The Destructive Adventures of the Lovers-Chapter 41: When the Forest Wept

The storm raged on, its dark tendrils reaching through the twisted trees, tearing at the branches and howling through the shattered stones of the battlefield. Ava moved through the chaos, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, her body battered and bloodied, her mind sharp with fear and fury.

She turned, her eyes locking onto her mother, a fierce, determined woman who stood amidst the chaos, her blade flashing as she cut down the twisted, armored forms of the Holy Land knights. For a moment, their eyes met, a flicker of love and fear passing between them, a silent promise that they would survive this.

But then, a shadow moved behind her mother, a dark figure clad in twisted, rusted armor, its blade flashing in the storm-light as it drove deep into her back, the point bursting from her chest in a spray of dark, glistening blood. Ava's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening as her mother staggered, her knees buckling, her blade slipping from her grasp as she crumpled to the ground, her blood soaking into the cracked, shattered stones beneath her.

Ava screamed, a raw, animal sound that tore from her throat, her hands clenching into fists as she lunged forward, her blade flashing as she struck at the knight, her strikes wild, desperate, fueled by a fury that burned hotter than the fires of the storm around them.

But the knight turned, his blade flashing through the air, the cold steel cutting into her side, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as the pain exploded through her body, her vision flashing white as her legs gave way beneath her. She crumpled to the ground beside her mother, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, her blood pooling around her as the storm raged on above them.

Her father's roar cut through the chaos, his body crashing through the shattered stones as he lunged towards her, his eyes wide with terror, his hands reaching for her as the knights closed in around them. But before he could reach her, another blade flashed through the air, the twisted steel cutting deep into his chest, his breath leaving him in a sharp, ragged gasp as he crumpled beside them, his blood soaking into the dark, broken earth.

The Simbaku warriors fought on, their blades flashing in the storm-light, their screams echoing through the shattered trees as they cut down the retreating Holy Land warriors, their rage and grief driving them to the edge of madness. The knights broke, their twisted, bloodied forms retreating into the shadows, their war cries fading into the darkness as they fled the shattered remains of the battlefield.

But as the last of the knights disappeared into the storm, the Simbaku warriors paused, their breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps, their eyes scanning the blood-soaked ground for their fallen comrades. They stepped forward, their blades slipping from their grasp as they knelt beside their dead, their hands reaching for the cold, lifeless bodies of their loved ones, their tears mingling with the blood-soaked earth.

But no one came to Ava. No one knelt beside her, no hands reached for her blood-streaked face, no voices whispered her name. She lay beside her mother, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps, her fingers reaching for the cold, lifeless hand beside her as the world around her faded into darkness.

She closed her eyes, her breath leaving her in a sharp, ragged sigh, her body still, her blood soaking into the dark, twisted earth as the storm raged on above her, the wind howling through the shattered trees, whispering of death and forgotten promises.

Far away, in the twisted, shadowed woods, Margarette stood tall, her eyes blazing as the Holy Land warriors burst from the trees, their blades flashing in the storm-light as they charged towards her. She raised her hands, her fingers twisting as the branches around her came to life, their twisted, gnarled limbs reaching out like the fingers of the dead, wrapping around the knights as they stumbled, their breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps as the life was choked from their bodies.

The trees around her twisted and writhed, their branches tightening around the knights, their limbs cracking and splintering as the life left their bodies, their screams lost in the howling wind. Margarette's eyes narrowed, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as she flung her hands out, the twisted branches snapping as they flung the broken bodies into the shadows, their lifeless forms crumpling to the ground like discarded dolls.

She turned, her eyes locking onto Owen, his small, trembling form huddled beneath a shattered tree, his eyes wide with fear as the world around them continued to crumble. She reached out, her fingers twisting as the air around him shimmered, his body disappearing in a swirl of dark, twisted light, his terrified gasp lost in the wind as he reappeared high in the twisted branches of a massive tree in Lavera, his body curled into a tight, shivering ball as the storm howled around him.

Margarette turned back to the battlefield, her eyes narrowing as she stepped forward, her hands crackling with dark, unearthly power as the twisted branches around her reached for the retreating knights, their screams echoing through the shattered trees as the world around them continued to crumble into darkness.

The trees crackled and roared, their ancient limbs twisting in agony as flames licked hungrily at their bark. Shadows danced wildly, thrown by the blaze, casting grotesque figures that seemed to scream and writhe in the choking smoke.

Margarette stumbled back, her breath coming in harsh, shuddering gasps. The air burned in her lungs, thick with the oily scent of sap and charred leaves. Her skin prickled with heat, sweat pouring down her brow as she swung her arms in desperate arcs, tearing at the twisting, grasping thorns that clawed at her flesh.

"No... not yet," she whispered, her voice lost in the roar of the inferno. She felt the roots tightening around her ankles, their barbed tips digging into her flesh, drawing blood. She glanced down, her eyes widening in horror.

Her feet had turned to wood. The skin cracked and splintered, veins transforming into twisted roots, her toes merging with the blackened earth. She gasped, stumbling, her fingers clutching at her chest as the transformation crept up her legs, her bones hardening, skin growing rough and grainy. But still, she fought.

A shadow moved through the smoke—a figure wrapped in silver and white, his armor gleaming even in the fire's haze. Stark, a knight from the Holy Land, his eyes cold and unyielding, his blade a thin, polished line of steel that cut through the choking air.

Margarette swung at him, her arms wooden clubs now, splintering as they connected with his shield. She screamed, a long, keening wail that rose above the crackle of burning leaves, but Stark did not hesitate. He stepped forward, his boots crunching over the smoldering remains of shattered branches, and drove his blade deep into her abdomen.

The steel pierced through her chest, splintering her wooden ribs, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The flames paused, the wind stilled, and the crackle of burning bark softened to a whisper.

Margarette's mouth fell open, a silent scream frozen in her throat. Her eyes, now hard and unblinking, locked on Stark's expressionless face as the fire reflected in his cold, grey eyes. She felt the final shudder of her heart, the last, faint beat before it too turned to wood.

The roots crawled up her body, tightening around her arms, her neck, until her head tilted back, her lips parted in an eternal, breathless gasp.

A single tear welled up in the corner of her wooden eye, a tiny, glistening bead that rolled down her cheek, carving a dark, wet trail through the grain of her petrified skin before it sizzled away in the heat.

The warriors pushed past her, their boots crunching on the scorched undergrowth as they ran toward the storm, their eyes locked on the twisted spires of Maranaqua, its towers wreathed in shadow and lightning.

Behind them, the fire roared higher, the branches cracking and groaning as the forest itself seemed to mourn her passing, its ancient heart consumed by flame.