The Forest that Kills

Oliver trudged behind Lilith and Misty, his footsteps muffled on the damp, soft earth. The Wailing Grove faded into the mist behind them, and with each step, he felt the forest thickening, its shadows stretching like dark tendrils reaching for them. Lilith muttered under her breath as she led the way, casting wary glances at the shifting trees, while Misty floated alongside with an almost bored expression, answering Lilith’s nervous complaints with her usual dense responses.

"Why exactly are we walking?" Oliver asked, his voice laced with frustration. “Shouldn’t you two have some kind of magical shortcut to the Bone Lord?”

Lilith huffed, brushing a lock of her wild hair from her face. "Sure. If it was that easy then we wouldn’t have to go to him in the first place.”

“Lilith has lost her teleportation privileges,” Misty droned as she floated down the path. “plus it is a secure location to protect the Bone Lord from others who may want to harm him.”

“Lost your privileges?” Oliver asked. The succubus looked away but he could see the tinge of pink to her cheeks.

“Some people don’t have a sense of humor,” she responded. By the fact she would not look at him made it clear she was not going to elaborate.

They continued in tense silence for what felt like hours. The silver moon overhead still burned bright, its cold light casting an eerie glow over their path. Oliver felt the fatigue pulling at him, and his thoughts grew hazy. How long had he been awake? How long had it been since he woke up and ate at the bed and breakfast? His stomach rumbled. It was hard to tell how much time had passed; in this place, minutes seemed to stretch into hours. He glanced at the mist-shrouded figures of Lilith and Misty, who were locked in yet another heated debate.

“So you think it is my fault?” Lilith snapped, her wings fluttering in agitation.

The ghost girl did not even look at the other. “I do not. The scrying mirror does.”

“Well, lakes are stupid.”

“It is a lagoon.”

Lilith made the motions to strangle the ghost but tripped over her feet, stumbled and Misty just ignored her.

The moon above shifted then, from silver to an unsettling emerald green, casting an eerie, unnatural light over everything. A sudden silence fell between them as both Lilith and Misty froze, their eyes wide with alarm.

“Wait, It’s not time for that?” Lilith whispered, her voice trembling. “We had a few more weeks.”

“What’s going on?” Oliver said starting to sense something was very wrong.

The first raindrops hit his face, cold and heavy, and within seconds, the sky opened up, unleashing a torrent. Lilith grabbed Oliver’s arm, pulling him close. “We need cover, now!”

Of course, rain is dangerous here! Oliver thought to himself as he and the succubus dashed off. They sprinted off the narrow path, their feet pounding against the wet ground as the rain intensified, hammering down in thick sheets. The wind howled through the trees, which seemed to sway with an unnatural vigor. In the chaos, Oliver stumbled, his feet slipping on the muddy ground. He felt Lilith’s grip slip away, her voice calling his name, muffled by the roar of the storm.

They were separated and the blowing leaves and heavy rains was obscuring where Lilith was! Oliver heard his name yelled but the wind stole it.

He staggered; something hard had slapped him in the face. He stepped back and his foot caught on something—a root, or a branch—jerking him forward. Time seemed to slow as he pitched down a muddy incline, his feet slipping out from under him as he slid helplessly through wet earth and tangled weeds. The world spun around him, rainwater splashing his face as he tumbled, his body rolling like a rag doll, finally crashing into a hidden den he hadn’t seen at the bottom of the slope. He landed hard, his breath knocked out of him, mud caking his hands and soaking through his clothes as he braced himself against the ground.

He lay there for a moment, disoriented, staring up at the murky light filtering in from the den’s entrance about six feet slanted up from him. His pulse thudded in his ears, blending with the steady drum of rain, and he tried to catch his breath. The air was dense and damp, tinged with the earthy scent of decaying leaves. He shivered, cold seeping into his bones from the wet ground beneath him.

As he gingerly began to sit up, testing his limbs for injuries, a strange, keening sound drifted into the den from outside. The noise was thin and piercing, like the cry of something feral and enraged. He froze, his eyes widening as he listened, trying to locate the source. The trees above him shifted and creaked, their branches reaching down like skeletal fingers. It was as though the forest itself had come alive, responding to his presence with a terrible, predatory awareness.

He scrambled backward, pressing himself against the earthen wall of the den, but something cold and slick suddenly wrapped around his ankles. He looked down, horrified to see thin, dark tendrils creeping up his legs, winding around him with a grip like iron. Panicked, he kicked out, trying to free himself, but the more he struggled, the tighter the tendrils seemed to hold him, dragging him further into the shadows. The cries outside grew louder, echoing around him like a macabre chorus, and he could feel the ground beneath him shift as if it, too, was alive, pulling him deeper into its dark embrace.

The tendrils tightened, pulling him across the uneven floor, his hands clawing at the loose soil as he struggled in vain. Just as he was about to cry out, a soft voice cut through the noise, calm and unsettling.

“Quiet now… or they’ll hear you.”

Oliver’s heart stopped, and he went still, his eyes darting toward the back of the den. There, half-hidden in shadow, was a figure, lit faintly by an otherworldly green glow. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that this was no ordinary creature. She was slender, almost delicate, with skin that seemed to be woven from ivy and moss, blending seamlessly with the earthy surroundings. Long, green vines trailed from her head, spilling over her shoulders like hair, and her eyes—large and luminous—glinted with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and amusement.

She crawled closer, moving with an eerie grace, her movement silent on the damp earth. The dim light of phosphorescent mushrooms scattered across the walls illuminated her face, giving her an ethereal appearance. “You… I saved you,” she murmured, her voice soft and lilting, with an edge that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “The trees are hungry under the emerald moon.”

Oliver swallowed hard; his throat dry. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his body felt heavy, as if he were rooted to the spot. “Thank you… really,” he managed, trying to keep his voice steady, “but maybe you could let me go now?”

She tilted her head, studying him with an unreadable expression. Her vines slithered from her shoulders, winding their way toward him like serpents. “Go?” she repeated, almost as if the concept were foreign to her. “No, I don’t think I’ll let you leave.” She knelt beside him, her touch cold yet strangely comforting as her vines wrapped around his ankles, holding him in place. “I find you… interesting.”

His pulse quickened as she drew closer, the scent of crushed leaves and thick floral musk enveloping him, intoxicating and overwhelming. His vision blurred, the edges of the den fading into darkness as his senses drowned in the heady aroma. Oliver fought to stay alert, but his thoughts grew fuzzy, slipping away like water through his fingers. Where the hell was Lilith?

“Just… stay still,” she murmured, her voice echoing softly in his ears, wrapping around him like a lullaby. “I will keep you safe.”

Her vines wound tighter, pulling him closer until their faces were inches apart. He could feel her cool breath on his skin, her eyes glowing in the darkness as he slipped further into a daze. The world around him melted away, leaving only her face, framed by the eerie green light of the mushrooms. His eyelids grew heavy, the forest’s presence pressing down on him like a blanket, and he felt himself drifting, sinking into a haze that he could no longer resist.