[@A Lowly Wretch]

Hayim raced ever towards the glowing, piercing light. At his current distance, he could feel it burning into his newly formed retinas, the light being present even with closed eyelids. More than anything else, he wanted to simply stop, sit down, and remain silent. He still had no need to breathe, but he could feel his body growing more ragged with the exertion than it healed and powered up from the spire. His eight limbs flung forwards in a rough synchronization, a meager attempt to increase his already ludicrous (well... by his standard) speeds. The light grew closer, but at a pace that was far from encouraging. Hayim could feel the energy of the light burning him even more, digging in, planting its roots in his very being and replacing him.

And it was far from metaphorical. Hayim fell down on the branch, his tentacle having been caught on one of the numerous growths of bark. He didn't manage to release it in time, before another root broke off of the main branch, wrapping itself against another leg and constricting him to the branch. 

It was far less distressing than it would have been to the old Hayim. Now it was more... Annoying? Too light of a description. Frustrating? Too rough.

An inconvenience. The fact that he was now being buried alive in branches and wood was an inconvenience.

Still, it was a welcome inconvenience. Hayim's limbs were so tired, his stamina depleted. He wished for nothing more than to simply allow his body to fade into unconsciousness. The darkness of closed eyes wasn't even that scary anymore - Hayim was not the large plant creature, sitting on a branch that was larger than hundreds of trees. He was the blades of grass, the trees in the forests, the berries that the Humans and Animals ate with such eagerness, the bits of bark that now restrained him to the branch and were steadily crushing his old body. He was the canopies that offered shade and refuge from the sun and rain, and he was the logs that were used to make the Human's huts.

He was now the world tree and, more importantly, he was the world itself. He almost lost his sense of self, almost forgot the reason he struggled so desperately to reach the light. The screams were a good reminder.

Hundreds of voices cried out in pain - if he included the plants and not just the animals and humans, then it would easily be in the millions. He could see it without his old eyes - the heated plasma against bark and leaves, the photoreceptors sensing a bright light before fading away. Cracking open the complex structure that was once his eyes, Hayim saw balls of blue light crashing through the Spire's forest - [i]his[/i] forest, leaving massive trenches and trails of destruction in their wake. They passed away with expected ease, cascading towards his World Tree. 

It, of course, did only superficial harm. The forest would grow back, as it did in response to any damage. It didn't matter how bad a forest fire was - they always died, and the plants were always replaced. The trees, thick enough to compare to the oldest trees in Tabrasa, simply grew back once more, the surviving trees appreciating the sudden space. Hayim's bloodshot eyes traveled to the impact point on his World Tree. Red Fruit hung from the sites, far too gargantuan to be any real thing... But the appearance reminded Hayim of something. Villages filled with fleshy Humans, a sweet interior that was filled with juices, seeds that would be planted for the future of the tribe. 

Hayim's mind was more mature - he knew the strength of the spire, the futility of his mission to destroy it. The old Hayim was wrong - this was just like the fear spire, if not worse. At least the fear spire was kind enough to show its colors early - this thing was insidious, seeking out to strike Hayim from the roots, change his very being. It was cutting his branches, pruning his essence and filling the empty space with more of itself. He would be reduced to nothing more than an extension of his World Tree

Hundreds of voices spoke in Hayim's mind, all chattering at once, paranoia and fear running rampant. The last bits of his domain sensed their unhappiness, and Hayim suddenly felt something he had lost in his sudden growth. He spoke to the voices, his own so much stronger thanks to his spire's influence.

[i][color=a36209]"Don't worry Humans - I'm here to save you. I promise we'll all eat fruits again, so please just stay calm."[/color][/i]

Hayim opened his eye once more, just realizing that it had been closed for the last few minutes. The bark was completely covering his old body, and he was in what appeared to be a cocoon of wood. He reached deep into his well of Health, speeding up the growth of the shell of plant matter. His bark pierced his old tentacles, wrapped around his old head, constricted his old body to the point of breaking.

He fell through space, landing a few feet away from the base of a large tree. The familiar warmth of Akhuz beamed down on his old body as he laid in the meadows of eternity.

[hr]
Hayim's senses were the first to go - almost as soon as he entered Akhuz, his knowledge of the plant's feeling and thoughts faded, as did his awareness of them. His old body was, once again, his [i]only[/i] body. It was nowhere near as uncomfortable as it has once been, but he hoped that it would revert back to normal soon. He laid on the grass of Akhuz, lying beneath the Akhuz version of the World Tree. It grew much like it's real-world counterpart, but unlike the real world, these fields were endless. Hayim gently rubbed his tentacle along the grass, touching the numerous flowers that blessed Akhuz's surface.

Hayim looked through the tree, being careful to not actually enter the real world - chaos reigned in the forest, and he bore witness to the plant dragons flying through the skies and over the great canopy of trees. The assault on the forest did nothing, only increasing the potency of the forest. Did the spire extract the godly-essence in the dragon's attacks? Did it use the new space and wounds to explore different applications of its vegetative might? Or were the attacks simply draining the Spire's well of power faster than it otherwise would, and they were more effective then they appeared. 

Hayim's eyes drifted to the fruit that hung from the world tree. Out of the Spire's influence, memories were much easier to access - those were the same fruits he had given to a northern tribe of humans only a few weeks prior. A tribe that was composed of mothers, fathers, and children. A community that was ransacked by Ragnagedon's forces, his cult of human followers.

Humans that Hayim could not save.

Hayim lay at the base of the World Tree of Akhuz, tears gently falling from his yellow eyes, waiting for his strength to return and to give aid to the humans thar praised his name.