.

  They sank onto the soft grass, clothes seemingly discarding themselves. They explored each other ardently, fingertips tracing the scars that seemed less like blemishes and more like the chapters of their shared story. A moan escaped her lips, her back arching in ecstasy.

  Buren marveled at the softness of her skin, intoxicated by her floral scent as he kissed her neck. Her body shuddered beneath him, prompting him to slow down his pace. Azure raked her nails across his back, undoubtedly leaving marks. He grabbed her hands, their fingers intertwining as she wrapped her legs around him.

  She kissed his neck before sinking her teeth into his skin, drawing blood. Buren was abruptly pulled from his bliss, drawing away from her to clear the haze from his gaze. As he looked down at her, he saw a wicked glint in her eyes and a mischievous grin - but they were not hers.

  "Keep going, lover," she said with a joyful tone. "I've been anticipating this for weeks."

  Buren recoiled in disgust, hastily dressing. "Why so disappointed?" the daemoness queried coyly. "The possession was a resounding success."

  She reclined, running Azure's hands leisurely across her body, edging towards her intimate area. "Seems like I'll have to finish this solo. Feel free to spectate," she teased. Buren, however, promptly but gently hoisted her to her feet, being careful not to harm Azure – in addition to the unforgivable betrayal he had just executed, he added silently.

  What a betrayal indeed. His earlier confession had been nothing but the truth, as he wasn't adept enough an actor to convince her otherwise. For a moment, he managed to suppress thoughts of his scheme and the imminent assault on her, letting a small dose of black lotus lull him into a brief state of calm oblivion. However, the dose was minute enough that its effect wore off quickly, replaced by an intense focus on the present and its looming implications. The burden of remorse threatened to crush him.

  "Get dressed. The Dryads won't be merciful if we're found," he instructed, releasing her.

  "Spoilsport," she grumbled, but complied. "Satisfied now?" she asked, performing a graceful pirouette once she was attired in her light dress.

  Buren shot her a glare meant to silence her, but instead found himself stunned when he saw heavy tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "Oops, seems we have some emotional leakage," the daemoness said, wiping her eyes. "Want to know what she's experiencing right now? It's unlike anything I've ever felt. Imagine someone sliced you open from belly to throat with an icy blade, and then--"

  Overcoming his shock, Buren silenced her by pressing his hand over her mouth. She still gazed at him with impish eyes, and Buren knew she was aware he wouldn't harm her while she inhabited Azure's body; any threats would be futile. When he finally released her mouth, he simply pivoted and marched towards the First Tree, hoping she would adhere to their plan and accompany him.

  As they journeyed, they passed Inanna, who lay dormant and concealed in tall grass. "I assumed she'd cause less trouble this way," the daemoness stated, to which Buren found himself in silent agreement.

  With the Grove's inhabitants engaged in the ongoing battle or replenishing themselves from their dwellings, they navigated towards the First Tree without hindrance. The daemoness, drawing on Azure's memories, was able to discern the ordinary creatures from those that had been enchanted to serve as sentries, ensuring their stealthy progress.

  From a distance, the tree was colossal, but up close, it was beyond human comprehension. Its bark radiated an air of ancient wisdom yet was imbued with life. Distinct grooves were populated with moss, lichen, scurrying insects, and flowing streams of magic. Upon closer hearing, a subtle hum could be discerned, ebbing and flowing like the slow, glacial rhythm of breath.

  "Commence," Buren commanded. The daemoness sneered but elevated Azure's arms, evidently scanning for the magical junctions' locations. Abruptly, a grimace of pain contorted her features and she doubled over, clutching her stomach.

  "What's the matter?" Buren inquired, his concern solely focused on Azure's well-being.

  "She's resisting," she answered through gritted teeth. "She's stronger than I anticipated for such a pushover."

  "Can you retain control long enough?" Buren asked, choosing to disregard her derogatory comment.

  "I--hurrgh," her response was truncated by a series of dry heaves, yet she brought up nothing. "We need to convince her to cooperate, and swiftly," she suggested, her complexion paling as sweat trickled down her forehead.

  Buren furrowed his brow, scanning their surroundings. Making a swift decision, he hoisted her over his shoulder and swiftly traversed towards the nearest Dryad tree. He deposited her at its base and rapped on it emphatically before swiftly retreating into the bushes.

  Almost immediately, a young Dryad emerged from her dwelling, bending down in concern next to her stricken sister. "Azure, what's wrong?" she exclaimed, alarmed.

  Buren rose from his hiding spot, stealthily approaching her from behind. By the time she became aware of a presence at her back, it was too late. Buren extended the Gauntlet over her shoulder, clamping it around her neck and hoisting her off the ground. She attempted to pry the steel fingers away, but she would have had more luck extracting nails from a log using her bare hands.

  "Calm down," the daemoness urged Azure's conscious mind, speaking through her host's lips. "Or your dear friend here loses her head. You're well aware he's capable of such an act."

  "Am I?" Buren wondered. "And does she genuinely believe that?"

  A look of distaste flitted across her face, but abruptly, she exhaled and collapsed. She quickly regained her footing, hoisting herself back up. "Good girl," the daemoness chuckled, patting her own behind. Buren knocked the Dryad girl unconscious, hoisting her onto his shoulder in case further negotiation was required.

  They retraced their steps back to the tree. This time, a jubilant smile bloomed on the daemoness's face after a moment of attuning herself to the magical currents. "I've figured out the right strings to pull," she proclaimed with a satisfied grin, and upon receiving Buren's nod, she melded into the tree.

  At first, there was no discernible change. Then, a soft rumble resonated from the colossal plant's depths, causing its canopy to quiver. The ground subtly vibrated, and Buren noticed the roots began to undulate, contorting like the tentacles of a startled octopus.

  The phenomenon spread to the wooden bulwarks of the forest. Their leaves wilted within seconds, descending only to disintegrate into dust before they could make contact with the ground. The ancient trees groaned in protest before starting to tumble. Some were flung outward while others collapsed inward, crushing the smaller Dryad dwellings beneath.

  The Dryads were jolted awake by the tumultuous noises. Some scampered out of their tree homes, while others remained fused with their arboreal abodes, the whole trees shifting on their roots. "Hey, look at what I can do," the daemoness' giggled, and the roots of the First Tree went berserk. They thrashed about wildly, rending the earth open and inadvertently crushing several Dryads.

  Suddenly, the surface of the First Tree surged and rippled, like a stone had been hurled into still water, and Azure was propelled outward, flanked by two other Dryads. Buren surmised that they had taken refuge within the tree itself, merging with the ancient spirit that governed these venerable woodlands.

  "Have you lost your senses, sister?" they questioned Azure, one restraining her upper body and the other holding her legs, keeping her suspended off the ground in the typical Dryad method of arrest. Noticing Buren nearby, their eyes widened in shock before returning to Azure. "Would you betray us for him?" they demanded in outrage.

  "Good guess, but no," their captive retorted, a demonic grin stretching across her face. Suddenly, she swelled in size, her muscles ripening and horns sprouting from her head. Glowing, tattoo-like symbols adorned her skin. Her azure skin shifted hue, but instead of reddening, the mix of colors resulted in an eerie purple. The Dryads released her in alarm, but they didn't have time to retreat. Azure skewered one with her newly formed claws and brutally crushed the head of the other. She discarded them nonchalantly, then regained her footing.

  Nearby, an oil-filled barrel plummeted onto a Dryad tree, setting it ablaze. Buren spun around to see his troops exploiting the pandemonium, charging into the Grove while the Dryad ranks were disorganized. "Perhaps Emeric will get his song, after all," Buren mused, spotting the Knight leading the charge, flag-bearers brandishing banners of the Faith surrounding him. His men unleashed volleys of arrows, striking down Dryads caught in disbelief.

  However, the disarray was fleeting. A battalion of Dryad warriors, fused with their tree companions, interposed themselves in the invaders' path, mercilessly crushing any too slow to evade. Buren spotted Leva half-emerged from her wooden armor, firing arrow after arrow into the soldiers with lethal precision.

  Buren sprinted forward, accelerating to launch himself into the heart of the conflict, but paused as the ground quivered again. From the adjacent forest, a wave of swamp water surged into the Grove, the crest unnaturally defying gravity to surge uphill towards his men.

  "Deal with them," Buren instructed the daemoness, gesturing towards the Dryad warriors, while he himself set off to intercept the approaching wave. Overcome with bloodlust, the daemoness merely replied, "Time to chop some wood."

  With an agile leap, she crossed the battlefield while Buren projected himself forward, maximizing his momentum by ricocheting off trees and swinging beneath roots suspended high above the ground. He came to a halt before the wave, raising the Gauntlet high with fingers spread wide, signaling the surge to halt. Confirming his suspicion, it complied.

  Upon closer inspection, the murky avalanche was not solely water, but a torrent of damp swamp flora uprooted from the wetlands, creating a moist, odorous flood that squelched and spluttered. A Dryad form materialized from the brackish mass. Buren recognized her as the swamp lady he had met during his previous visit to the forest, her mushroom-esque hair astonishingly unscathed despite the tumult.

  "The fall of the Grove is inevitable," Buren announced. "Depart, and take your swamp with you."

  "Though with my sisters, differences we bear," she said, her voice icy cold, "Yet, when they come, in plea and prayer, wailing for their Elder Mother, lost in warfare. I'll not stand idle in my lair, their call for help, I'll not forbear. Those who invade, bringing despair, stand before me, if you dare."

  "There is only death here, or bondage," Buren warned.

  "Where? I spy only brutes, no matter which way I land my stare. Believing yourselves above nature, untouched by her care. But soon you shall see, as you are laid low and cease to be, returned to the earth, your error laid bare. From dust you arose, to dust you'll return, Feeding our flora from urn to fern."

  Raising her arms, multiple rivulets of muck spiraled upwards from the swampy mass, resembling grotesque fingers

  "Do you what the reason for my solitude is?" As Buren's only response was to rest his hand on his sword hilt and lower his center of gravity, she continued, "In battles fierce, I was our tide. My kin found in me, a trusty aegis. But my vigilance waned, and I, their pride, let them down and be to slavery tied.

  "Years I spent, from the East to the West I went, freeing those from the chains applied, granting liberty they were denied. Yet more were snared, on every side, their anguish deep and amplified, feeling the human's anger in their hide. My failure vast, I stepped aside, chose a path where no footprints abide."

  Clenching her fist, she fixed Buren with a defiant gaze. "But fail them hence, I shall not abide. Not while I still have my life."

  "While you still have your life," Buren echoed in his mind. He then flicked a throwing dagger from the Gauntlet at her with blinding speed. The waters heaved, and she was whisked aside, reminiscent of a serpent dodging a strike. With a resounding roar, she disappeared into the wet chaos that came barreling towards Buren. He flung himself aside, narrowly evading the onslaught before it pivoted to pursue him.

  Buren steeled himself for another evasion as a surge separated from the rest of the sodden mass slammed into his chest, rolling him backward. He landed deftly on his feet and somersaulted to the right, employing the Gauntlet to spring off the ground in a wide arc that narrowly missed the suffocating grasp of the shifting mire. He clawed at the sticky lump on his chest, but it clung like tar. Worse still, it slowly inched towards his face. He clawed at it, tearing away chunks, but he knew it would only take a small amount to gag him, even less to blind him.

  Eluding another deluge of muck, he swiftly shed his jacket, abandoning much of his gear in the process. The wave, deprived of its target yet again, did not pivot this time but coursed towards his men. Buren hurried in pursuit. His men scattered in its wake, but many were too slow and were swallowed within the murky mass. The deluge cleaved through their ranks, leaving behind a dark, sludgy trail. It halted on the other side, its surface bubbling ominously.

  It spat out the men it had ingested, their forms coated in viscous muck, landing limply onto their comrades who then had to be wrested free. The crest regained momentum, and the formation shattered as everyone fled from its path in sheer terror. Despite Emeric's rallying cries and threats of execution for deserters, fear prevailed.

  "The assault will fail here unless that thing is stopped," Buren realized. He scanned the rolling mass with the Gauntlet, detecting a form of center. He attempted the same tactic that had worked with the tree-entwined Dryad warriors. He launched a throwing dagger at the submerged swamp Dryad, but the shifting mass of flora effortlessly dodged the attack. Buren followed with two more daggers, but she was agile and never lost sight of him for a moment. "Easy to see why she ranks among their best," he mused.

  The deluge charged in his direction again but split in two before hitting him. The two streams swirled around him, converging on his other side and entrapping him inside liquid walls that immediately closed in. He sprang upwards, narrowly avoiding the trap that collapsed beneath him, but the mass now spread under him like an open maw, eagerly awaiting his fall.

  Buren reached into his pouch and retrieved a long-unused grappling hook. Rendered redundant by the Gauntlet, it had lain dormant, but Buren had packed all the gear he could potentially need for the battle. With a hefty thrust of the Gauntlet, he shot it at a Dryad warrior's tree form, the metal hooks embedding into the lofty canopy. Just as his boots skimmed the dark surface, he yanked the rope with the full force of the Gauntlet, propelling himself free from the dank jaws of death.

  The meandering bog circled him like a predator toying with its prey. From the fray of men and Dryads at the frontline, a resounding crash reverberated, causing the mass to momentarily halt its stalking. Buren adjusted his gaze, splitting his attention between the two focal points, suspecting his adversary was doing the same.

  "Timber!" the daemoness bellowed as she ravaged the wooden shield surrounding a Dryad. Splinters sprayed like shrapnel as she tore through the trunk until blood, instead of sap, spurted forth. The tree shuddered, then toppled with a crash. The daemoness issued a triumphant roar, her neck arching back, and the men surrounding her seemed uncertain whether to cower in terror or cheer in excitement, resulting in a scattered display of hesitation and confusion.

  The inky mass rolled towards the daemoness, cutting her off before she could reach another Dryad. "What kind of a lady willingly dwells in an open sewer?" she taunted, lunging recklessly into the mass. Anticipating an easy dive, she instead found herself stuck to its surface, half-submerged, half-exposed. The mass stretched into a towering pillar, then crashed down like a colossal sledgehammer. She hit the ground with a seismic impact, burying herself into the earth, and lay motionless. The Dryads erupted in jubilant cheers while the men cried out in dismay.

  Buren cast a quick glance around, swiftly assessing his available resources. Propelled by a forceful twist of the gauntlet, he made a significant leap to Emeric's side. "Use that," he ordered, indicating their catapult, "on that," he finished, gesturing at the swamp mass. "From close range," he specified.

  "I'll serve as the distraction," he preemptively announced, cutting off any objections from Emeric. "Just make the shot; I'll evade it, don't fret."

  Buren then sprang back into the battle, seizing a short sword from the clutch of a fallen soldier and hurling it towards the mass's core. The Dryad evaded the projectile yet again, but her focus was drawn back to Buren, away from his endangered men.

  Buren's strategy of irritating the Dryad warrior was effective, and the swampy mass lumbered menacingly in his direction. He positioned himself so that the Dryad's perceived back was exposed to the catapult, which was swiftly being maneuvered down the hill behind her, with Emeric standing on the wooden support to direct the men handling the wheels.

  The deluge lunged towards him, and Buren swiftly sidestepped to the left, only to realize too late that he had fallen for a deceptive feint. The moist onslaught collided with him, entrapping him like a tar pit and rapidly submerging him deeper. Even the Gauntlet couldn't extricate him, there was simply nothing solid to latch onto.

  Buren took a final deep breath, his last vision being that of the catapult barreling recklessly down the hill, before his sight was consumed by the murky, warm abyss. Pressure squeezed him from all sides, the animated muck forcing its way into his ear, nostrils, digging at his firmly closed lips. Suddenly, a shockwave rippled through the darkness accompanied by a flash of light, propelling him through the air and slamming him onto the ground amidst a downpour of dark filth.

  Gritting his teeth, he scrubbed his eyes vigorously and spat out the foul sludge, battling to get up, as he stuff plastered him to the ground. The effect seemed to diminish by the moment, however, and he got up, regaining his footing.

  When he got his eyes open, he saw the dark stuff had been blasted everywhere, the remains on the ground rippling and shifting weakly. The catapult was done for, crushed and ropes stripped, and Emeric was on his hands and knees, vomiting up the muck, along with his previous meal.

  Another figure rose from the grime, a female one this time. Somehow, her mushroom hair was still untouched, even when the rest of her was covered in the slime. She raised her arms and rotated them in the air, and the swamp began to recollect itself around her, many small streams swirling together to form a larger collection. Buren rushed ahead, and knocked her down, slipping on the dregs and falling down beside her. She swirled her arm and the muck formed into a dagger which she plunged towards his ribs, but he blocked with the Gauntlet, crushing the weapon that felt oddly like a sea sponge in his grip. They grabbed on to each other and rolled around, trying to get the upper hand. Dryads rushed to aid their top warrior, while Buren's men intersected them with steel. Her advantage was the swamp material, which clung and lashed at Buren as long as they were in touch with it, while the power and durability of the Gauntlet was unmatched, making him capable of going toe-to-toe with her.

  A rough semblance of a hand, formed from swamp detritus, coiled around Buren, its fingers reaching around his torso. It pulled him away from the swamp Dryad who regained her footing. Buren swung the Gauntlet backwards, shattering the hand into a shower of dark droplets and simultaneously launched a throwing dagger at her with his left hand. Devoid of any magical strength, the blade's trajectory was easily intercepted by the Dryad, who caught it mid-air and cast it aside.

  Buren breathed heavily, the prolonged duel draining his energy. The Dryad, too, heaved with exertion but her determination was unwavering. She gestured with her arms, twisting them like poised serpents, coaxing the dark muck into undulating appendages reaching skywards, akin to entranced snakes dancing to her tune. With a final abrupt push towards Buren, the tendrils lunged for him. Buren dodged under the first two, narrowing the gap between him and the Dryad, using the Gauntlet to deflect another while slicing through the next one with the sword in his left hand. As he neared her, the black terrain beneath her rippled like a drum skin, propelling her over his head and onto the other side of the muddy pit.

  A squad of his men attempted to incapacitate her with arrows, but she nimbly dodged and parried the projectiles. With a sweep of her arm, the muck morphed into sharp bolts, a flurry of which took out his men. Buren glanced to the side, assessing the state of the battle. His men were being pushed back. Without his assistance and the daemoness's interference, they found themselves at a disadvantage on Dryad turf. If they retreated further, Buren would find himself encircled by Dryad warriors and facing imminent defeat.

  He fixed his gaze back on the Dryad, who despite her labored breaths and perspiring forehead, was already summoning another attack, the responsive dark algae molding eagerly to her movements. "She really won't stop as long as she lives," Buren mused. Across the battlefield, their eyes met, reflecting the same steely resolve.

  Looking into her dark eyes gave him an idea. He noted her aptitude for detecting even the slightest movements within the gloomy battlefield, veiled by the canopy and the smoke from smoldering grass. He cloaked his arms with his cape, delving into his deep pockets, and lunged at her once more. As she retaliated with another surge of water flora, he vaulted over the influx, hurling his last dagger at her. The swampy mass ensnared her feet and yanked her aside, the dagger vanishing into distant bushes. But it was a decoy: in the wake of his airborne spin, he had tossed a small object at her in a lazy arch.

  The fuse on the spherical object rapidly burned to its end, igniting a fiery charge that superheated the glowstone. A blinding white light burst forth. The Dryad reflexively shielded her eyes, her vision adapted more to the night, exactly as Buren had anticipated. Despite her attempt to sidestep the imminent danger, it was too late. Buren drew back his sword, the light gleaming off the blade, and drove it through her just below the sternum.

  The swamp Dryad gasped, her eyes wide with surprise rather than pain. She grasped the hilt of the blade embedded in her, stumbling backward. Buren released his weapon, allowing her to retreat. As the other Dryads caught sight of their fallen leader, their cries of anguish filled the air, temporarily silencing the clamor of combat. Buren's men welcomed the brief respite, their eyes following the scene with muted apprehension.

  The Dryad's strength ebbed away, her legs buckling beneath her. Buren quickly stepped forward, catching her in a gentle embrace before she could collapse harshly onto the swampy ground. He lowered himself to one knee, holding her in his arms. Tear-filled eyes gazed up at him, filled with confusion and desperation.

  "I know," Buren murmured softly. Respect and regret mirrored in his eyes. A fleeting glimmer of longing danced across his gaze, "Your battle is over. I wish it could have been me."

  He lowered her to the ground with utmost care, spotting a white swamp flower amidst the muck, slightly battered but a poignant token nonetheless. He placed it on her chest, between her folded hands. With a final, labored exhale, she surrendered to her fate, taking his whispered secret with her.

  Buren tenderly closed her eyelids, marking her eternal sleep, and rose to his feet. His men took this as a sign, their roars of triumph reverberating through the battlefield as they resumed their onslaught with renewed vigor. The Dryads, however, appeared crestfallen, their defenses significantly weakened by their loss.

  "Ouch," muttered the daemoness, gingerly sitting up in the pit where she'd fallen. "What did I miss?"

  A spear was tossed to Buren from one of the horsemen. Without a moment's hesitation, he hurled it at a tree-merged Dryad, taking her out cleanly. He then pointed a commanding finger at the remaining enemies.

  "Right, back to work," the daemoness sighed, reluctantly standing.

  The tide of the battle shifted decisively. The Dryads, even those in their formidable tree form, struggled against the combination of the Gauntlet's power and the daemonic force. Those inexperienced in combat were quickly surrounded and captured. Some who harbored doubts about the fight slipped away into the woods, while the rest fell in battle.

  The men, fueled by the prospect of victory, stormed ahead with a frenzied fervor, wreaking havoc on the artistic floral arrangements and the domesticated animals too naive to flee. Buren ordered his officers to ensure fair treatment of the captured Dryads, but the scoffs and disdainful glances he received in response told him his orders would likely be disregarded.

  The final stand of the Dryads took place before the First Tree, led by Leva in her tree form. She had crushed anyone who dared to restrain her. The daemoness leaped high into the air, landing in the fortress' canopy and unleashing a blaze that set the leaves and branches aflame. She then descended, hacking at the trunk with her claws. Forced to eject from her wooden shell, Leva landed on the grass before the daemon.

  Leva spun her staff, landing several blows, but the daemoness was unphased. Her hardened skin merely registered the hits as one would a landing fly. With a swift grasp, the daemoness seized Leva by the throat, lifting her in the air and disarming her. "Let's see if I can get to the pulp, once I peel away enough layers," the daemoness sneered, her claws gleaming menacingly in the moonlight.

  Suddenly, a grimace contorted her face. She clutched at her stomach and released her hold on Leva, collapsing to her knees. Buren swiftly knocked Leva unconscious before she could seize the opportunity. With their leader defeated, the rest of the warriors dispersed - some were slain, others captured, and the rest followed their sisters to the woods.

  Observing the daemoness's evident distress, Buren hastened to her side. "She's resisting again," she managed to growl through clenched teeth. "I'm not sure we can suppress her this time." Buren found himself in agreement; he had no desire to keep Azure entrapped a moment longer than necessary.

  "Follow me," he commanded, setting off at a brisk pace toward the spot where they had left Inanna. Azure's dwelling had managed to remain untouched by the combat, but the frantic upheaval of the First Tree's roots had left the once upright purple tree slanted awkwardly. Buren peered into the foliage where they had left Inanna but found it empty. He spun around, scanning the area for any signs of her.

  The daemoness, having trailed behind him, now crumpled onto her stomach, wracked with pain. "It's...it's too much," she gasped out. "I need...another host...a willing one."

  "Then do as I commanded you," a chillingly authoritative female voice rang out. Both turned to find Inanna sauntering into view from behind the tree trunk.

  "No, please...It will hurt me as well," the daemoness implored weakly.

  "I insist," Inanna retorted icily. "Sharing my pain is the least you could do. After all, look at me, left in the dirt, in this...this grubby sack," she gestured disdainfully at her formerly ornate nightgown now smeared with grass stains. "Or you can seek a new master."

  The daemoness emitted a low growl, that soon transformed into a whimper as a series of violent convulsions wracked her massive form.

  "Oh, had you forgotten?" Inanna queried with a hint of mockery, delicately crouching beside the trembling figure. "While you might puppeteer my body, you still answer to my commands. I am the master, you are the slave. Now, I order you to execute my command!" With a venomous snarl, she spat onto the daemoness's face.

  Buren seized Inanna by the bodice of her nightgown, hauling her back. "What commands do you speak of?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. She merely responded with a disdainful smile. "You'll find out soon enough."

  He whirled around just in time to see the daemoness had managed to push herself up to a kneeling position. "I'm sorry, Buren," she moaned, sorrow in her voice. "I truly didn't want it to come to this." Without further ado, she plunged her talons into her own eyes, beginning to gouge them out. A scream of agony ripped through the air, and dark blood began to flow freely from her eye sockets.

  Inanna let out a shrill, mirthless laugh, and Buren, in response, shoved her aside and reached out in an attempt to halt the self-inflicted mutilation. But he was a moment too late. With a savage yank, she tore the purple orbs from their sockets, the white tendrils of optic nerves trailing behind them, blood gushing from the now-empty sockets.

  Buren froze, too shocked to react, while in the daemoness's palms, the detached eyes morphed into the familiar, gleaming sapphires he recognized all too well and which he dreamed of incessantly – Azure's eyes.

  The world seemed to lurch beneath Buren, causing him to crumple to his knees and vomit up a stream of pale, bitter fluid. Inanna's laughter reached a manic crescendo. The daemoness, meanwhile, was caught in a frenzy of pain. "Please, tell me you'll let me in," she pleaded.

  "You've been good," Inanna acknowledged, smugness creeping into her voice. "I will allow it."

  The daemoness started to shrink, her massive figure dissolving into Azure's slender silhouette. All tension drained from her body and she collapsed, inert, next to Buren who was still hunched over, supporting himself on his elbows and knees.

  Inanna jerked violently, her back arching unnaturally. When she finally relaxed, resuming her usual posture and opening her eyes, it was apparent that Inanna was no longer in control.

  Dragging himself closer, Buren checked Azure for signs of life. Her pulse was weak, but present, her breathing shallow. He gently stroked her forehead, his own skin cold with sweat.

  "You have quite the partner there," said the daemoness, now occupying Inanna's form. Her movements were clumsy and uneven, a stark contrast to Inanna's arrogant gait. It was clear that the recent occurrences had affected her deeply, and Buren noticed a subtle hesitance in her demeanor, as if relocating to her former shell now sparked unease within her. Perhaps she had not quite realized what kind of darkness she dwelled in.

  Azure groaned, her face crumpling in a grimace of pain as she drew her limbs tightly to her body. Buren fumbled within his cloak, seeking the black lotus ointment to dull her pain, but his shaking hand struggled with the knot of the pouch. Almost gently, the Gauntlet extended its assistance, retrieving the salve and carefully administering it to Azure, washing it down with water from Buren's skin.

  Suddenly, Azure jerked upright, appearing disoriented. She turned her head, seemingly searching for something. Then, with trembling hands, she raised her fingers to her face. When they met the warm blood and emptiness of her eye sockets, she recoiled in shock. Buren tried to lend her comfort, placing a hand on her shoulder, but she retaliated reflexively, lashing out with a sweeping kick. If not for the Gauntlet blocking the blow, Buren's jaw would have been shattered.

  Retreating, Azure scuttled backward on all fours. "You're all monster, one worse than the other," she spat. "Claiming to be on the side of the good and just, or something even higher, when you the destroy the one remaining haven of goodness and beauty in this realm."

  Stabilizing herself, she managed to stand, her posture regaining its grace. "As the Elder Mother would have put it: 'A fitting penalty for my willing blindness, of all the times I hoped you guileless'," she declared, directing her empty gaze towards Buren. "'Robbed of my sight, I see you anew. The next you see me, it'll be the last thing in you'll ever view.'"

  Blood trickled from her wounds, like dark tears. Buren moved towards her, attempting to express his remorse, but she responded with a fierce sweep of her arms. Suddenly, the surrounding roots of the First Tree lashed out, striking him and sending him sprawling backwards. His body collided with Inanna's, and both of them tumbled to the ground. When he scrambled back to his feet, Azure had disappeared.

  Inanna, now on her feet as well, looked around with an uneasy expression. "We should regroup with the others," she suggested. "I can sense her presence, however illogical that may sound." Buren, hoping he could feel Azure's presence, no matter how vengeful, but finding nothing, remained silent for a moment before he bowed his head and trudged towards the celebratory uproar of the victorious army.

  The forest's tranquil silence was shattered that night by the boisterous revelry of the victorious men. Power and triumph had intoxicated them, coupled with the Dryad wine they pilfered from the cellars. These supposed saviors, dispatched to alleviate the famine plaguing their people, indulged themselves first. They feasted ravenously on fruits and pastries, discarding the less palatable vegetables while grumbling about the absence of meat. This they rectified by slaughtering the docile animals and roasting them on spits above fires fed by the very homes of the Dryads - trees they had remorselessly hacked down.

  The captive Dryads were herded together, bound by chains, blindfolded, and showing all-too-clear signs of violation, some by multiple assailants. Buren had positioned himself as a sentinel where they were confined, ostensibly to protect his comrades from any Dryad enchantments. However, his true intention was to shield the Dryads from any further indulgence of the men. Buren was fully aware that his actions could not undo the atrocities he had enabled, nor the consequences yet to come. But his conscience wouldn't allow him rest, prompting him to spend his sleepless hours in this small act of penance. His fellow men cast him suspicious glances but maintained their distance.

  Above them, the massive First Tree was shedding its leaves, a phenomenon that made Buren wonder if the daemoness's actions had inflicted lasting damage.

  Buren sat with his back against a tree toppled over in the cataclysm. He had retrieved the jacket he had been forced to discard in the fight against the swamp Dryad, and found the callstone given to him by Toksaris before the battle with the Malignant One was missing. He had searched for it on the devastated knoll, but to no avail. Its loss severed his final connection to his old companions.

  Emeric ambled over, proffering a cup of wine. "The forest maidens sure know their brew," he quipped. Buren accepted the cup with a silent nod. The taste of the wine felt like a mixture of ash and blood on his tongue.

  "Suppose saving the realm has become so routine for you, it's hardly a cause for celebration," Emeric ventured, trying to engage Buren in conversation. When the latter offered no response, Emeric persisted, "I can understand why you might be conflicted, if you'll pardon my presumption, sir," he quickly added, his bow exaggerated in mock deference. "You were, after all, acquainted with some of these woodland damsels. But this...this is simply a restoration of the natural order, as dictated by the Faith. In the long run, it will be for the better."

  Buren arched an eyebrow slightly, a non-verbal cue Emeric took as an invitation to press on. "After all, they were destined to serve us, aiding humans in asserting their rightful dominion over nature. Sure, we may feel guilty when we need to crack the whip, but the harsh truth is, without them doing their part, people will starve, and the lands will lay barren."

  Buren averted his gaze, his thoughts heavy. "Perhaps the world wasn't meant to bear so many human mouths to feed," he mused. "Would certainly make my life simpler, as there wouldn't be so many in need of aid."

  He thrust the cup back into Emeric's hands. "Keep watch over them, and ensure the men maintain their distance," he commanded, moving past Emeric.

  Taken aback, Emeric stammered, "Wait, where are you off to?" His expression clouded with annoyance. "And how am I supposed to enjoy the festivities if I'm stuck here on my own?" Buren offered no response, leaving Emeric in his wake as he vanished into the dense underbrush.

  Buren traced the familiar path, its way marked by time-worn stones. The swamp was now empty, its Lady having carried her dwelling away to the battle that marked her end. Ignoring the warning symbols scattered along the route, he stepped onto the sacred grounds of the Dryads. The white grass rippled with a quiet rustle, and atop the hill, the monolithic stone that had demanded so many sacrifices loomed. The full moon shone with the dark red hue, a celestial sign marking the bloodbath beneath. If the Dryad Elders and paragons were disturbed by the incursion, they chose silent condemnation, as none appeared to smite him.

  He waded through the lofty grass, moving with the somnambulant grace of a sleepwalker. All his actions had been guided by the ambition to reach this point, yet now that he was here, it all felt like an ethereal dream. How he wished it had all been but a dream.

  Raising the Gauntlet, he scrutinized the rock. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. A wave of desolation washed over him, a nagging thought gnawing at the corners of his mind that perhaps he had sacrificed it all for nothing. Yet, when he aimed not at the stone, but the ground beneath, he noticed a faint pulse emanating from the Gauntlet. Nearly imperceptible, but on closer attention, it resonated at a frequency unlike anything he had experienced before.

  Bypassing the white stone, he placed the Gauntlet upon it. He dragged his claws across the surface, searching for the hidden seams that might trigger some spell when breached, allowing him access. For hours, he paced around the stone mountain, claws scraping over its surface, scaling it to varying heights, but all efforts proved futile. No focal points of magical energy revealed themselves, forcing him to concede that the Gauntlet was likely accurate in its findings. When he struck the stone with the Gauntlet's full might, he barely left a mark. It seemed the unstoppable force had met its match in the immovable object.

  He sighed. He had been foolish to hope for an easy resolution. It only meant that he had to resort to his backup plan. And he was certain it would not sit well with his men.