A Dark Fantasy Spy

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A green monster spreads its leaves and soars into the sky. The fruits hanging on the branches tumble down, exploding and piercing the wall with sharp seeds.

Thick, black smoke soared high into the sky. Sporadic explosions spread across the ground. The sound of gunfire echoed continuously, engulfing the slums in thick black smoke.

The crumbling city was engulfed in flames and smoke. The smoke rose even in the city center, and it billowed from the distant ramparts.

And far away, in the middle of the slums.

A gigantic tree, as if it had come from a world of innocence, glowed with mystery.

—

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

—

My family was burned alive.

Bright red flames. A pit filled with corpses. Mangled fingers scraping at the sand. The loud noise of gunfire and the metallic scent of blood.

When the steel hail poured into the marsh, the screams that seemed to last forever faded away.

As the reddish sunset illuminated the pit, my eyelids opened reflexively.

The village was eerily silent. The soldiers who had been scratching their triggers to the left and right had long since left with the trucks. In the burnt hut, the boy opened his eyes in that crimson mire.

In an instant, the boy lost his family and neighbors, leaving him all alone, guided by a cruel fate.

– On the 22nd, a massacre occurred in the central Jubanka region of the Bonafra Republic in southern Mauritania while a delegation from the World Union visited Bonafra Republic…

– It is estimated that more than 140 nomadic residents, including women and children, were killed. An official claimed in an interview with a correspondent that “this massacre was a terrorist act committed by extremists”…

– However, experts argue that the tragedy may have resulted from the Bonafra government’s ongoing disputes with nomadic tribes over resources such as water, land, and magic stones and their forced relocation policies…

It was unforgivable.

But there was nothing I could do.

The Mauritania smeared with coups and civil war could not embrace the boy who had lost his parents. There were countless parentless children in the world, and far more parents who had lost their children. Thus, the boy was thrown into the cold reality and had to learn how to survive.

He struggled to survive. Drinking from the parasite-infested rivers, stealing food and getting beaten until his bones broke. He could not comprehend why he had to endure such suffering, and so he cried endlessly.

He lived on, unable to die, day by day.

Then one day, the boy heard a “voice” for the first time.

– Do not be afraid.

He saw the twinkling starlight, not from the night sky, but through a knothole. Wandering in the desert, when he encountered a giant tree that shook its branches, a sweet voice echoed. The great tree embraced the boy’s soul with a mystery that drew deep into his spirit.

He was astonished.

He was deeply moved.

It was beautiful.

As the calm preaching continued, his anger waned. Tears streamed down his cheeks, lightly dusted with sand. Thus, nature embraced the boy, and the boy longed for nature.

The last prophet appeared, yet the indulgent and greedy priests only glared at him with distrust.

Distrust led to insult and persecution. But Mother, in her mercy, sent down a revelation. The celestial being gifted him seeds wrapped in his pocket.

He had to go back.

He had wandered off on his own, but someday he must return to the land of twinkles.

He had to lead.

To the land of oblivion. Beyond memories.

To the sea of all creation that birthed life by measuring the earth and cutting the fabric. To the mother of the beginning.

The boy longed for nature.

The boy loved nature.

And with those who shared his resolve, he founded Al Kair.

Now it was time to return and become one with nature.

—

*

“This message has been given by the merciful and benevolent one for the understanding of the people.”

Flowers bloom. The smiling faces burst into laughter.

The expressions of those crying with joy and those shedding tears with confession are fundamentally the same.

Happiness is always being together with those who believe. Everyone cried and laughed together.

“Our hearts are closed; your invitation does not reach us, and our ears are blocked; we cannot understand your words. There is a wall between us and you.”

Thick, hard roots spread out greedily sideways. At each bent joint, hook-like thorns sprout.

The distorted leaves softly brushed against the cheeks.

The thick, glossy leaves were tinted deep green, and the face of a madman was soaked in ecstasy, the flourishing yellow-green flowers forming an unknown bloom.

An unnamed plant drooped its flowers and leaves like a willow, and the old man reached out to caress its fruit. The round fruit hanging from the branches revealed a ripe red appearance.

“Therefore, you should do your work. We will do ours.”

As the fruit falls and flowers bloom fully, faces emerge from within. Flowers and stems collapse under their weight, and life pours forth from within.

Flowers grown from the earth embraced humans. Just as a cradle holds a baby, the plant held humanity.

“A person, from a flower…”

Lucia’s expression stiffened.

Tales of beings born from flowers often appear in myths, legends, and folklore. Humans, touched by the beauty of flowers, praise that beauty, sometimes venerating it. A life that emerges from an ideal realm must be more sacred and beautiful than other lives.

However, witnessing it firsthand only filled him with extreme discomfort.

Humans appeared from flowers, and fruits alike. Yet no matter how he looked around, there was no one unscathed.

A hybrid of plant and human, a sticky fluid flowed down, their expression contorted in pain yet smiling widely.

There was no beauty to be found there.

Only bizarre remains, and a sorrow lingered in the blue eyes.

“…It seems they were eaten.”

The smiling humans began to rise. The flanged mace landed calmly upon them.

Clearing the vines, he laid a man, half-transformed, to the ground.

If roots are heard, entwined wrists become crowded. Clearing the torn stems, he grasped the neck of the soldier running toward him and pulled the weeds from the man’s densely covered torso.

The tough shells cracked, and people poured out. The fruits that fell from the trees exploded, and Lucia quietly swung her mace, avoiding the sharp seeds.

Prayers for the restless echoed through the ruins.

“Grant eternal rest to those who have departed. Let them rest in eternal light.”

As if in response, from the waves of green and brown, a heavy voice could be heard.

“Do not be afraid nor grieve. The gospel of heaven promised to you is here.”

Turning his back to the flowers that belched forth the victims of the slums, the Madman raised his staff high.

“The revelation of mother has come through the divine tree. I am the last prophet and seer, guiding you to the right path that leads to Him.”

The waves swayed and rolled. The arm holding the staff trembled with overwhelming power.

The Madman grinned as he raised both arms even higher.

“This is the generous gift of the one filled with grace and mercy—do not grieve, nor be afraid!”

The plants, adorned in shades of brown, green, and colors existing in nature, all rose in unison.

The Madman struck the earth, and the waves surged like a tidal wave in the streets.

A streak of light cleaved through the multicolor tide.

—

– ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶!!

A massive explosion sent shards flying in all directions. The Madman covered his face with his arm, pulling the surrounding plants for protection.

Amidst the divided plants, Lucia’s soft voice peeked through the splitting and crumbling petals.

“Grace and mercy are not something a wretch like you can utter.”

The Saint descended upon the ruins. For her, leaping over debris taller than herself only required a few steps.

Frowning, she aimed her mace.

Amidst the snow-white light, her white and blue eyes darted towards the Madman.

“Stand right there. I’ll be there soon.”

Lucia’s eyes narrowed. She commanded him to wait for his demise.

This was what everyone desired. Even he did. The death of an unbeliever was more valuable than any death.

The Madman welcomed her with a kind and benevolent smile, his face adorned with a deep crimson streak that Lucia had carved. He greeted her sincerely.

“Come now. Hurry along.”

The Saint advanced toward the shadowy regions, plunging herself into the wild foliage.