Wraithwood Botanist

Emal didn’t make it far before he was flung outward, but he released a cry, hooked onto the guardian’s hands with some type of thread, and flew forward. His hand developed claws of pure aura as he slashed down, cutting the guardian’s hand. She released a silent cry and flung him into a nearby wing of the building with a terrific crash that cracked the ward protecting the wall.

It all happened in two seconds, leaving Mintas stunned by the savage display of mindless force.

2.

Real’s heart knocked on her ribcage as she stared at the soulmancer. She didn’t know his name or how strong he was or even that he was coming. She was only warned once countless millennia before that if a soulmancer were to arrive, she shouldn’t attack him, a strict contrast to international treaties that dictated that members of the Council of Dranami kill soulmancers on sight.

Now, this soulmancer was before her, and his aura made hers feel like a water droplet hitting an ocean. If she didn’t act, she would die.

Still, it was difficult. Her battlefield attacks could destroy oceans and carve valleys into areas without external protection methods. Even with the aura and domain protections on the Caralyx Islands, which prevented wide-scale destruction, she could still destroy the ward around the house and cause serious devastation. She needed a contained attack that could fight this monstrosity—

—so she chose a gravity attack.

Real threw a tiny black hole outside her domain at the soulmancer. The world visibly warped as all the grass and tiles and flowers blended together in a surrealist painting of circular color.

A crater formed in the ground forty feet deep as Mintas flew forward, crashing into her barrier at high speed, barely surviving being turned to dust. It was devastating.

Suddenly, the contained attack disappeared, and her body seized from overwhelming pressure that brought her to her knees. The soulmancer walked up to her, clothing not so far as damaged, and asked:

What do you know about me?

"Nothing," she said. "I was just told… not to attack soulmancers that came here. I didn’t know… you were a soulmancer."

And you didn’t ask.

She winced.

Who else knows of this soulmancer?

"Just… the Wings… so far as I know. The gods."

I see…

Real’s guardian shrieked as it flew backward like a meteorite, crashing into the reinforced gate with its eighty-foot body. Emal’s tiny elven body flew up to her, body leaving after images, and jumped onto her, moving up her arm and breastplate and finally landing on her head. Real thought that Emal had been simply taken over by a wild beast—

—she was wrong. Emal created the same realm that he did previously, surrounding her guardian’s head with spears from all angles. Usually, a realm that weak wouldn’t be able to attack a god’s guardian, but each one of those spheres contained the aura of a demigod—and there were thousands.

"No…" she whispered.

Emal released a primal battle cry as he grabbed the guardian’s hair. Then, all the spears pierced through the guardian’s head—him included—making both of them fall limp.

Real watched with an open mouth, horrified that the body of a demigod killed her guardian and then itself. It didn’t make sense—until the soul of a terrifying primal beast, at least fifty feet tall on all fours released from Emal’s mouth with a cry that released a shockwave.

She thought it would rampage in its spectral form, but the soulmancer thrust out his arm, and the beast rushed forward, jumping into his hand, sucking into nothingness, and disappearing.

That wasn’t all. The soul of her guardian also dissipated, turning into a ball of energy that screamed and failed and clawed as he molded it with two hands in the distance, like a puppet master. A few seconds later, a tornado of aura and neara exploded from it, and the ball flew into his hands just like the beast.

He stole her. He stole Salan, her lifelong guardian whom she raised from her infancy, into a guardian worthy of a god. Just like that, he stole her mind and spirit and absorbed her into his plaything.

Real finally understood why people hated soulmancers so much. They took loved ones and friends and guardians and spirit beast companions and obliterated their personalities, stealing them for their armies. It made her furious.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed. "How dare you? How fucking dare you!"

Salan is dead and has found peace, he said calmly. True death where she can rest, free from the agony of the Great Assimilation. Only her body and practical remnants remain.

"Don’t use her body! Don’t use her at all, you sadistic fuck!"

I’ve done her a mercy you cannot comprehend—but you soon will. The soulmancer waved his hand, and then her body collapsed into meaty pieces, leaving only the powerful remnant of a god’s mind and memory to experience the attack. Then, her body and soul caught on fire with blue flames, and darkness clouded her eyes.

3.

Brindle walked up to Mintas, who was unconscious from the woman’s gravity attack. It was rather cruel that he, the one who was reasonable and did his best to quell the needless violence, would die for the actions of others. Yet he had to. His identity was a precious secret, only known to the Council of Dranami, the gods who ruled Dranami. All of them were under a blood pact to not speak of him and to hide his secrets, lest other gods learn that a tenth evolution god entered the Areswood Forest—

—and then ascended. Then, one of the top wonders of the multiverse would become a sensation once more, and the days of violence and warfare would return, just as they had so many years ago.

There was a time when that was irrelevant. But time and peace had made his army weak, and another coordinated war for the forest could end in failure. Perhaps that was why Yakana chose Mira—

—necessity. Desperation. Hope.

The stakes were too high. If gods ever made it to the Seventh Ring, it would be a catastrophe.

Brindle lifted his hand at Mintas. Pity…

"That’s enough, don’t you think?"

Brindle looked up and saw Romulan walk out his front door. He was wearing a suit, sporting handsome features that were still youthful, somewhere around thirty in human years, reminiscent of his distant grandson Brexton Claustra. They shared the same black hair, short pompadour, and sharp dress. He looked like a businessman even after all these millennia.

Romulan Claustra, the patriarch who headed not only the legacy family branches in Dranami’s five domains and the Caralyx Islands but also all Claustra lines in the extended multiverse.

Romulan Claustra, a ninth evolution god—the highest most could ever hope to achieve without pursuing only the most potent of paths with the highest of resources.

Romulan Claustra—the puppet master who threatened everything.

I don’t see how this is enough.

Romulan shrugged and walked forward. "We’ve gotten rather mean with our kill switches. Even thinking about disclosing information will shred a person’s soul. I’ll let you read the binding."

Brindle stared at him.

"Come now. It’s quite a simple soul pact. Elegant even. If you don’t like it, you can always kill him. But it would be a shame given the circumstances. Competent help is good to find."

Romulan looked at his Wing’s ashes, scattering in a light breeze. His words were cheerful, but he was also warning him—and the threat held sway. Brindle could kill Romulan, but Romulan’s network was vast. Tenth evolution gods would come to collect, and all knowledge of the Areswood Forest and plans would activate. It wasn’t easy to kill a god with countless millennia of contacts, treaties, and resources.

Romulan was being reasonable, and so should he.

I’ll bear witness.

Romulan smiled and healed his protegee, waking him and then walking the sleepy, confused man into a soul binding, which indeed elegantly told him that he’d die if he ever mentioned meeting or seeing a soulmancer in his lifetime, so long as it didn’t meet certain conditions that would kill him in the event that everyone knew of Brindle.

It was a reasonable accommodation that was stronger than his mythic-grade information suppression request. It was fair.

Romulan slapped Mintas’s cheeks twice, smiled, and stood, turning to the house. "Come now. Let us discuss the events within your humble forest."

Brindle nodded and walked into the lavish home that was actually an illusionary front to a far larger building. Servants milled about as business folk moved from room to room, discussing multiplanetary negotiations between the high elites. Romulan’s manor was one of the few places on Dranami that, like Elana’s palace, hosted individuals throughout the multiverse. Thus, there were many people there in a realm where people were sparse.

Brindle followed Romulan to an inner room, but before he went in, Telgan established a telepathic link in his mind. You should see this.

Forgive me, he said to Romulan. There’s something I must divert my attention to briefly.

"No problem," Romulan said, opening a second door. "Come next door when you’re ready."

Brindle nodded and entered the room. He created a privacy barrier and then said, Speak.

Have you accepted Mira’s request?

There’s no need. She’s yet to establish a spell in soulmancy. Why would I aid someone in their short-term desperation?

Brindle had no qualms with Mira and would seek to aid her, just as Yakana had. But she had yet to even start his legacy, instead spending all her time with her other patron god, so to get a sudden request for aid in doing something she was unpracticed in was baseless and rude.

Turn on your vision.

Brindle had given Telgan authorization to watch over his pupil, so she had been keeping tabs. The nymph didn’t mention even significant events that threatened Mira’s life, so it was strange to hear a request.

He opened it up and an image showed Mira performing soul cooking. He watched carefully, and he could see her separating the aura and cleansing the neara. It was a blanket cleanse, but it was still impressive.

Yakana… he thought again. It was increasingly perplexing to see how much faith Yakana was putting into Mira. It meant she was truly worthy, the forest was desperate, or another unseen factor. All were extreme.

Brindle opened up his Guide’s menu and went to the tab, answering Mira’s request for a lecture with a certain option. He thanked Telgan, walked next door, and opened the door.

"Welcome back," Romulan said with a large smile and sharp eyes. "Tell me what brings you here today."

4.

I was halfway through eating the most profound meal of my life when I got a notification. It forced itself onto my screen, showing it was from Brindle.

I opened it with a racing heart and saw a lecture for a soul-cleansing elixir—on demand—with the note that said: "When you get there."

I looked at the note with tight shoulders, lying on the ground and looking up into the sky. The sun was setting, so the clouds were a canvas of reds and pinks and blues.

He’s been watching me… I thought nervously.

Brindle.

The writer of my books.

The god that Elana fears and the forests’ denizens revere.

Brindle.

I took heavy breaths and did the only thing I could, weakly raising two thumbs to the sky for Brindle to see before crashing down. The next set of steaks was almost done, and I felt like one of the stereotypical rich elite in Death Game novels, gorging myself as the rest of the forest’s denizens ripped each other apart in preparation for the year’s Harvest. But I was getting stronger, so I finished my steaks, dreaming of bread, preparing to sleep for the final push to the alchemy station when I awoke.