Chapter 67 – The First Pulse of Shadows
The world was trembling.
Not in tremors of stone or wind, but in pulse. A rhythm, deep and ancient, flowing under the mountains, through the forests, across rivers that ran dark with the memory of something long dead. Even the Blackwood itself shivered in anticipation, leaves rustling faintly though no air moved. Roots quivered under the touch of Ironroot's feet, and for the first time, he realized they were listening.
He did not speak. There was nothing to say. Silence had a weight now. He could feel it pressing against his chest, weighing the air, bending it around his lungs, making each breath taste faintly metallic, like iron blood left to rust.
Far above, in the sky, clouds twisted unnaturally, spiraling into the shape of a vast eye that seemed to open slowly, observing the land beneath. Light no longer came from the moon or stars, only from the faint glow of bioluminescent moss scattered across the Blackwood floor. The shadows it cast were alive, curling unnaturally, tugging at the edges of vision.
Ironroot moved cautiously, each step measured. The forest responded to him, but differently than before. The vines that usually obeyed his thoughts hesitated, pulsing faintly as if unsure whether they should shield him or strike. A subtle vibration ran beneath the roots, running through the Ironroot like a warning.
He stopped and knelt, pressing his palm against the earth. The pulse was there. Stronger than the tremor beneath the mountain. A slow, steady rhythm like the beat of a colossal heart — alive, aware, hungry.
The voice returned.
Not the masked figure. Not Korran. Not Titanbound. Something else.
It whispered into his mind rather than spoke aloud. A hundred faint tongues threading through every thought, tugging at memory and fear.
"The pulse begins…"
He flinched. His senses sharpened as the forest quivered. A black fog began creeping across the floor between the roots, moving like liquid smoke, curling around his legs and stretching toward the trees. It seemed to suckle at the land, drawing life silently into itself.
Ironroot's hand glowed faintly, veins of green energy threading up his arm. He summoned the Ironroot instinctively, forcing roots and vines to rise like guardians. They collided with the black fog. Tentacle-like shadows lashed, striking roots and leaves, cutting them in half with terrifying precision.
The pulse intensified. The fog retreated but left whispers behind — fragments of voices, jagged and broken. They clawed at his mind, shadows of forgotten fears: screams he had never heard, warnings from faces he could not recall, and visions of the pit far below the mountain.
"…you cannot contain us…" one whispered.
"…the chains are weak…" another hissed.
"…he carries the gate…" yet another rasped, echoing through his skull.
Ironroot's knees went weak. He fell to one hand, his other fist hammering the ground as energy surged through him. The forest responded violently, roots erupting like spears to drive back the encroaching fog. Leaves shivered and branches bent with unnatural strength. The pulse resonated again. Faster. Closer. Stronger.
Titanbound's molten aura flared from somewhere ahead, molten fists striking through dense undergrowth. Ironroot felt the energy like a tether linking them — Titanbound sensing the tremor, moving to defend the Blackwood with explosive power.
"Hold the line!" Titanbound's voice carried, low and urgent, but Ironroot could feel the tension behind it. Even his ally was uncertain.
Shadowblade moved unseen, silent as death. Blades flashed intermittently, cutting into creeping shadows that had begun to manifest in twisted, humanoid forms. They were subtle at first — just silhouettes, faint smoke shapes — but each strike revealed faces hidden inside the darkness: hollow eyes, grinning mouths, laughter twisted like knives.
Ironroot exhaled, forcing focus into the Ironroot. He pulled roots from every corner of the Blackwood, guiding them with precision, weaving them into barriers, coils, and spears, binding what they could, shattering what resisted. The fog recoiled but not completely. It seemed to anticipate his moves, shifting to counter him, curling around roots, slipping between attacks like water.
He could feel it — the pulse now spoke to him in rhythm. Slow and deliberate. The observer. The one beneath the mountain. Not Korran. Not Titanbound. Not even the masked figure. Something older. Patient. Testing him. Watching the way he moved, gauging his connection to the Ironroot, probing for weakness.
"…he has changed…" a voice echoed in the pulse.
"…the forest is not enough…"
"…the key awakens…"
The warnings burned into his mind. He had survived Korran, the pit, the masked figure… but this? This was different. Larger. Smarter. An intelligence that was not bound by flesh, or time, or death.
Roots shifted under his feet violently. One lash struck him across the chest, knocking him back. Pain exploded, but he could feel the Ironroot absorbing it, weaving it into itself, twisting it into strength. He rose immediately, green veins of energy tracing up his arms and face. His eyes glowed with pure will.
"Come," he growled, voice echoing in the hollow forest. "Show yourself!"
The fog responded, spiraling into a massive shadow that seemed to stretch infinitely upward, darkening the entire clearing. The humanoid shapes that had been scattered now coalesced into something nearly human but grotesquely elongated, limbs bending at impossible angles. Faces twisted in silent screams. A presence that radiated nothing but cold intelligence.
Shadowblade lunged forward, cutting a shadow in two. The figure moved as if it anticipated every strike, each cut reforming immediately, morphing into new shapes. Titanbound unleashed molten fists, striking the forest floor, sending shockwaves of energy that threw the shadows backward.
Yet the pulse beneath their feet grew stronger. The forest itself seemed to shake with recognition — that something ancient, patient, and intelligent was testing them.
Ironroot stepped to the center, hands pressed into the earth, drawing every root, every tendril, every ounce of life into himself. He could feel the heartbeat now, not just below the mountain, but in the entire region. Rivers trembled in response, the soil shivered, distant forests reacted. A living awareness sweeping over the land.
"You are not alone," the observer whispered through the pulse. "And yet… you are insufficient."
Ironroot's energy flared outward, roots lashing like serpents, spears of wood erupting into the shadows, striking, binding, tearing. The humanoid forms shrieked without sound, dissolving into thick black smoke that hissed as it touched living matter.
The pulse slowed… then quickened again, faster, sharper, relentless.
A hollow laughter rang through the clearing, vibrating through the roots and soil: deep, cruel, patient.
"I will not fail," Ironroot shouted, his voice shaking only slightly. "I will endure! The Blackwood obeys me. The mountain obeys me. I am the Ironroot!"
The shadows recoiled… then multiplied. They surged upward like waves, filling the forest floor with impossible density. Roots lashed wildly, vines entwined, Titanbound and Shadowblade fought desperately to hold them at bay, but each breath came with the taste of blood and ash.
The observer beneath the mountain tested him still. Not with fire, not with brute force, but with strategy. It watched the coordination, noted his weaknesses, traced his instinctual responses. One wrong move, one hesitation, and the pulse would consume the Blackwood entirely.
And then the whisper came again, faint but sharp:
"…The first fracture will widen… and when it does, you will bleed through it."
Ironroot's green energy flared brighter than ever, roots shooting upward like a living storm. He did not speak again. The forest, Titanbound, and Shadowblade — all moved with him in a deadly, precise symphony. Each pulse from below, each shadow attacking, each tremor from the mountain was met with counter, strike, defense, and anticipation.
The first clash would not end here. But Ironroot had survived worse. He had learned patience. He had endured fear. And now, as the pulse of shadows enveloped the clearing, he realized one truth:
The world had changed.
And he would not falter.
The pulse throbbed. The forest shuddered. Shadows multiplied.
And Ironroot stepped forward, the Blackwood itself bending toward him, alive, aware, ready for war.