Chapter 37
Written by Bayzo Albion
The Forest Queen overwhelmed him with her power, forcing him to his knees and demanding worship. Her will pressed down like a storm, invading his mind and testing his resolve. Though his body trembled under the weight, he fought back, defiant. His second self urged him not to submit, while the Queen watched with amused superiority — a predator toying with her prey.
"Lost in thought, little flea?" Her voice dripped nectar, toxic and seductive, wrapping around my resolve like vines.
"Trying to wriggle out of this... bind," I admitted, the words scraping past gritted teeth as her magic burrowed deeper, threading through my veins like liquid fire—earthy herbs mingled with something primal, feral, a scent that hooked into my hindbrain and tugged.
"And what brilliant schemes does that puny brain of yours conjure?" She toyed with me, her tone gliding like claws on crystal, savoring the game.
"Honestly... drawing a blank," I confessed, aiming for nonchalance, though my body screamed under the onslaught, muscles quivering like bowstrings drawn too tight.
The assault intensified, a tidal wave of density that drowned me. The atmosphere grew saturated, heavy with the musk of wet loam and wild herbs, laced with an undercurrent of ancient peril—something that seeped into my pores, my blood, promising oblivion if I just... let go.
She sighed, a sound almost wistful, laced with fleeting humanity—regret? Boredom? It evaporated into icy mockery. "How tedious. At least dance for me, then—entertain your queen."
I strained to move, but her bindings held firmer than forged chains. Limbs leaden, fingers numb and traitorous, heart pounding a muffled dirge against my ribs—like a trapped beast in a cage of bone.
"Fine," she said, her voice receding as if from a vast distance. "I'll toy with you later."
And poof—she was gone. Not departed, not vanished, but unraveled into the ether, as if the forest had reclaimed her essence. Only the faint quiver of leaves and a lingering chill, like breath on frostbitten skin, marked her presence.
*That's it?* I thought, blinking at the suddenly empty glade, the Baroness slumping free of her bonds with a gasp. *Over so quick?*
My double stirred, stretching mentally with a yawn. *Tricky when the lady's leagues above you in power. But admit it—the more she dangles out of reach, the more you crave the chase.*
I lunged toward the Baroness first, my fingers fumbling in a frantic blur as I tore away the sticky magical tape sealing her mouth. It peeled back with a sickening rip, leaving angry red welts blooming across her porcelain skin.
"You never cease to astonish me," she murmured. "We're alive — I still can't quite wrap my head around it."
"Not for long," I rasped, my throat raw and dry. "She won't let us off that easy."
"So this is just a fleeting reprieve?" She rubbed at the raw marks on her wrists, wincing as circulation prickled back to life. "What could be worse than a bored Forest Queen? She's like a storm cloud toying with lightning—beautiful, until she strikes."
"Where are the others?" I snapped back to the moment, scanning the shadowed glade.
"In the little cabin," she replied, managing a faint, ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Lost in peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the nightmare unfolding just beyond their door."
*What could be more intoxicating than a beautiful, helpless woman bound and at your mercy? Eh?* My double's voice slithered into my thoughts, laced with that familiar mocking leer.
"Not now," I shot back mentally, shoving the intrusion aside like an unwelcome hand on my shoulder.
*Aw, come on. Doesn't the idea of claiming a conquered beauty quicken your pulse? You crave the thrill—the adrenaline, the struggle, the sweet surrender.*
"Are you trying to guilt me into something?"
*Dude, don't treat women like disposable gloves. When beauty's laid out at your feet, you seize it. That's the law of the wild.*
I exhaled sharply, tuning out the mental peanut gallery as I finished untying the last of her bonds. The vines uncoiled with a reluctant whisper, slithering back into the underbrush like chastised serpents. She rose unsteadily, massaging her wrists, her gaze locking onto mine—not with fear, not with gratitude, but with a cool, appraising detachment. It was the look of a chess master eyeing a pawn, calculating its next move, its potential value... or its expendability.
"Those who cannot master themselves are doomed to serve," I quoted softly, the words from Goethe's *Faust* slipping out like a talisman against the chaos.
*Pathetic excuses,* my double snorted, his ethereal presence rolling its eyes.
Maybe it was. But in this twisted paradise, excuses were all we had left.
– – –
Dawn crept in almost imperceptibly in this bizarre Eden, where time oozed like thick honey rather than marching in crisp ticks.
My double and I sprawled on the grass, soft as velvet under our backs, watching sunlight spear through the dense canopy.
"So, what's on the agenda today?" he asked, flipping a small pebble into the air and snatching it mid-spin with casual flair. It was a tic of his—endless motion to fill the void. "Back to playing lumberjacks, hacking through the undergrowth like it's a bad haircut?"
I stretched, a delicious ache blooming in my limbs from yesterday's labors—a good sore, the kind that whispered of progress etched into muscle and bone.
"What else is there?" I grinned, propping myself on an elbow. "Remember how I used to fantasize about life turning into a video game? Well, here it is: infinite quests, every tree a loot drop, every beast a grind for levels."
"Dreams, huh? They're fickle beasts," he mused philosophically, rolling the pebble between his fingers like a worry stone. "Some bloom into reality; others wither on the vine. But spill it—what's your heart chasing now, when it feels like you've got the whole damn buffet laid out?"
I paused, watching a breeze whirl golden leaves into a brief, joyful dance before they scattered across the grass. At the path's edge, wilted flowers clung to their stems like tired dancers after the final bow.
"I don't want these dreams I've caught to fade like autumn blooms," I said quietly. "I want them evergreen—blooming wild and fierce, season after endless season."
He whistled low, a sound of genuine surprise cutting through the woodland hush. "Whoa. Poetic streak I didn't see coming. Didn't peg you for the brooding bard type."
"It's in everyone," I replied, the words settling like dust motes in sunlight. "Some let weeds choke it out; others just need a good rain to coax it free."
The moment lingered, heavy with unspoken truths, before we hauled ourselves up, brushing off the cling of grass and earth. Philosophy could wait—action called, as it always did in this world of endless tomorrows.
– – –
We pressed on with clearing the land, axes biting into wood with rhythmic thuds that echoed like a heartbeat through the trees. But soon enough, the double's restlessness bubbled over, and we pivoted to something with more bite.
"Now—for the real hunt!" he proclaimed with theatrical grandeur as we ventured deeper into the wilds, bows slung over shoulders and senses attuned to the forest's subtle symphony. "Just like our ancestors thundering after mammoths, spears raised and hearts pounding!"
He chattered nonstop, a one-man echo chamber bouncing off the trunks.
"We crushed those trees today, didn't we? Like Drobyshevsky said: 'It's tough to run when you're a tree.' Ha! Get it?" His laughter boomed through the understory, startling a flock of iridescent birds into frantic flight, their wings a blur of emerald and sapphire. "Seriously, though—why no XP for felling plants? They're alive, right? Photosynthesizing killers!"
I shook my head, half-amused, half-exasperated, letting his torrent of words wash over me like a babbling brook. We plunged into denser thickets, where vines tangled like jealous lovers and the air grew thick with the musk of moss and hidden fungi.
As the old saying goes: speak of the devil, and he'll appear. We barely scratched the surface of this world's quirks when the mist between the boles parted, birthing something straight from nightmare's forge.
A living tree emerged, shambling from the fog on two massive root-claws that gouged the soil with predatory deliberation, carving furrows deep as grave trenches. Its trunk was armored in bark like dragon scales—rough, ridged, and etched with veins of silvery sap that gleamed like quicksilver. Where a face should have been, a blank expanse of polished wood stared back, featureless and unnervingly serene. But the vines... gods, the vines. They writhed with malevolent life, coiling and hissing in serpentine congress, their whispers a susurrus of ancient malice slithering through the leaves.
"My thoughts made flesh!" my double yelped, eyes bugging out in manic delight. "I *am* the universe!"
"Coincidence," I dismissed, though a shiver of unease coiled in my gut, cold as root cellar damp. "Like Paine said: 'You can't grasp a forest's beauty by fixating on one tree.'"
One vine froze mid-twitch, as if scenting the air—then pivoted toward us with eerie precision, questing like a bloodhound on the trail of fear-sweat. It tasted the breeze, the subtle shift of our breaths, homing in with the unerring instinct of an apex predator.