As time passed—days, hours, maybe more—inside the ruined mall, something stirred.
Wise's fingers twitched.
Then his eyes slowly opened.
At first, all he could see was white. Blinding, endless white.
"Ah... this must be it..." he murmured, smiling faintly. "So this is the afterlife..."
He blinked lazily, letting the brightness soak in. "Not what I'm expecting. Sure is lone—"
But then his vision began to adjust.
The blinding light gave way to something clearer. Sunlight. He was on the ground floor of the mall, and light poured through shattered glass above. The floor beneath him was cracked, but real—gritty and textured. He pressed his hand against it.
It felt... solid. Tangible.
He took a deep breath.
Air. Real air.
His heart started to race.
Confused, he pulled up his torn shirt and looked at his torso.
His eyes widened.
A massive scar ran across his body, etched like lightning—but it wasn't just a scar. It shimmered. Glowed. It was gold.
Surrounding the scar, his skin was blackened, like burnt flesh—but not rotting. Not infected. When he touched the golden crack, it was cold. Like metal. Like real gold. The blackened skin tingled under his fingers, faint and electric.
He blinked. Once. Then again.
"Wasn't I... bitten?" he whispered aloud. "I should've turned. I should be..."
His voice trailed off.
Something was wrong.
Or maybe something was right.
But either way, he wasn't dead.
And he wasn't infected.
Not anymore.
He looked around the mall.
Darkness lingered in most corners—shadows clinging to broken shelves and blood-stained walls. But above him, a hole in the shattered roof let golden sunlight pour in, bathing the center of the ground floor.
And there it was.
The tree.
The same beautiful tree he had tried to protect with his life. Still standing, untouched, radiant in the light.
A smile crept across his face as he crawled closer, gently placing his hand against the bark. It was cool, rough, and alive beneath his fingers. But then he noticed something else—something strange.
His left arm.
It wasn't fully his anymore.
It was encased—merged—into the tree itself, cocooned within layers of bark like a chrysalis. He touched the surface with his right hand. It was soft... warm... squishy, almost like flesh. And he could feel it—his hand inside, the pressure against his skin—but he couldn't move it. It was like the arm no longer listened to him.
He didn't dare pull it out.
Something told him not to. Like yanking it free might cause pain—either to him... or to the tree.
Then his eyes drifted across the floor around him.
Corpses. Infected bodies.
More than ten.
But that couldn't be right. He'd only taken down nine—including the brute with the chainsaw.
He narrowed his eyes. "Huh… who killed them?"
CRACK!
The sharp sound of wood shifting—no, branches moving.
He turned.
The tree.
Its limbs were subtly shifting, one slow-moving branch reaching in his direction.
His breath caught in his throat.
"You?" he asked quietly.
The branch stopped, curling slightly toward him. He reached out, touched it. It was warm—like human skin with the texture of bark. Familiar. Alive.
He let out a soft chuckle.
"Hehe... I know you're not a normal tree."\
Wise sat there in the stillness,
the last shards of sunlight fading behind broken glass,
leaving the mall cloaked in a soft darkness.
Only the golden glow of the tree's leaves remained—
a gentle, pulsing light that kept the shadows at bay.
Strangely…
he didn't feel alone.
Because he wasn't.
It was quiet.
Safe.
Cozy, even.
He found himself humming—
a lullaby his mother used to sing.
Soft and slow.
The tree stirred.
Its leaves fluttered, reacting to his tune.
"Oh? You like it?"
he asked, tilting his head toward it.
He reached out, resting his hand on the bark.
Warm as always.
"Do you want me to sing for you?"
No words came from the tree.
Only a brighter glow,
a gentle ripple through its branches,
like it was… smiling.
He nodded,
a small grin tugging at his lips.
And so, he kept singing.
A lullaby to a tree that wasn't just a tree.
And the leaves danced above him,
as if swaying to the music—
as if they were enjoying every note.
As he finished his lullabies, a sudden croaking tore through the stillness.
A shiver ran down his spine.
He turned—and there it was.
An infected.
But not like the others.
It moved in twitchy, jerking motions,
its limbs bending the wrong way—
just like the Wendigo monsters
he used to fight in his favorite horror game.
It was painfully thin,
bones pressing against its rotting skin,
oozing a strange blue liquid
with every unsteady step.
Then he saw its eyes.
No, not eyes.
Where its eyes should've been…
were worms.
Long, pale things,
writhing from empty sockets,
twitching up and down like antennae.
It reminded him of that parasitic worm—
Leucochloridium paradoxum—
the one that hijacked snails.
The creature shrieked,
a high-pitched gurgle that scraped his nerves raw.
It looked left. Then right.
Then it locked onto him.
Panic surged.
His eyes darted to the floor—
There! His handgun!
He scrambled to grab it—
only to find it rusted, almost fused to the ground.
How long was I out?
Why didn't I die of starvation?
No time for answers.
No time to think.
He looked around,
desperately searching for anything
to defend himself—
and the tree.
The creature twitched, cocking its head unnaturally—
then shrieked again.
It had heard him.
Not with ears.
But through sonar.
Like a bat… or something worse.
Then it moved—
not walked, not ran—
but leapt, erratically,
limbs flailing like a puppet yanked by unseen strings,
just like those monsters from his old horror games.
Wise panicked, eyes wide, heart slamming in his chest.
He grabbed at the floor, searching, hoping, praying—
anything!
But the creature was already lunging.
With no choice, he raised his right arm—
his only functioning arm—
to shield himself.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
JLEB!
A sound like flesh meeting steel tore through the silence.
A pointed root exploded from the floor beneath the monster,
impaling it mid-air—
instant death.
The creature convulsed once.
Then went still.
Its grotesque body slid off the root,
hitting the ground with a wet, final thump.
Wise staggered back, still breathing heavily.
The root silently retracted,
vanishing beneath the concrete like it had never been.
The corpse joined the others…
and that's when he noticed it.
They were all thin—too thin.
Not rotted,
but drained.
As if the fluids inside them had been sucked dry.
Even the grotesque, worm-eyed Wendigo creature—
it was changing.
Its skin pulling tighter,
its form shriveling down into something skeletal…
no—mummified.
The tree had killed it.
The tree had protected him.
And… fed on the infected.
He stared at the tree, brows furrowed, confusion etched into every line of his face.
"What are you…?"
The tree didn't answer, of course.
Just stood there—tall, radiant, silent.
But that silence was… thoughtful.
Like it could answer,
but chose not to.
Wise exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples.
This was too much.
He was bitten.
Mangled by a brute with a chainsaw arm.
He should be dead.
No—worse… he should have turned.
Instead, he'd woken up—
whole…
or mostly.
His left arm was no longer his own.
Fused into the tree, encased in bark,
resting inside something like a cocoon.
He could feel it.
Touch it.
But not move it.
And then there was the scar.
Massive. Golden.
Glowing faintly across his torso—
its edges blackened, the skin charred like burnt wood.
What the hell happened to me…?
His gaze shifted.
There, lying nearby, was his pistol.
Or rather—what used to be his pistol.
The once-reliable firearm now sat half-swallowed by moss,
its surface rusted beyond recognition.
It was a special alloy—designed to last.
Steel that didn't rust for years.
But now?
It looked like it had been abandoned for decades.
Wise's throat tightened.
"…How long was I out?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
No answer.
Just wind brushing the tree's leaves…
and that silent, golden glow.
He sat there, staring down at his legs.
Concern lingered in his mind—
his family,
his mother,
his siblings,
Were they safe?
Had the helicopter made it out?
Was his sacrifice worth it?
He stretched his legs absentmindedly—
Wait.
His eyes widened.
He could move them?
He leaned forward, patting his thighs, wiggling his toes.
What the hell…?
He was sure the brute's chainsaw had torn through his spine.
He felt it.
The grinding.
The obliteration of bone.
He grew up in a medical household.
Both his parents were professionals—
he knew exactly what spinal damage meant.
No movement. No function. No second chances.
And yet—
his legs were responding.
Fully.
Like nothing had happened.
He should be paralyzed.
Or dead.
Instead, he was sitting up, moving, breathing.
He glanced to his left—
his arm still encased in the tree's bark,
merged, trapped, unmoving.
He wanted to stand.
Test his body.
Feel the ground again.
But that was impossible right now.
The tree had claimed part of him.
And whatever this tree was…
it was keeping him alive.
Or maybe something even more terrifying:
It restored him.
He wiggled his toes again.
Watched them.
Flexed. Curled. Stretched.
Still working.
That alone should've been enough to send him spiraling into confusion, or even a panic—
but he didn't feel anything like that.
No boredom.
No anxiety.
No agitation.
And that was strange.
With ADHD, sitting still for this long should've been a waking hell.
He should've been climbing the walls, talking to himself, losing his mind.
But he wasn't.
He felt… calm.
Too calm.
No pain.
No hunger.
No restlessness.
Only concern.
A cold, distant echo of worry for his family—
for the people he left behind.
He glanced at the golden scar across his torso.
At the blackened skin surrounding it.
At the arm embedded in the tree,
now more bark than flesh.
Something wasn't right.
He tapped his fingers on his knee, thinking.
What if I'm infected?
A new variant, maybe?
One that kept its mind…?
Or maybe…
maybe he was something else entirely.
One thing was certain:
He wasn't human anymore.
That wasn't denial.
It was fact.
No human being survives a brute infected tearing through their spine.
No one walks away from that.
Not without divine intervention, or—
He paused.
He remembered the moments before it all went black.
The blinding blur.
The tree.
How he tried to shield it.
Then…
the nothingness.
Then now.
He narrowed his eyes.
One of the last symptoms of turning was craving flesh—even rotting corpses.
He was lucky he "died" before it reached that stage.
But now…
no hunger.
No craving.
No rot.
Instead—
clarity.
He could see better.
He could hear the faintest creak of branches above.
He could feel the air's moisture—
every shift in the wind,
every droplet of humidity kissing his skin.
Even his nearsightedness was gone.
He could see clearly.
Except in the dark—
but it was better than ever before.
It was undeniable.
Whatever he was now…
It wasn't human.
Wise continued to sit in quiet contemplation, eyes wandering lazily across the darkened, half-ruined mall.
He had no idea how much time had passed.
Days?
Weeks?
It should've mattered—but it didn't.
He wasn't hungry.
He wasn't thirsty.
He didn't feel tired.
In fact, he felt fresh.
Always.
Like waking up from the best sleep of his life—every moment.
Even though he couldn't sleep at all.
He tried, of course.
Closed his eyes.
Slowed his breathing.
Counted imaginary sheep, shadows, and stars.
But drowsiness never came.
It was like his body had completely severed ties with exhaustion.
He didn't even feel bored, which was more shocking than anything.
For someone with ADHD, stillness was torment.
Restlessness, his oldest enemy.
And yet here he sat—
serene,
focused,
present.
Every so often, infected would wander near.
Sometimes they passed by like blind ghosts.
Other times, roots would shoot up,
impaling them before they could get close.
He never flinched.
Never panicked.
He just waited.
He didn't know why he waited.
But something inside him whispered: Wait.
And so he did.
Until, one day—
Squash.
A wet, strange pressure made his eyes snap to the left.
The cocoon that had swallowed his arm…
was splitting open.
Golden ichor trickled out in glistening threads,
staining the floor with radiant light.
The bark-like shell peeled back,
like a cracked egg,
until—
Splat!
His arm dropped free, landing in the ichor puddle with a soft slap—
limp like a newborn fawn, twitching slightly.
He stared.
Couldn't move it—
but he could feel it.
He blinked, watching his newly reborn limb.
The skin was no longer flesh-toned.
It was black, smooth like polished obsidian—
laced with glowing golden veins that pulsed with life.
Strange, glowing markings spiraled across it,
like runes or tattoos written in molten sunlight,
dancing and shifting just beneath the surface.
He flexed his fingers.
They flopped uselessly at first—
but he could feel them.
Each tendon.
Each nerve.
The weight. The texture. The warmth.
He chuckled.
A shaky, surprised sound.
Then started laughing—
softly at first, then louder—
as he watched his alien arm flop around like a newborn trying to walk.
It didn't feel like pain.
It didn't feel wrong.
It felt like…
Becoming.
He tried to move his left arm—
slowly, carefully.
Only his fingers twitched at first,
like they were relearning the memory of motion.
He gritted his teeth, pressing his palm against the ichor-slick floor,
struggling to lift himself just a little—
When suddenly, a voice rang through him.
Not in his ears.
Not outside.
Inside.
A presence blooming like thought within thought,
echoing through the hollow of his skull with warmth and gravity:
"Prithee, strain thyself not, sweet child of dust."
He froze.
His eyes darted left,
then right,
but saw no one—
only shadows and golden leaves swaying faintly above.
"Let not ambition tear thy sinews anew.
Thou art not yet whole,
though thou art no longer broken."
The voice was serene,
ancient,
like the hush of old libraries or the breath of wind through sacred groves.
It carried weight—
but not burden.
It soothed.
Wise shivered, breath caught in his throat.
There was no fear.
Only awe.
He looked up at the tree.
"…Was that you?" he whispered.
The leaves above stirred gently,
shimmering with a golden glint—
as if smiling.
He reached out with his right hand and touched the bark again—
warm, pulsing faintly with life,
like a heartbeat beneath layers of time.
The voice had gone still.
But Wise didn't buy the silence.
So, with a defiant grin,
he flexed his strange new left hand once more.
A sharp crackle passed through the air—
not from the tree,
but from within him.
Like a whisper turned to thunder in the mind.
"Dost thou seek thine own ruination, child?"
His grin widened.
"I knew it. You're speaking to me."
The tree's canopy rustled, golden leaves fluttering like laughter in the wind.
"Ah, such impudence…
To bait this one with pain,
and summon voice through folly."
Wise chuckled—genuinely,
almost falling off the gnarled root-bed that had cradled him for who-knows-how-long.
Steadying himself with one hand on the bark, he asked,
"So tell me,
what's your name?
Or what are you, really?"
A pause.
The branches above stirred as if uncertain.
The bark beneath his hand hummed softly.
"This one knoweth not its name…
Nor careth to know what it is called."
Wise tilted his head, his smirk softening.
"That's kind of sad, don't you think?"
A long silence followed.
Then—ever so faintly—
a shiver passed through the bark,
and for just a moment,
the leaves dimmed their glow.
As if, perhaps,
the tree agreed.
Wise's fingers lingered gently on the bark, never straying.
There was a reverence in his touch—
not worship, but… trust.
"Why did you save me?" he asked, voice low.
The tree didn't answer right away.
But when it did, the voice curled through his thoughts like ancient wind through hollow stone:
"Why dost thou save me, child?"
Wise blinked, caught off-guard.
His gaze dropped to the floor, to the moss-covered roots and dried ichor.
"Ah… maybe it's 'cause I didn't want to die alone.
Or maybe I didn't want you to be cut down… infected, desecrated.
But mostly…"
he chuckled weakly,
"…yeah, it's selfish.
I just didn't want to be alone."
The tree responded not with words,
but with action.
Its branches slithered gently around his torso,
lifting him ever so slightly,
adjusting his position on the root-bed—like a mother fixing her child's blankets.
"Dost thou not see that this one hath no need for thy protection?"
the voice rumbled softly in his skull, not unkind, merely curious.
Wise shook his head, lips curling with a small, tired smile.
"No.
Why would I assume that?
But my choice wouldn't change even if I did know."
The tree said nothing.
So he kept speaking,
words falling like slow rain:
"Knowing your end is near…
and you're alone when it comes—
that's terrifying.
Really, truly terrifying."
He took a breath, shaky but clear.
"That's why… even if you're a tree,
even if you're something else entirely—
not dying alone still means everything."
His voice softened.
"I hate being alone.
But I hate the crowd too.
It's stupid, right?"
He let out a laugh that nearly cracked.
"But when I saw you,
all glowing with gold like sunlight trapped in leaves…
I just thought… yeah.
If I had to die,
I'd want it to be right here.
With you.
This place."
He reached up and touched his left shoulder—
still numb, still strange.
He shivered slightly at the contact.
A long silence, and then the voice—
soft as breath in still air:
"Dost thou still tremble with fear, little one?"
Wise closed his eyes.
"No.
Weirdly… I feel calm.
Like it's already alright."
The tree stirred—not with rustle nor sound,
but with an ancient stillness shifting in thought.
"Thou must know that thou art remade…
Forgive this one, for it could not bear thee return to dust.
Thou art no longer what thou once wert."
Wise flopped his left hand, still foreign to him—blackened, veined in gold, alive in ways flesh should not be.
"Yeah… I noticed.
I don't feel bored, or scared…
And I don't feel pain either."
He glanced at the bark, half-smiling, half-lost.
"My dad always said pain and fear are proof you're alive."
"Then, child…
Thou must know thou didst indeed perish before me."
Wise's fingers ran slowly over his transformed arm.
"Figures…
Who'd survive something like that?"
His voice was dry, but not bitter—
just honest.
Tapping his fingers lightly, absently now, he looked back at the bark, expression shifting.
"Say…
you still haven't answered me.
Why did you save me?"
The tree rustled once again—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant.
"This one… knows not why.
Mayhap 'tis a thing of randomness.
Or… what thou wouldst call… feeling?"
Wise's eyes widened, mouth parting slightly.
The branches above dimmed, then shimmered softly like a sigh.
"This one hath never felt ere now.
It cared not for the world, nor the wind, nor the passage of time.
It stood in silence, unbothered.
Not bored, not lonely—just… present."
A pause.
"But when this one saw thee…
Saw thee bleed, saw thee fall,
and still—still—raise thine hand to shield this bark with thy dying breath…"
The tree's voice slowed, quivered like an old melody.
"This one knew sorrow for the first.
And could not—would not—see thee perish beneath its roots.
Thou wert already fading, mind and body breaking…
So this one gave… a piece of itself.
'Twas the only way to save thee."
The golden veins in Wise's left arm pulsed faintly.
"Forgive this one…
It could not let thee go."
Wise didn't speak right away. He gazed into the dark, yawning mall hallway before him—a corridor once filled with music and footsteps, now silent, haunted by rot.
"...Thank you," he finally said, softly. "For saving me. You even gave pieces of yourself to me… how could I ever—"
The tree responded, gently and resolute:
"This one seeketh not repayment.
It merely… wished for thee to live once again."
Wise looked up toward the shattered skylight above, light spilling through the broken glass like quiet divinity.
"...Tell me… what am I now? What have I become?"
The tree fell silent. Its branches stilled. It was thinking—no, feeling, as best it could.
Then:
"Thou art become… what my kind calleth an Abyssal Guardian."
Wise's brow furrowed, eyes drifting toward the glowing leaves above.
"Abyssal Guardian…?"
The tree rustled, branches curling with thought.
"Aye… a guardian.
This one knows not all that the title bears.
For it knows not even itself.
But it hath made thee… the first of such."
Wise chuckled dryly, arms slack. "So what, am I your knight now? Am I bound to you?"
The leaves shimmered like hesitant sighs.
"Thou art bound… indeed.
But this one shall not bind thy will.
Be free. Walk thy path.
Do what thou must in thy reformed form.
This one hath given thee immunity to the corruption thou once feared…
No plague, no rot shall take thee now."
Wise's breath caught. "Immune?" Truly? That infection—unstoppable, cruel, consuming—all of it rendered powerless against him now?
He sat with that thought… then slowly shook his head.
"No... if people found out, they'd make me a resource, not a person. I'd be nothing but a lab rat… a cure to be bled dry. I know my kind. They'd never let me live."
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes sinking toward the soil beneath.
"And yet... my family's still out there. For all I know, they could be alive... and I'd give anything to protect them. I just… I don't even know where to start."
He glanced at his feet.
"...And I haven't even tried walking yet."
"Prithee… take hold of this one's hand.
Let this one help thee taketh thy first step once more."
A groaning, creaking branch unfurled like a beckoning arm, reaching toward Wise's side—offering support not unlike the gesture of an old friend.
Wise chuckled, breath soft with disbelief.
"Hehe… this feels like I got into an accident, and the nurse's helping me walk again."
The tree gave no reply. Whether it didn't understand, or simply didn't care for the comparison, it remained still—stoic and silent.
Wise reached out, fingers brushing against the bark-textured limb. It felt firm, alive—like a hand. As he gripped it, the branch lifted him gently, raising him a moment into the air before carefully lowering him back down onto the rootbed floor.
His legs wobbled immediately. Balance was a ghost.
He almost fell—but the tree caught him with a nest of curling branches.
"Thy mind and form still adjusteth," the tree whispered, low and distant, as though echoing from within.
"This one hath placed part of itself within thy mind—to cleanse thy corruption.
But it shall not regrow thy flesh… only replace it.
Be warned—thy art still as fragile as thy younger self before."
Wise gritted his teeth, finding his footing, staring down at legs that weren't quite his anymore. The world swayed… but didn't fall.
He chuckled again, shakier this time.
"Guess I really am walking again, huh?"
One slow step forward.
"Let's see if I remember how to dance."
He gripped the branch tightly, breath trembling as he took his first step. His legs quivered, nerves screaming—no, not nerves. It felt like stepping barefoot through snow made of glass, like each touch of the ground peeled raw something that wasn't meant to feel.
A second step.
Then collapse.
The tree caught him without fail, wrapping branches beneath him like cradling arms. It set him upright again, and again he tried. Again he fell.
But Wise didn't give up.
He stretched his legs when resting, massaging the strange, alien muscles. They spasmed, they shivered, but he kept moving. Slowly, awkwardly, like a newborn deer trembling into place.
Days passed.
And the boy who once couldn't walk now moved unaided.
He no longer clung to branches.
He walked, one foot after the other, even as his spine tensed and his skin crawled with each step—like fire searing through ice.
He walked through agony.
He walked despite it.
Until—
"Enough, child. Thou shalt wound thyself further."
A branch crept forward, gentle and firm, coiling around his waist like a belt of safety. It drew him back to the rootbed, laying him down once more.
Wise said nothing, only panted quietly—his body shaking not from weakness, but from sheer exhaustion. He looked up at the canopy above, golden leaves glittering like fallen stars.
He had walked.
Not far. Not gracefully.
But he had walked.