The Tree

Jon swung with such a force that even a glancing hit would certainly have knocked such a thin man out. He expected the certain impact that resulted from a heavy force hitting a frail body; after all, he had experienced the sensation countless times in the past years. With this expectation, the fact that his hastily-formed fist struck air was already enough to throw his second hit off-balance, although it wouldn't have come close to hitting even if it was fully prepared.

Curling his upper body back in an arc to avoid the blow, Sid simultaneously drew his machete, and in a cruel upward swing, eviscerated his attacker. With a force unbecoming of his meek frame, the large blade he commanded entered in from the upper part of the man's right leg, glancing the hip bone, shredding through the intestines, bisecting the stomach, and cracking three rib bones on its way out as its wielder followed the swing through in a complete arc, splattering a plume of thick blood over the landscape.

He cleaned the edge with a swing and the fabric on the fellow's back. As he sheathed the sword, a few drops of blood dripped from the green-yellow leaves of the trees above, falling below to the darker shades of bark and dried leaves beneath.

"Aw, I thought you were on our side?" said Sid, putting his foot on the man. The one below him was still breathing, but his life was certainly getting fainter by the second as the leaves below him drowned in an inundation of fresh gore.

The withered breathing was interrupted by a small yet powerful stomp made on Jon's back.

"Guh!" His head shot up as red bubbles streamed from his coal-nose and ruined mouth.

Sid kicked between words. "I thought. You were. On. Our side." When he was done, he stood breathlessly over Jon, who was now more or less silent. Dan stood watching, weapon at standby, taking some time to look around occasionally, but otherwise fixated on the event occurring in front of him.

"Boss..." Dan reached his hand forward but stopped himself.

He had the feeling that something like this would have happened, but the scene here made him wish he'd hit the shot and just finished it quickly. As the pool slowly crept toward the edge of his shoes, he took a step back.

"Sid, maybe we should…" he began. He didn't finish his thought but instead reached out as he reflexively called Sid's name.

On the other hand, Sid felt the sensation before the large hand even grabbed his shirt and pulled him off-balance. For some reason, a shudder of unease had momentarily left him unable to react to the slight tug.

He wanted to grab his sword, but his hand trembled at the grip. It was perhaps the first time in his life that Sid was absolutely unsure of what to do. For a moment, he may have even been jealous of the inconsequentiality that blessed the actions and thoughts of those dying.

Sid sat in the leaves, half his body drenched in a cooling warm red, while Dan stood clenching his weapon closely; they both stared in the same direction.

Something inexplicable had happened.

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"What are these birds?!"

Boro knew that he should never scream in an area he did not recognize, or even just in general, but the surreality of the event must have messed with even that basic fundamental to survival.

In the center of a vast clearing, there stood a large tree— seemingly almost regal in its height and growth that suggested perhaps the clearing here was made specifically for it by the forces of nature. Its strong trunk spanned for most of the height, and the large roots near the bottom bustled with vitality as if it was taking in every last drop of life from the surroundings. Near the bottom edge of the tree there opened a large hollow, tall enough to fit two or three fully-grown men standing on each other's soldiers. The hole was dark and the strange clearing almost made it seem as if the two were standing on the precipice of a portal to another world.

Above, there were tens— on further inspection, hundreds, perhaps— of birds, circling across the tree in a wide perimeter, as if to find the spot they left as a home which they could no longer find.

Before Boro could even think to hide in this tree, one of the birds swooped down— a large bird of prey— and clawed aggressively at the boy, making a sizable gash on his arm and causing him to release his walking stick in the sudden attack.

Soon, the other birds joined in, as if the boy were an enemy encroaching on a child or treasure they were protecting. Boro covered his face with his arms, and soon it was a cacophony of feathers and sharp claws and beaks, sqwa-ing and barking along with other cries that all began to blend together.

Fen jumped ferociously at the avian onslaught, snarling like a creature gone mad, and actually succeeding in dragging one of the birds down. With a paw on the birds' chest, Fen ripped one of the wings clean off, which was followed by an explosion of tiny white feathers and the intense throes of the wounded beast fighting for its life.

With this development, some of the birds tearing at the boy transferred themselves to the canine, digging their dark claws into his thin fur. Fen howled at his injuries and fought back with even greater tenacity.

The silent image of the clearing was harshly interrupted by the vicious storm of feathers and fur and red fluid swirling around in a corner.

"AGHHHHHHHHHHH!" Boro screamed with abandon as he charged.

Boro didn't know what it was like in there, but it would be death to go back, and the birds would only slowly pick him apart if he stayed here. So, he moved to give it all in moving directly into the tree hollow. He could feel the fury of wings and talons intensify as his steps drew close, but he still managed to push through if he just kept going.

Don't think about the birds, he told himself. Focus on Fen's running next to you. Focus on getting to the inside of the tree where the birds won't follow you. Focus on going forward.

Forward. Take a step.

Forward. Another.

And then there was no ground.

For a moment, there was a moment of silence where he heard Fen bark once above him, he tumbled once in the air and saw the animal's silhouette, and then there was a huge ringing crash that surrounded and then escaped the ears. He could not speak but could only release his voice, and every cut and wound he had just received and those he forgot about as well stung again as if they had just been remade.

Fen.

His first thought was the last thing he heard: a bark.

Is Fen ok? Did the birds leave him alone after he fell? He wasn't in the water too, was he? Can he even swim?

These quick, useless thoughts accumulated into one place: protect Fen. Make sure he's ok. You have to get back up and save him.

He screamed again. If anyone were around to hear, they'd already have done so. They'd be coming this way now. Maybe the impossible would happen and someone would come to help. This nonsense thought was the sign of water rushing in, and air rushing out.

At the same time, something stirred in the dark, dirty depths of the water below, calculating through the waves in the water through its sensory feelers the exact distance of the object or being that had just fallen into its dwelling after so, so long. The temperature of the water was getting slightly warmer as it twisted closer. Indeed, it was a being. It was of the same species as the last, fortunately. Therefore, adaptation should occur without much issue, but that was also to be expected. The knowledge that comes from what must be true does not lie.

Boro opened his eyes in a place he could not— or should not have been able to see. Nevertheless, he could. He could see more than he ever could, and that brought a strange bit of loneliness to his heart. Everyone he did not know was here, and he could not welcome them, and that brought a vague sense of fear. However, one man sat alone. For some reason, this man caught his eye, and he could conceive him. It was as if he was the only one the boy could understand as "real."

He sat in the sand, legs half-crossed, but bearing no sign of relaxation in the form. Even this position seemed to pose on his face a great deal of stress to perform. As his left arm struggled painfully to keep half of his body upright, he stared wistfully through his long bangs at the sand that seeped through his right palm. He grasped another meager handful and repeated the release.

They sat on opposite sides of the tree, upon the sand from which the roots have long since deprived of any nutrition. The ground was dead. The man's eyes remain fixated as each grain dripped from his dirty hand as if he were looking through a collection of precious but long-forsaken memories.

Who is that… and why does he look so sad…?

Boro watched the man. For a second, it looked as if the man moved to look back.

At that moment, in the land once known as Eldia, there was a great flash that swallowed the land in light.