The steps led them to an archway, beyond which greenery opened up. Real, living greenery—after endless floors of stone, bones, and rusty metal, it seemed almost unnatural.
The Hero and Medusa paused at the threshold, peering into the gloom.
A forest.
Tall, ancient trees with massive trunks and spreading crowns. The dense foliage let through only thin, pale rays of light, barely enough to discern their outlines. The ground was carpeted with moss, tangled roots, and a layer of fallen leaves.
At first glance, it was an ordinary forest. An oasis after the nightmares of the previous levels.
But something was wrong.
The Hero sensed it instantly—the smell. Not of damp earth and pine needles, but of rotting flesh, old blood, and lingering fear.
"I don't like this," Medusa said quietly. The fingers tightened their grip on the trident's shaft; the snakes on its head stirred, anxiously sticking out their tongues, testing the air.
"Me too," the Hero replied. "But there's no turning back."
They stepped inside.
The first steps were cautious. The earth felt springy beneath their feet, as if alive. Roots protruded from the soil, intertwining, creating natural barriers.
The Hero skirted a particularly thick root, glanced at the nearest tree, and froze.
A face was emerging from the trunk, roughly at chest level.
Human.
The bark had grown into the skin, merging with the flesh. The eyes were closed, the mouth slightly open in a silent scream. Dry, brittle strands—either hair or branches—stuck from the bark.
This wasn't a carving. This was a real person. Become part of the tree.
"Gods..." Medusa breathed, coming closer. She carefully touched the bark next to her face. The tree trembled. The eyelids parted, revealing cloudy, deathly white eyes.
The mouth moved, and a broken, barely audible whisper came:
"Help..."
The hero involuntarily retreated. Medusa pulled her hand back.
The face froze again. But now, looking closer, they saw them everywhere.
Dozens. Hundreds. In every trunk, at different heights. Men, women, children. Some were almost completely absorbed by the bark, their features barely discernible. Others' skin had not yet fully merged with the tree—the eyes occasionally opened, their lips moving silently.
"What is this place..." Medusa clutched the trident with both hands.
The hero looked around. There was no path. Only trees, roots, moss.
"Let's go," he said shortly. "Very carefully."
They moved deeper, trying not to brush against the tree trunks. But the forest was dense—avoiding contact was almost impossible.
The hero accidentally brushed a tree with his shoulder. A face at head level twitched. Eyes flew open—alive, full of terror.
"Free me!" the woman screamed, her voice breaking into hysteria. "Please! Kill me! I can't take it anymore!"
The hero recoiled. The tree shuddered. Roots began to slowly rise from the ground, crawling toward him.
"Run!" Medusa shouted.
They rushed forward. Roots lashed out at their legs, latched onto their ankles. The hero leaped over one, tripped over another, but held on. Medusa slashed with her trident—a root snapped with a wet sound. The tree howled not with the wind, but with dozens of merging human voices. They burst into a small clearing and stopped, breathing heavily. The roots didn't extend any further.
"They're alive," Medusa breathed, leaning on her trident. "These people... they're still alive."
The hero nodded. He looked around. In the center of the clearing stood a single tree—noticeably different. Its bark was almost black, without the familiar faces. Only one—an old, wrinkled, calm one. Its eyes were closed.
He came closer.
"Hey," he called softly. "Can you hear me?"
His eyelids fluttered. Dim, film-covered eyes opened—but they saw.
"I hear you," the voice was aged, tired, but surprisingly clear. "There haven't been any living beings here in a long time."
"What is this place? What happened to you?"
The old man sighed. The bark around his face trembled, the branches above rustled.
"Punishment. For pride." For the thirst for immortality. We came here… a long time ago. We found what we were looking for. A bitter smile touched her lips. "We grew into the trees. We became a part of them. We cannot die. We cannot truly live. We simply… exist." "How can we free you?" Medusa asked.
The old man looked at her. His eyes cleared for a moment.
"Free?" A dry chuckle, like the crack of breaking bark. "Cut down the tree—the soul will remain in the roots. The only way is to burn it to the ground. But fire has no effect here. The trees are protected."
"There must be a way," the Hero said stubbornly.
"There is," the old man nodded. "In the very heart of the forest. The first tree. There is the Bloody Dagger. One strike to the tree's heart—and the connection is severed. But…" He fell silent.
"But?"
"The tree is protected by pollen. It clouds the mind, showing what is not there. Many have tried to reach it, but they all became new trees."
The Hero and Medusa exchanged glances.
"We still need to go through," the Hero said. "Is this the way up?"
"Yes. Through the center. Through the Heart. Beyond is the passage. But remember: don't listen to the voices. Don't trust your eyes." And under no circumstances…" the old man's eyes slowly closed, "…linger near the trees too long. The roots sense living flesh. They draw you in. You won't notice how you become part of the forest yourself."
Silence.
"Good luck to you, wanderers," the old man whispered, his face completely frozen.
They moved on.
The deeper they went into the forest, the heavier the air became. A sweet, cloying scent appeared. Pollen—golden grains, slowly settling on skin, hair, clothes.
At first, a slight dizziness set in. Then the edges of their vision began to blur.
"Don't breathe deeply," Medusa said hoarsely. "Cover your face."
They covered their mouths and noses—the Hero with his sleeve, Medusa with the edge of her cloak. But the pollen still penetrated.
And then the voices began.
At first, barely audible whispers from all sides. A plea, a threat, a promise. "Help me..." "Stay..." "It's safe here..." "You won't leave..."
Medusa shook her head, and the snakes hissed furiously.
"Don't listen," she hissed.
The hero nodded. But the voices grew louder, more compelling.
And then came the visions.
He saw a bright opening between the trees—he ran toward it, but the trees shifted, extinguishing the light. He saw a familiar face in the trunk—his heart sank, though he couldn't remember who it was. The voice beckoned him closer.
The hero stepped toward the tree and extended his hand—
Pain seared his palm.
A root wrapped around his wrist, thorns piercing his skin. Blood flowed into the tree.
"Damn it!"
He lunged back, but a second root had already grabbed his ankle and was pulling him down.
"Medusa!" She rushed toward him, her trident flashing—the roots snapped. The hero fell and rolled.
"Don't touch the trees!" she shouted, helping him up.
"I saw... someone..."
"It's a lie," Medusa grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look into her golden, snake-like eyes. "Listen only to me. Everything else is a delusion."
He nodded, forcing himself to focus on her face, on the hissing of the snakes.
They walked on, keeping close to each other.
The visions continued. Demons. Familiar faces. Medusa's past life—the temple, the people, the warmth she had lost. They both knew it was a lie. But their minds clung, wanting to believe.
Finally, through the golden haze, it appeared.
The Ancient Tree.
Enormous. Its trunk as thick as a small house. Black bark, covered in pulsating red veins. Hundreds of dead faces, frozen in eternal agony. And at the base, embedded in the roots, protruded a dagger.
The Bloody Dagger.
The hero stepped forward. The pollen here was almost tangible. Visions lashed out from all sides.
He grabbed the hilt—cold, wet, and uneven.
He pulled.
The dagger didn't move.
He pulled harder. The tree came to life. Hundreds of roots rose up and rushed toward them.
"Hold on!" Medusa shouted, standing back to back. The trident turned into a whirlwind, crushing the roots.
The hero pulled with the last of his strength. The dagger withdrew slowly, painfully.
The root wrapped itself around his leg, pulling downward. The hero fell to his knees, but didn't let go.
Medusa severed the root. The snakes spat venom—the roots blackened and died.
One last pull—
The dagger came out.
The Ancient Tree roared with hundreds of throats. The roots lashed out blindly.
The hero looked up. A bright red dot pulsed three meters above the ground—a heart. "Cover me!"
He ran, jumped, grabbed the bark, and climbed. The roots tried to throw him off, but he kept climbing.
Below, Medusa struggled with the roots—they kept growing.
The Hero reached the pulsating wound. He raised his dagger.
"Forgive me," he said quietly.
And he struck.
The tree froze. The roots collapsed. All the faces opened their eyes simultaneously—and smiled for the first time in centuries.
Pure white light poured from the wound. It spread along the trunk, through the branches. The bark cracked. Faces were released. Hundreds of glowing silhouettes rose into the air, looked at the Hero and Medusa with gratitude—and then dissolved, disappearing somewhere upward.
The Ancient Tree collapsed with a heavy crash.
Silence.
The Hero descended, still clutching the dagger. Medusa approached, breathing heavily. "You freed them," she said quietly.
He nodded. He tucked the extinguished dagger into his belt.
"Come on. The exit is further down."
An arch opened behind a fallen tree trunk—a passage to the next level.
999 991.
They stepped forward.
Behind them, the forest began to blacken and crumble. Without the Heart, it couldn't live.
But the souls were free.
And that was what mattered most.