Rise of the Living Forge

Roots exploded from beneath the leaf-covered ground, their ends sharpened to razored tips, and shot for Arwin’s heart with blinding speed. The Wyrm slammed a huge foot down on the ground before him, shattering the roots and blocking their path off.

Arwin burst into motion. Leaves cracked beneath his feet as he charged toward the Ashleaf Tree, power pumping through his body from the new hand at his side. He bounded over a root that rose up in his path, not even slowing in his charge.

A branch whipped down toward Arwin, razored leaves plummeting toward his head like blades of glass. He didn’t even react. The sky above him darkened and the Wyrm’s feet slammed down on either side of his body as it put its body between him and the attack.

Leaves rang off the huge monster’s scales harmlessly, and the branch struck it with a loud crack a moment later. The Wyrm snarled and staggered, but it didn’t fall. It was more than just a manifestation of a monster in Arwin’s mind.

It was the Wyrm’s Revenge. The manifestation of a shield — and if there was one thing it was good at, it was defense.

A cold smile split across Arwin’s features as the distance between him and the Ashleaf Tree evaporated. He was nearly upon the monster’s trunk. All the pain that had been flooding his body had receded to a dull throb.

His body was his once more. With every step that Arwin took, the Ashleaf Tree lost power and the arm attached to his right shoulder grew stronger. He didn’t even know what it was capable of yet, but the sheer magical energy thrumming within it was enough to nearly make him dizzy.

“That is my power!” the Ashleaf Tree roared, its branches shaking in fury. Roots burst up around the Wyrm, tightening around the monster’s legs and slamming it to the ground, but the tree was far from done.

More roots erupted from the ground before Arwin. He tried to leap over them, but they were too fast. Two wooden spikes slammed into his legs and carved straight through them, pinning him in place. He slammed to a halt, a sharp burst of agony ripping through him.

More roots burst up from the ground and bound Arwin’s legs in a solid case of wood, locking him in place. Loud cracks echoed out behind Arwin as his Wyrm fought to free itself from its bindings.

The Ashleaf Tree didn’t give it the chance to break free. Its trunk creaked as it swung itself at Arwin like a massive baseball bat, aiming to completely pulverize him with a single blow.

Arwin watched the monster’s body accelerate toward him. Despite the throbbing pain in his legs, he felt no fear. This was a battle of wills. A fight where the victor was decided by their worthiness and determination. Their strength in the former world could tip the scales, but it was not the sole factor in victory.

The Ashleaf Tree might have been stronger than him. It might have won in every single other one on one fight that could have been conceived. But this fight was in Arwin’s soul. He had the home ground, and the tree had already had its chance to demonstrate what it was capable of.

Now it was his turn.

Arwin sent his mind driving into the wooden arm at his side like a spike. Roiling power within the arm met his thoughts, a rush of thoughts and desires slamming into him in a cacophony. The arm was starving. It was furious. It was desperate. It wanted to kill.

The wood may have come from the Ashleaf Tree, but it was no longer a monster. It was a Cursed item. It wanted to live.

A shadow passed over him as the massive tree trunk whistled through the air toward him. There were only instants left before it would connect with him.

Wooden fingers tightened into a fist at Arwin’s side as his mind pressed deeper into the wooden arm. With a roar, he swung it with all the force he could muster, gritting his teeth as glass leaves carved across his flesh.

His punch struck the trunk of the Ashleaf Tree with a resounding crash. Force ripped down his arm and through his body, but nowhere near as much as there should have been. The arm had absorbed the impact of the blow.

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A loud crunch rang out.

The tree’s dark trunk cracked. It lurched back as if it had been burned and a hissing cry of pain and fury tore through Arwin’s mind. Leaves rustled and swayed as the tree thrashed in disbelief and pain.

Arwin felt the roots binding his legs loosen for an instant. Arwin took advantage of the situation and slammed his hand down, ripping the knotted growths away from himself and freeing his legs. He staggered free.

Loud cracks announced the arrival of his Wyrm as it stormed up to stand over Arwin, its shadow passing over him and onto the tree before them.

Energy pulsed in Arwin’s wooden arm with such intensity that it almost hurt. It was powerful, but something about the energy was wrong. Arwin didn’t have to think too hard to guess what.

His intent had never been focused on himself. This item wasn’t meant for him. There was only so much he could make use of it when it had been formed from the ground up with Olive in mind.

“Just give me a little more,” Arwin said, gritting his teeth and flexing the wooden fingers. “I’m not done here. This is just a mere taste of the power that you will wield in the real world. This is what I have already made you into. Are you really going to reject all of that for an old relic?”

“I will never give in!” the Ashleaf Tree roared.

A huge branch whipped toward Arwin. Light flashed off the shimmering leaves covering its length and wind howled around it.

The Wyrm’s tail whipped forward to meet the branch. It struck it with a loud crack, and the Ashleaf Tree’s limb shattered. It spun through the air and impaled itself in the ground several feet behind Arwin.

The Ashleaf Tree screamed in pain. Leaves rained down from its branches and clattered to the ground, shattering as they landed. It wasn’t an attack. The tree was starting to wither. It shrunk before Arwin’s eyes, losing nearly half of its height within just seconds.

A pulse rolled down Arwin’s wooden arm. For a moment, the barriers between himself and the arm fell. He could feel the Cursed item in its entirety. He could feel all the emotion, all the desire gathered within the wood. He could feel the intent he’d painstakingly poured into it and its determination to exist.

It seemed the arm had made its choice.

“This is my power,” the tree howled, the intensity of its voice growing weaker with every word. “Mine! You are a thief! A hypocrite! I will not—”

The arm tugged at Arwin’s mind, offering guidance. Arwin accepted it. He thrust his right hand forward like a spear. His wooden fingers lengthened, stretching out like the roots that had been used against him just moments before.

They slammed straight into the heart of the tree. Its words slammed to a halt. For an instant, the clearing was silent. Sunlight shimmered across the dry leaves beneath his feet and danced as it reflected from their glasslike surfaces.

Then a loud crack split the air. The Ashleaf Tree split down the center, its two halves pitching down and crashing to the ground. Leaves fluttered up all around it.

The roots extending from Arwin’s fingers slithered back and the arm returned to its normal state.

A wind blew through the clearing, picking the leaves up in its gentle embrace and sending them swirling upward. They rose from the clearing, somehow not cutting Arwin as they danced into the sky.

Then they were gone.

Green scales shimmered in the sunlight. The Wyrm looked down at Arwin. Its features were unreadable, but intelligence sparkled within its dark eyes.

Arwin inclined his head in appreciation. Even though he’d been the one to call his shield here, this was no mere item. It held intelligence. The right thing to do was acknowledge its help. The fight would have gone very differently if he’d had to take it entirely on his own. His shield had done its job well.

The Wyrm started to turn translucent. For an instant, Arwin caught a glimpse of a Maristeel Shield floating in the air. Then it was gone.

All that remained in the clearing was Arwin and the destroyed Ashleaf Tree.

Arwin’s connection to the arm at his side vanished. He could still feel the power within it, but it was not power meant for him. With a grunt, he reached up to the arm and gave it a sharp tug.

It ripped free with a loud pop. Surprisingly, there was no pain. Arwin held the arm before him, watching the sunlight reflect off its glossy wooden surface.

“It was a good fight,” Arwin said. “I’ve got someone who can use you far better than I ever can. You’ll get what you seek.”

The arm didn’t respond. Its mental connection to him was severed — but a warm breeze danced past Arwin and rustled his hair. He craned his neck back watched the last of the leaves disappear into the sky.

Then Arwin let his eyes drift shut.

When they opened once more, the vision was gone. He stood in the Infernal Armory. On the anvil before him sat a perfectly smooth wooden arm. Embossed onto the back of its palm was a familiar mark.

The Ifrit brand.

Arwin blinked in surprise as he shook of the last of the vision’s effects. He definitely hadn’t put the mark there. If he’d been honest with himself, he’d forgotten. This had been a gift for a guildmate, not something to sell.

I guess the arm did manage to get one last response to me in after all, huh?

A smile pulled at Arwin’s lips.

The Mesh tingled at his fingertips as he gingerly picked up his newly made item. Bright crimson letters sliced into the air as his efforts were acknowledged.

[The Ashen Armament: Cursed] has been forged. Forging a cursed item has granted you a significant amount of magical energy.