My world-tree system-Chapter 104: Hope Against Oblivion

Vollua’s sky was nothing but an open wound.Black. Red. Green.Flames licked the clouds, ash fell like a snowfall of death, and the once-gentle moonlight, keeper of sacred rituals, had become a mute witness to a battle beyond time.

Face to face.On one side, the Draconic Avatar of the World-Tree—a fusion of hope, power, and determination. Blade in hand, the other arm thrumming with ancient magic, his slit eyes fixed on his opponent with a glacial intensity. His breath was steady, controlled. The air around him pulsed with power, vibrating like the strings of a drawn bow.On the other side, the Chimeric Obscurus—an abomination woven from centuries of despair. Its three heads howled each in a different rhythm: one in silence, one with a cavernous breath, the last with a hysterical cackle. Its massive body seemed alive, its muscles swollen with pure suffering. Its presence was an annihilating cry.

And then... the world held its breath.Joker, his gaze wild, murmured with a grin:— Time to see... if hope can survive oblivion.

The Obscurus slammed its six arms into the ground.A shockwave exploded in all directions, stirring a storm of ash and debris, toppling still-standing trees, and even unsteadying the Lords of the Apocalypse themselves.But the Avatar did not flinch.With a single beat of his wings, he rose vertically, tracing a straight line of golden light across the sky, leaving a glowing trail in his wake.He raised his weapon.A flash.The first strike tore through the air with titanic force.The modified katana, a fusion of metal and draconic flesh, sliced through the creature’s upper left arm.A guttural scream echoed.The arm fell.But as it hit the ground, two more grotesque, knotted arms sprouted from the monster’s flank, as though pain only fed it.The human head whimpered and chuckled through tears:— You can’t kill me... I’m what remains when everything is lost.The Draconic Avatar narrowed his eyes.— Then I’ll lose everything to break you.

The monster lunged.Not heavily, but with inhuman speed, defying its size.Its six arms whirled like blades.Foster parried.The impact resounded through the heavens.Each clash made the earth howl, distant mountains seeming to shudder.The katana danced, the wings folded and unfurled to dodge, and the Avatar spun, slipping through the Obscurus’s arms like a living flame.But the monster adapted.With each strike, its form shifted.Faster. More precise.And as Foster carved through its flank with a fiery slash, the dragon head spat a blast of ashen poison—a dark magic so dense it consumed the light around them.He raised his arm—his grimoire materialized, unleashing [World-Tree Cocoon], modified and reinforced, a barrier of molten roots that absorbed the blast in a spray of sparks.Even so, he was pushed back, his wings damaged, his breath short.

The Obscurus gave him no respite.Another blow. A titanic fist paired with a psychic scream.Foster saw it too late.He crossed his arms, bracing.His body was thrown to the ground with meteoric force.A scorched trench opened beneath him.He coughed, his knees hitting the ground.But the air froze.Because even on his knees... he smiled.— You hit hard.His eyes gleamed with a new gold.— But me... I learn fast.And in a flash, he moved again.This time, he went low. He slipped between the monster’s legs, plunged his katana into its left leg, and released a wave of draconic mana.The explosion disintegrated the leg.The monster toppled, its balance shattered.Foster sprang up behind it.And he struck.A perfect arc, a line of light cutting through the sky.The monster’s back was raked, a geyser of black blood spraying out like a thick rain.But again, the flesh reformed.— It regenerates... Foster muttered. Every second that passes makes it more dangerous.

He gained altitude, rising above the battlefield, his wings struggling to contain the torrent of power he channeled.And in the crimson sky...He murmured to himself:— Then I’ll have to give it my all... right now.

On the ground, the Lords of the Apocalypse watched.Requiem growled:— He’s wounding it... doing far more than all of us combined.Mirelith took a step back.— But he won’t last long. Look at his body...Foster’s tattoos glowed intensely. His aura throbbed with too much power.Even the fusion couldn’t hold it all indefinitely.— He’s burning his life, Elsha said with a strange admiration.

From the sky, he dove.Like a falling star in reverse, wings wide, katana raised, a halo of emerald fire around him. His eyes, glowing like twin suns, were locked on his target.The Chimeric Obscurus, still kneeling, slowly rose, the smoking wounds on its back already starting to close. Its dragon head let out a roar of rage, pain... and hunger. Tendrils of shadow swirled around it, ready to swallow the universe.But Foster struck first.The katana cut through the air.And the world split open.The blade, charged with pure intent, sliced through the monster’s defenses like burned paper.The slash drew a luminous arc across the creature’s torso.A perfect cleave—from left shoulder to right hip.For a moment, everything stopped.Then, a geyser of thick, black ichor burst from the wound.A triple scream tore through the sky. All three heads wailed at once, a sound so deep, so distorted that the ground shuddered in response.But even after the strike... the monster stood.And Foster... was burning.His breath caught.Blood trickled from his nose, then his ears, then his eyes.Even beneath his scales, his skin showed cracks, the marks of ultimate strain.He landed heavily, falling to his knees, one hand planted in the earth, gasping.— Damn... he muttered internally. I’m not going to make it...His body was failing. He could feel it. His heartbeats were erratic, out of sync. His mana core was overheating, the grimoire trembling in the air, ready to implode on the next surge.And yet...He stood.Staggering.His bare feet sank into the scorched earth of Vollua.He lifted his chin.Though his eyes were bloodied, they still shone.— You’re still standing? the monster’s human head growled. You’re breaking, creature. You should fall.— Maybe, Foster replied, a bloody smile on his lips. But I’ve never been good at falling before the end.One last beat of wings... weaker.He leapt again.The katana gleamed. A series of perfect strikes.One at the knee tendon.Another at the neck’s base.A third diagonally across the flank.A fourth... straight to the visible heart.The monster screamed. Its arms flailed. Its tendrils lashed the air.But Foster moved like a dancer.Lighter. Fiercer.And closer to death.Because each attack cost him a piece of himself.His veins began to glow beneath his skin—green streaks of light, as though the magic within him was trying to escape.

On the heights, the Lords of the Apocalypse watched, frozen.— He’s consuming himself, Mirelith whispered, despite herself.— He can’t last, Requiem rumbled. One more blow... and he’ll break.— Yes... but he’s not afraid anymore, Lûnara replied. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Foster, gasping, lifted his arm. His katana drooped toward the ground.But an inner voice whispered.The dragon’s voice.— One more. Just one. For them. For everything.He gripped the hilt.And with a cry of pure rage, he drove the blade into the monster’s heart.A detonation.A clap of thunder.A column of green and gold light erupted from the impact point.When the light subsided, Foster fell to his knees, smoking, his wings torn.Before him... the Chimeric Obscurus, half-collapsed, a gaping hole in its chest.It wasn’t dead.But it was bleeding.Teeth clenched.Legs bent.The katana trembled in his hand.Before him, the Chimeric Obscurus bled too.But it still breathed.Its mutilated, shapeless body slowly contracted, its black heart still beating between its open ribs—a mockery of life. A guttural breath rose from its depths, a coarse, unbearable laugh.And Foster knew.He knew there was nothing left.No reserves.No miracles.Just... one final flame.

— This is all I have left, he murmured faintly.A drop of blood fell from his split jaw.His grimoire, trembling, opened beside him one last time, the pages charred from overuse.And then, Foster dove deep within himself.Into that core of light.Into the bond that tied him to the young World-Tree rooted within.That vegetative heart, that fragile heritage, that seed preserved for millennia.And he let it explode.

A howl.Not of pain, but of truth.A wave of pure green and golden light erupted from his chest like a sacred geyser, sweeping over the land and sky. The magic materialized around him, taking the form of a colossal tree—an energy-filled world-oak that shot skyward in an instant, its roots bursting from the earth, its branches piercing the clouds.And at its heart...Foster raised his katana.The body broken, yes. But the soul unwavering.He roared.A draconic and elven cry entwined, so powerful it shattered the war’s silence.And he charged.His body literally ignited, burning his very essence, each step carving the earth, each heartbeat repelling reality itself.

Below, on the battlefield, the surviving elves—unconscious, wounded, mutilated—lifted their eyes.And they saw him.A golden comet, a god in freefall.Foster, a celestial judgment, bore down upon the Obscurus.And when he struck...The world exploded.

A white, green, and golden light—indescribable, inhuman—engulfed everything.The sky split. The mountains trembled. The forest screamed. The world... was erased.

The sky... was now a vast mantle of ashes.No fire. No light.Only absolute, deafening silence.As if the world itself had ceased to breathe.

Far off, on a ridge overlooking the devastated forest, Orëlas and his younger sister stared at the horizon.They hadn’t seen the explosion.They had felt it.The ground had quaked beneath their feet.The sky had turned inside out.And a wave of light had torn through the clouds to the stars, bathing them in golden clarity.And now, there was nothing.

— That was... Vollua, Orëlas murmured, his eyes wide, unable to look away.His sister, clinging to him, said nothing.She trembled.Not with fear.But with understanding.

They ran.Without thinking.Without stopping.As if refusing reality might somehow alter it.

Orëlas, his heart pounding like never before, felt his legs scream, his lungs burn.But he kept going.Because this silence... he couldn’t bear it.

When they arrived...There was nothing.No forest.No trees.No Mother-Tree.No Vollua.Just a crater. Immense.Where the golden light had struck.

And around it...Bodies.Faces frozen in expressions of peace, or terror.Dwarves.Elves.Generals.Lords of the Apocalypse.All... obliterated.

— No... no... no no no no NO!Orëlas fell to his knees.His hands sank into the dust.His gaze searched the faces.Köflik.Giovanni.Yähnn.Lïanna...

And at the crater’s center...There was no body.Just golden dust.Like a rain of stars frozen in time.

— FOSTER!!! he shouted.His younger sister, silent, clung to him.He knelt, crying.His shoulders shook with sobs.His heart shattered.The world broken.

A gentle breeze blew.And in that silence, Orëlas almost heard a voice...An echo.— Orëlas... you are the legacy.And he held his sister close.Alone.The last two.The end of one world.And...Perhaps...The beginning of another.

THE END.