“What the fuck is this place?” I ask, horrified.
“The Killing Trees,” Cipher answers. “Do not venture too close.”
“Is Locke in one of these things?” He doesn’t answer. “Cipher!”
“Yes,” he replies. “I would not suggest—Vespera!”
I rush around the trees, holding up my medallion in each one’s face to try and find Locke. It isn’t until I reach the other side again that I find him.
The moment my light shines across his face, his muffled scream echoes as I get a good look at him.
“Oh, fuck,” I rasp. “Oh, shit. What the fuck do I do?”
“You will have to kill the tree to free him,” Cipher supplies helpfully. “But Vespera?—”
“Kill the tree,” I repeat. “Got it.”
I pick up Locke’s short sword from the ground where he must have dropped it and start hacking at the tree. It isn’t sharp, but as far as weapons go, it makes a hell of a good bat. I chop at the smaller branches first, freeing his head from where it was held fast against the trunk. Though I chop the branch from his neck, his mouth still isn’t revealed. I reach up and yank at it, gagging when it comes sliding out of his throat and he lets out a gasp for air before he starts coughing.
“Get me off of this thing,” he rasps, his throat raw. “Please.”
“I’ve got you,” I grunt, chopping until my arms start to burn. “Just hold on.”
“Behind you!” Locke shouts suddenly, his eyes widening bare milliseconds before his warning.
I whirl, holding up the sword just in time to stop an attack from . . . well . . .a person. Its arms slams against the sword and bounces backward, the thing stumbling and tripping over a tree root before falling on its ass. It moans in annoyance as it clumsily tries to get back to its feet. Only as I get a chance to get a good look at it do I realize what it is.
It was a person, that much is clear. And it was definitely a player judging by the implant in its arm, but there isn’t much left of the actual player. Half of them is still fleshy, rotting skin, mottled and falling off in places. The other half is tree, great viny roots and branches tearing through the skin and growing out of them. Whoever this player once was, there are no longer any recognizable features. Their head is completely torn through with branches.
“Get me out of this thing!” Locke says, more panicked at seeing the creature. “Don’t let me turn into that!”
“Fuck,” I grunt, chopping at the tree holding Locke again. “Let me know when it starts to get up.”
I’m trusting Locke to watch my back for me while I work to free him. Thankfully, he can’t survive without being vigilant himself.
“On the left,” he shouts. I spin. “Not your left. My left!”
The thing nearly takes my head off because of the mistake as I whirl in the correct direction. But this isn’t the same one I’d been facing. This is a different one, fleshier, and clearly was once a woman. I shove her back hard and watch her go tumbling away from me, but not before the branch protruding from her stomach scratches across my arm. The first one manages to stumble toward me then, the sound of fabric against fabric forcing me to realize the whole time these things had been out here watching me search for Locke. I kick the first one over, holding him off for a few more seconds.
“More and more will be drawn to the sounds,” Cipher warns. “You need to get back to the clearing.”
“I can’t leave Locke behind!” I growl, hacking at the tree.
“You can if you want to live,” Cipher growls.
Locke’s upper body is free, but it’s still holding onto his legs. He drags out a rock from his inventory and starts trying to help me hack at the branches still holding him. When I get to his thighs, I realize one of the branches has torn through his trousers. I hit the branch and Locke shouts in pain, making me pause. We lock eyes and then he reaches down and tears the hole bigger so we can see.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, staring at the branch embedded in his skin. “What?—”
Locke grabs ahold of the branch with both hands, grits his teeth, and yanks it out. A scream rips from his throat as blood spurts from the wound left behind, but the branch comes free. He tosses it into the forest and leans further down.
“There’re more,” he chokes out. “Vesper.”
I look down at his legs, realizing there are at least three more that have torn through his trousers. I meet his eyes again.
“I need you to rip those out for me,” I instruct him. “I need you to do it fast, or we’re both going to die here.”
His face scrunches in pain. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk?—”
