Chapter 705 — After the Behemoth Falls

Another giant tree gave a slight shake of the vines it had extended—the very vine that had pierced the "magister's" back: "Astonishing. These ancient iron men are still in operation."

"Not all the mind-cores have failed. The most advanced iron men can protect their cores by entering temporary dormancy," said a third giant tree in a hoarse voice. "Look over there, the Deep Blue Well... The iron men maintain it in their own fashion. It has now been converted into a fortress; the production and maintenance arrays deep underground together sustain an entire legion of iron men..."

The other two giant trees swayed their branches at the same time, rustling: "...It will indeed be hard for us to take the Deep Blue Well by direct assault."

"So we must spread little by little, take root little by little, and... find a way to deal with this defensive line the iron men have formed."

The vine embedded in the "magister's" back slowly retracted. From within the motionless magister came a faint humming and the sound of mechanical friction; she seemed to be attempting a restart, but the damage to her mana nexus foiled the attempt.

"Take 'her' with us," said the lead giant tree, its roots squirming. "'The Matrix' will soon notice that a sentinel has lost contact. Before more iron men come crawling out, we leave this place."

"Yes, Grand Archon."

One giant tree answered respectfully. With a rustling, it spread a great many branches and wrapped up the iron magister, still locked in her frozen state; the other giant trees communed with the underground root network, and as masses of vines surged up from fissures in the surface, all the giant trees swiftly merged with those vines and vanished from the spot.

Several minutes later, a number of tall sentinels in Gondor magister uniforms descended nearby, but all trace of the giant trees was gone; only a pile of ash, slowly dissolving, that had belonged to the aberrant remained.

...

In a valley several dozen kilometers from the ruins of the Deep Blue Well, countless twisted yet luxuriant trees had taken root at the valley floor. Their branches knotted and their crowns joined; layer upon layer of leaves rustled in the wasteland wind, bringing to this land of universal extinction a bizarre semblance of life.

Great numbers of exceptionally tall giant aberrants, their bodies grown with strange spikes, prowled around the valley entrance like sentinels guarding this eerie region; and deep in the valley, countless vines were squirming up out of the ground, in a short time assuming the forms of several giant trees.

One of the giant trees shifted its roots over to a platform. Amid the rustling of its crown and branches, it laid a "female magister" wrapped in plant tissue at the center of the platform.

"This is truly beyond our expectations..." As the "cargo" was set upon the platform, two voices, sounding together like a duet, came from the nearby "woods." A pair of elven sisters strolled out from the trees, watching the "treant" in the central clearing with expressions of admiration. "You seem to have had smooth sailing?"

"A lone iron man is not hard to deal with; their thinking is rigid," said the leader of the treants, turning around, its dry, grotesque face fixed on the elven twins before it. "Now, it is time for you to prove your own worth."

"Mind your tongue, 'Arch-Hierarch.' We are partners with you, not your subordinates," the elven twins said coolly. "Without our help, you could batter at the Iron Golem Legion's defenses for a hundred years and still not break through."

"True, each of us takes what he needs, but a proud pair of twins would never burrow into this wasteland seeking allies unless they had been utterly defeated in the world outside," said the new Arch-Hierarch of the Society of All Things Ending, leader of the treants, in a hoarse voice. "So let us both set aside this pointless pride. Results are all either of us needs."

The elven twins said nothing more. Coldly they walked past the Arch-Hierarch to the stone platform and looked down at the Iron Sentinel locked in its frozen state.

That ancient crystallization of Gondorian technology lay quietly on the platform, without breath or heartbeat; only the faintest clicking and humming rose from within her, signs that her self-repair was still underway and that she had merely lapsed for the moment into a dead halt.

"Good. At least you haven't damaged the mind core. Most of her structures, the mana nexus included, can repair themselves; only if the mind core is damaged are we powerless... this is Gondorian technology, after all."

The elven twins remarked offhandedly as Raelna stepped forward and pressed a hand to the "mage's" abdomen. In a glow of magic the worn Imperial mage uniform melted open, exposing the synthetic skin beneath, likewise melted through, and under that skin a protective casing gleaming with metallic luster.

Faelna's fingertips traced the rim of the casing as though an invisible blade were slicing through the metal. With every ward and protection spell inert, the casing opened with ease; when it sprang apart, it revealed a delicate core of pure copper machinery and a miscellany of ancient arcane devices glimmering faintly.

"A truly exquisite design," Raelna murmured in admiration.

"And self-repairing at precisely the critical moment," Faelna said with the ghost of a smile.

"Now all it takes is a tiny interference with this unprotected mind core..."

The elven twins pressed their fingers to one of the components among that array of ancient arcane devices. With a faint flicker of electric arcs, a strange grinding of machinery sounded within the "mage's" body, and her eyes fluttered softly, as though she were waking from a dream.

Raelna and Faelna straightened and came into the Sentinel's line of sight, looking down at her. "Hello there, soldier."

"Reset complete. Loading recognition database..." The "mage's" gaze fixed on Raelna and Faelna. After a moment's delay she blinked again. "Good to see you, Oathbreakers."

On the open ground not far away, the Arch-Hierarch's roots and branches began to sway gently.

This druid leader, now scarcely recognizable, rasped: "There. We've done the first one."

Throughout the valley, countless vast and twisted trees swayed their branches at once, raising a rustling roar.

When a colossal beast falls, death does not mean the end of all things.

The lingering vitality often survives, nurtured in the warmth of the corpse, living on in another form, or rather continuing.