Drip. Drip.
Dark red liquid fell from the tip of a branch.
Below, a pool of blood rippled with squirming maggots.
Suddenly, a bloated, pulsing body split open.
A fly with crimson-hardened wings wriggled out, its shell gleaming like polished blood.
Bzzz—
A thunderous buzz erupted as a swarm of flies scattered like a hurricane,
spiraling outward toward the sleeping city.
Pop!
One fly shot through the air like a bullet, piercing the flimsy roof of a shantytown house.
Its razor-sharp mandibles shredded skin and muscle, drilling toward a beating heart.
"Aaaagh!"
The sleeper jolted awake with a scream.
Black-red veins spiderwebbed across his chest.
The more his heart pounded, the faster the corruption spread—
his skin rotted away as if consumed from the inside.
One by one, the bodies fell silent.
And the flies, now bloated with stolen life, buzzed back toward the tree.
The Tree of Chaos surged upward.
Its branches burst through rooftops, clawing at the sky.
Its roots split the earth and burrowed deep,
black smoke rising from every crack like steam from a poisoned spring.
Wherever the smoke touched the corpses, mutation began.
Their flesh hardened into armor-like shells.
Spines and bones erupted like thorns, piercing outward.
The dead fused into grotesque hybrids,
sharing bone and muscle like tangled vines.
From that mess, a beast was born—
a monstrous chimera with the form of an animal and the soul of a plague.
By dawn, the transformed gathered beneath the tree,
drawn to their creator by an instinct older than time.
They knelt.
Not as humans, not even as beasts—
but as children returning to their mother.
Hours Earlier – Sector 23, Retrium
There was a shack deep in the slums that no one dared approach.
At night, screams echoed from within.
Even stray dogs and insects avoided the place.
Rumors spread—
that the man living there had gone mad after losing his wife.
That he worshipped devils.
That he sacrificed his own child.
No one really knew.
No one wanted to.
The man had locked himself away for years, praying nonstop in that dark room.
His body, frail and starved, finally gave in.
His heart stopped.
But death didn’t take him.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
His soul drifted from his body… and was pulled somewhere else.
In the void between worlds, a tree stood.
No, the Tree.
It was what the man had prayed to for all those years.
A presence so massive and incomprehensible,
its branches wormed through rips in space-time,
its roots drank from the cosmic abyss.
The Tree of Chaos.
Nigrasil.
One of its branches—a mere offshoot—slithered toward the drifting soul.
It wrapped around him gently, like a lover welcoming its partner home.
And then—
Chaos was poured into him.
The severed link between body and soul reconnected.
The corpse in the shack gasped and stirred.
Creeeak—
He rose like a broken puppet, limbs moving wrong.
Chaos surged through him like wildfire, flooding every cell.
His thoughts scattered, his senses dulled.
But he smiled.
As if finally released.
And then he let go—
of control, of humanity, of fear.
Snap!
His spine cracked and extended like a trunk.
Bones burst through skin, twisting into branches and roots.
His feet rooted into the ground.
His chest split open and bloomed.
He had become something else.
Not a man.
Not a beast.
A tree.
Of blood and bone and madness.
Retrium Outskirts – En Route to Operation Zone
Vroooom—
A convoy of mana-powered trucks rolled through the outskirts of Sector 20, their engines humming with arcane energy.
Inside one of the trucks, members of Tempest Mercenary Corps, 4th Unit, sat in tense silence.
Each soldier was busy checking their gear—charging mana rifles, sharpening blades, murmuring mantras under their breath.
One man, however, read a book.
Golden hair, calm eyes the color of the sky—he looked more like a noble scholar than a fighter.
"Leon, we’re almost there. You really think this is the time for reading?"
The black-haired youth across from him raised an eyebrow, arms crossed with casual annoyance.
But he wasn’t tense either.
"That’s exactly why I’m reading," Leon replied, eyes still on the page.
"Know thy enemy. Rule number one of strategy."
The book in his hands was titled The Nature of Chaos.
"Smartass," the other snorted. "Three-year rookie talking like a tactician."
"And you’re any better, Arka?" Leon said, finally looking up with a smirk.
Then his expression shifted.
"Hey… your home’s in Sector 23, right?"
Arka’s face froze for a heartbeat.
"Then your father—"
"Enough."
Arka’s voice was sharp and cold.
"That lunatic died? Good. I cut ties with him years ago."
Leon chuckled, unsurprised.
Arka had always been too calm, too distant.
Ever since the academy, Leon knew there was a story behind that silence.
Zzzk—
A crackle from the squad leader’s communicator cut through the tension.
[Prepare to disembark. Proceed on foot from the perimeter.]
SCREECH—
The truck slowed to a halt. The rear door slammed open, revealing thick mist creeping in like fingers of smoke.
Leon and Arka exchanged a glance, then moved with the others into the fog.
Within Sector 23 – Operation Begins
The team moved silently through alleys choked with mist.
Ruins of old buildings stood like gravestones, their roofs caved in, their doors rotted away.
This place wasn’t just poor—it was forgotten.
The kind of place where the undocumented lived.
Where the city looked away.
Which was why, officially, civilian rescue wasn’t part of the mission.
The squad advanced with caution, senses sharp.
And then—
Click… click…
Leon froze.
Faint sounds echoed in the fog—light taps, growing louder.
"Unidentified entities approaching!" he shouted, raising his rifle.
The squad reacted instantly, weapons drawn, forming a loose perimeter.
"I’m triggering a flare. Cover your eyes!"
The squad leader extended a hand, mana pulsing at his fingertips.
Fwoooosh!
A brilliant flash of blue fire erupted overhead, slicing through the fog.
And then they saw them.
Twisted figures—once human, now misshapen.
Their bodies covered in bone-like spikes, their eyes glowing with hunger.
"Chaos-infected confirmed. Ready your shots!"
The flare dimmed, and the horde shrieked.
They charged.
"Fire!"
Bang! Bang-bang-bang—
Mana-infused rounds tore through the mist, striking the infected.
Blue fire bloomed from the impact sites, burning skin and bone.
But they didn’t fall easily.
Toughened flesh absorbed the hits, and the damage began to regenerate.
"The hell?! They’re too damn tough!"
Volk, the bald mercenary, cursed as he reloaded.
Leon remained calm, breathing steadily.
Aim. Fire.
One clean shot to the head each time.
Only then did the monsters stay down.
More enemies flooded the alley, a crawling wave of bones and teeth.
"Switch to melee! Don’t get surrounded!"
The leader shouted as he threw another fire ball overhead, lighting the path.
The alley was now a battlefield.
“Push forward!”
With a battle cry, Volk surged ahead, his massive hammer charged with surging blue mana.
CRACK!
A mutated beast’s torso collapsed under a single swing, its bones shattering like glass.
Behind him, Arka followed—his bastard sword humming with a low, deadly resonance.
Shing—
The blade traced a wide arc, cleanly severing three infected heads in one strike.
“Damn… No wonder they call him a prodigy,” one mercenary muttered.
To enhance the body with mana was mid-tier. To channel mana through a weapon? That marked a top-tier fighter.
Despite being only three years in, Arka fought like a seasoned veteran.
The unit moved with practiced precision.
Volk and Arka carved the way, the others covered the rear, maintaining tight formation.
As they neared the end of the alley, the squad leader hurled a glowing sphere down the path—
the fireball he’d been charging since the flare.
BOOM!
The explosion engulfed a cluster of infected, fire swallowing their shrieks.
Only a handful remained—and Leon picked them off with quiet efficiency.
The battle died down.
Mist crept back in as silence returned.
One by one, the mercs confirmed kills and regrouped, breathing hard but intact.
And then—
a scream shattered the calm.
“Aaaaagh!”
Leon snapped his head toward the sound.
A mercenary had collapsed near a wall, limbs spasming violently.
It was the one who had left the group momentarily—to relieve himself.
Leon raised his rifle, mana flooding his vision.
His eyes narrowed.
Veins, dark and pulsing, slithered beneath the man’s skin.
The whites of his eyes were turning black.
No mistaking it.
He was infected.
‘Dammit… He’s turning.’
Leon’s finger tensed on the trigger—
but it wouldn’t move.
They’d fought side by side for nearly two years.
They’d watched each other’s backs.
His hand trembled.
‘No… I can’t hesitate.’
He knew the rules. Once transformation began, there was no going back.
And yet…
In that second of hesitation—
The creature lunged.
It was faster than any infected they’d faced.
Claws like daggers swung toward Leon’s throat.
Leon flinched back, just in time—
Whoosh!
A flash of blue steel zipped past his face.
Squelch.
The infected’s head jerked back—impaled by Arka’s blade.
“…You’re soft, Leon.”
Arka stepped past, retrieving his sword with a cold expression.
“Too emotional.”
Leon didn’t reply.
He just stared at the corpse of his friend, lips pressed tight, eyes glowing faintly with mana.
Then he raised his rifle again.
“I wasn’t hesitating,” he muttered.
“I was looking for the cause.”
BANG.
The final shot rang out.
