Groaning as he stirred, Chris slowly opened his eyes. His skull throbbed as if someone had driven a wedge behind his temples. Weakly he lifted his hand and began to rub his face while trying to filter out the overlapping voices now filling his mind.
The first he could make out as the world tree's voice. Recognizing it as the same one asking for life and needing his blood, its voice sounded rather excited. There wasn't even a hint of confusion, just pure excitement.
It babbled rapidly to him and he could even feel it send bursts of pride and triumph towards the other plants while recounting the night in scattered flashes of sensations that he couldn't properly process.
He all but felt the excitement spreading like a fire on dry leaves to the other plants. The spike bushes responded in a hive-like chorus, their thoughts layered over one another yet blended perfectly together, far more now, all proudly declaring their spikes would pierce deeper next time a threat came, how they had spent the night practicing how to angle themselves, how they had learned to anticipate movement and even developed a better way to move around to a limited degree.
The cacti soon echoed similar sentiments, speaking of how they could now sway at the right moment, endure impact without breaking, and even act as spiked clubs with a surprising amount of force behind their swings.
Practicing. The idea that they had been doing that made his stomach knot as memories of what happened slowly trickled back. It took several strained breaths before he managed to force the noise of their voices into a dull murmur at the back of his mind; he couldn't seem to silence them entirely, instead only managing to turn them into a distant whisper in the back of his mind as he tried to process properly what had happened.
That was when the vines chose to speak. Their voices slipping through his mind like silk dragged across skin. Smooth. Velvety and holding far too much amusement and euphoric pleasure.
They spoke with far too much detail, telling him various parts he didn't want to know, such as the warmth of the meat beneath the fur, the way the blood soaked into their roots and the ease at which they hungrily drained it before moving onto the texture, flavor, and even the density, turning his stomach. They compared each one they had consumed as though they were discussing fine wine or overpriced cuts of meat.
Then they asked when the next meal would arrive, promising that if he kept them fed this well they would continue to grow thicker and stronger while providing even more protection for him. It caused a tight knot to form in his gut as he began to wonder what would happen should he not provide them enough food to satisfy them.
"Finally awake, lad? Heh, you better not make it a habit of making me ask that." The old man's voice rang out, breaking him from the train of thought, something he was secretly grateful for as he turned his head to look at him.
He stood near the doorway. The mid-morning light shining in from behind him. His reply caught in his throat when he saw the old man's stern look and a simmering anger. How he was also limping and seemed a bit more hunched over, as if a heavy weight was pressing down on him that wasn't there before. He also noticed a cloth wrapped tightly around his thigh, darkened in places similar to the one he noticed wrapped around his hand when he looked away from the old man.
"I was a bit worried when you just collapsed like that yesterday," the old man continued. "Thought you might've snapped something in that head of yours with all that plant magic you did, or that you took a bad turn and died or worse."
"What happened?" Chris finally asked hoarsely with clear hesitation. "I remember the wolf. It was right there on me. It launched itself at me and got close enough that I could smell its breath. I remember how the vines grabbed it and then—"
He stopped as the memory of the sounds rushed to the forefront of his mind.
"Yes," the old man said flatly, the anger having drained from his voice into something else, perhaps disappointment. "You didn't stay conscious long enough to really see the rest of what happened or what came after."
Chris forced himself to stand and walk over. His muscles felt stiff. He could now see through the open doorway around the old man. The dried blood staining the sand, the several dark patches with notes of red scattered across the door along with clear signs of something having been dragged to a thick vine that seemed to be tapping the ground.
He noticed how one of the nearby huts bore deep streaks along its stone face before noticing the arrow shaft jutting from the door frame along with more scattered across the ground just past the old man.
It was also now that he noticed he was in the hut he planted the world tree in, the small sapling now high enough to stand nearly to his waist. It had even developed a thin layer of smooth white bark; its leaves also seemed much fuller and he could make out faint veins of green light pulsing beneath the bark. Its branches leaned subtly toward the old man; he could feel it held mild anger and annoyance towards him, but he couldn't understand why.
"It seems you really are as sensitive as a noble when it comes to blood and beasts," the old man scoffed, half-mockingly as he gave Chris a closer look now that he was standing. "I'd wager you had a soft life before this. No real troubles or hardships at all."
The world tree's outrage spiked in his mind at that remark, sharp and indignant, causing a spike of pain that had Chris wince and have to rub his eyes until the sensation dulled, only barely managing to press its voice and feelings down again.
"Either way," the old man continued, voice hardening, not caring about his reaction as his anger returned once more to his tone. "That thing of yours brought trouble, lad! Big trouble." His gaze shifted toward the window, where a thick strangle vine had crept across the frame, its bright flower catching the light ever so subtly and he could all but feel its hunger directed at the old man, wanting him to give it a reason to strike out at him.
"To start with those things." He said pointing to the listening vine. "At first, I thought they were just better-grown versions of what I'd seen before. Maybe some kind of aggressive strain; it wouldn't be the first time such a thing happened, be it accidentally or intentionally." He paused as if remembering something before speaking again, glaring at it. "I was wrong; those things are just—they're wrong, lad. They are far too hungry."
Chris swallowed as the knot in his gut tightened further.
The old man kept his gaze on the vine, gripping his cane as he steadily continued to speak. "You didn't see how they fed, lad, which I am unsure was a mercy or not. They didn't just constrict their prey. They buried themselves into it. Their thorns split and spread under the hide as they drained the wolves dry, even dragging some over and letting them bleed out over their bases; there was nothing left but a bony husk when they were done." He felt a shiver go down his spine as he paled, not just from the old man's words but because the vines in question let out a small moan of pleasure, speaking of how amazing the taste was. "And then they dragged those husks to their base and steadily forced them underground."
The vines purred softly in further confirmation. They asked again when the next feeding would be, as they felt content but still hungry. Their desire for more fed into his already present worry about what may happen if he failed to feed them, the fear worse now knowing what they had done, while silently wondering if they would turn on him if he couldn't feed them.
"That's not even the biggest problem, though." the old man said, drawing his gaze off them and onto the small world tree. "The first mad wolf, the one that had you almost piss yourself after growing that thing?" The old man began bluntly.
"I thought it was bad luck. A wanderer drawn by the scent of blood. Nothing out of the norm, but then an entire pack not that much later? It still could've been the blood trail we left; maybe we didn't cover the trail enough and they followed it to us, but I knew something was wrong." He paused, his eyes narrowing on Chris and causing him to swallow hard.
"Either way, after you passed out I still dragged you to your hut. I'll have you know I hurt my back doing so." He gave a short, humorless huff of annoyance. "And then night fell." Chris saw the old man shiver and glare at the small tree. "And rather than the occasional stray or even just a wandering pack, multiple came instead. Not for you or me, though; instead, they were going for this hut."
The room fell into silence at that before Chris hesitantly asked in a small voice. "How many..."
The old man paused, turning his gaze from the shaking world tree back to Chris before slowly giving his answer. "Four more packs of wolves." He began. "Then three packs of rabid dogs soon after, no less than five mutts in each pack." Chris felt his hands shake at that; one was bad enough, but thirty-five at the very least?
"Then things that weren't mutts came." The old man continued, ignoring the way Chris paled and spoke with a slight tremor in his tone. "One of 'them' caused those deep gashes on the hut over there; they seemed damn pissed and agitated to say the least."
Chris's jaw tightened. "What things?" He asked, unsure if he even wanted to know or not.
"It's called a flesh minotaur, more muscle than anything, horns as sharp as blades and responsible for scratching those walls." The old man said with a growl. "There was also a bloodthirsty centaur who began firing its damn arrows. Both were beasts that rarely bothered with this place yet came together last night."
Chris's eyes flicked to the damaged hut again, then to the arrow stuck in the door frame. "They didn't rush blindly like the mutts did," the old man continued with a frown. "They were smarter, especially that damn centaur. Your spike bushes cut the minotaur badly when it pushed too close at the very least. The vines nearly caught the beast's leg, but it tore free rather violently, which is a pity. The centaur, though, fired on your plants from a distance before turning its focus to the injured minotaur, no doubt a territorial rival."
Chris's gaze dropped briefly to his bandaged thigh. Noticing it, the old man grunted. "First real injury I've taken in over twenty-five years out here, lad. Damn beast spotted me and didn't let the opportunity go." The weight of that settled heavily in Chris's chest along with guilt.
"Their target was this hut, though," the old man said, anger rising to a point of becoming far colder. "Not the outer ones, lad. Not the storeroom. Not the one you were resting in. Not my own. They were like moths to a flame to this one."
Chris found his focus snapping towards the world tree. "I see you understand." the old man finally said. "I moved us here last night since, as dangerous as it is here, the plants surprisingly made it the safest place to be last night. But that thing is attracting them," the old man said harshly. "And I can't explain why! All I can think of is that it might be throwing the balance of the area out the window and they're trying to fix it."
"How?" Chris choked out, forcing himself to stay steady as he looked from the small tree to the old man.
"You killed a whole lot of wolves and dogs in one night; that thinned the local predators and prey alike. That creates a vacuum. The things that eat the mutts will be forced to try and find different food sources, leading the bigger predators to fight over the thinning food sources. Or something notices the disturbance and tries to correct it. Either way, the balance is all but gone after last night."
The words landed differently this time. It wasn't an accusation. Rather, it was the realization of how he was messing up the local ecosystem, causing his mind to whirl.
"Most of them got consumed entirely by the vines and caused an explosive growth. The rest, or the bits that were left, were tossed around, meaning I spent most of the morning cleaning up what I could, which came down to taking the bits and scattering them as far out as I could manage."
"And before last night?" Chris softly questioned. "How often did these kinds of things happen before? And the other two creatures?" He asked with trepidation.
"One or two packs every few days, but they often kept a distance. And the two heavy hitters? Perhaps once a month, often far longer, though, and not at the same time like last night."
The small world tree and possibly even the other plants he had started to grow were drawing all manner of beasts. It seemed the plants had managed to pick up on those thoughts or came to the same conclusion, as their voices were barely a whisper now as they spoke among themselves, only broken by the worried voice of the world tree speaking a bit louder, asking if it had done something wrong, the innocence weighing heavy on his heart.
Its seemingly innocent question proved to be a trigger for the rest of them; he heard the cloud tree, the only plant he hadn't heard till now, let out a deep sob as the spike bushes began to mutter to one another, no longer speaking as one overlapped voice but rather chaotically to one another, trying to figure out what they could do. Even the vines grew quiet, having sensed the shift in mood. Every voice, every concern chipped away at him.
The old man exhaled heavily. "I've seen that look you have before. Adventurers who think power means safety. They make noise in a dungeon and wonder why something bigger answers. Ending scared or broken as they try to find some answers as to why it happened to them and panic to find some way to prevent it from happening again, yet never acknowledging what they did in the first place." He met Chris's eyes directly as he spoke his next words with a firm and chilling edge.
"You need to destroy it, lad. Uproot it entirely and cut it down into pieces before we end up having to deal with something far worse than the mutts."