With a sharp spark of ruby red light, Myra reappeared, and a burst of red energy shot out from her form. The Smiling Tree of Wishes, cracking and bending toward the masses, was struck once more.
The entire top half, which had been threatening to collapse, shattered outward in the opposite direction with an explosion. This time, however, it was controlled, ensuring it wouldn't harm the others again.
Ira, still struggling to recover, looked up as a shadow began to fall over him.
"Eh?"
Boom.
Grabbed by the tail, Ira was repeatedly slammed into the earth. Myra, now returned to her dark elf form and looking extremely pissed, quickly carved a fresh crater with him.
"I'm- AGH! HOW DAR- AGH! ENOUG- OUF!"
Meanwhile, Atlas watched as his setup reassembled around him. "No warning at all?!" he complained. "I looked like a bum!"
Wisp snorted, her bird form reforming with drifting trails of light. "To be fair, you are one. You haven't taken care of yourself since becoming a Weaver."
Out of shame and lingering guilt, Atlas finally took the time to clean up. He had forgotten about clothes, shaving, showering- the basic human things he'd skipped out on, believing they no longer mattered. After sleeping for hundreds of years, it just went over his head.
It also felt more like returning from a bad date… or waking up the next morning and thinking, "Fuck. What did I just do?"
"Well, you look marginally more presentable," Wisp chirped. "At least you don't stink or have worms on your face."
"Yeah, yeah... I need to figure out what kind of clothes I'll need next time that happens..."
Sighing, Atlas slouched into his console chair cleaned up and comfortable. Though he still hadn't bothered to put on anything remotely godlike.
"Right, so first things first..."
-----------------
Battle Statistics:
-----------------
Total Army Size: 861 (-28%)
Total Losses: 340
Primordials: 160 (-20%)
Dragons: 700 (-30%)
Eldritch Demigod (Dark Elf): 1
Kill Count: 125,000
-----------------
------------
Name: Myra
Race: Eldritch Demigod (Dark Elf)
Age: 500
-Upgrade-
------------
Status:
Average Lifespan: ****
Vitality: 80
Intelligence: 100
Potential: 180
Magic: 160
Fertility: 2
Special Traits/Abilities: Magic Affinity MAX, Red Mist, Dark Vision, Heightened Senses, Darkness, Red Mist Affinity MAX, Essence Absorption, Ascension
Special Note: Ascension allows the Demigod to interact and meet with the Weaver directly.
------------
"Should you choose, Weaver, you may designate her as a god in the future to fulfill functions that you would otherwise be unable to handle alone. Or, in the case of most of these years... sleeping."
"That's good. But... she has the key to keep returning here?" Atlas asked.
Wisp nodded.
Atlas sighed. "Yeah. I need some clothes then. But for now, I need to handle this situation..."
His gaze returned to the globe. A series of notifications had appeared. The northern landmass once shrouded in grey mist and fog of war had cleared.
It now resembled something out of an alien horror film: corrupted beings writhed and twitched, tumors pulsated on sickly plants and malformed creatures, and flames stretched across the entire southern section.
But Atlas's eyes focused on the tree… and the souls.
The souls that once traveled toward the Smiling Tree had begun to wander again, threatening to vanish or worse- inhabit nearby corpses as corrupted spirits.
Ghosts, demons, and vengeful entities would begin to manifest if left unchecked. A sharp shift from the previous system, where unclaimed souls simply ceased to exist.
"Weaver Atlas, take a look at this, please."
"Hm?" he responded, and the view spun, zooming in on the Smiling Tree of Wishes.
Diving through the hollowed trunk, the display dropped down toward the roots. Somehow, though it shouldn't have been possible, the roots spread into a cradle-like structure. At first it seemed finite… but the deeper the view zoomed, the more it revealed an impossible scale. A visual illusion of limitation but in reality it stretched out infinitely.
From ground level, the sky above appeared as a web of branching roots, with red and orange lights dancing between them like sunlight breaking through water.
But the ground itself? Desolate. A cracked, barren abyss of dry soil, stretching endlessly. And within it… skeletons. Countless, half-buried skeletons of various creatures, scattered across the abyss.
"This was the Smiling Tree of Wishes' graveyard for souls. An extradimensional space. This could be the birthplace of your afterlife system, which has yet to be established- once you find a suitable replacement host for the tree."
"That's simple. Eleos," Atlas brushed it off. "And if I don't need an Oracle to speak to Myra, I'll send her on a quick mission to convince him. The Soul Transfer should only be... fifty?"
Atlas leaned back, briefly confused as he quickly created the power checked the cost. "Oh yeah, I gave him Soul Resonance. Sixty-two divinity left over- should be enough for a few lightning strikes or a buff in the Weaver War..."
His expression turned grim, realizing again that was still on the horizon. In fact, leaning forward and exhaling sharply, there was a lot. Perhaps too much. And all the while...
'All the while I have to manipulate Myra and the others. Make them think it wasn't me who ruined their lives and fucked up their worlds.' Atlas's teeth clenched as he thought this, then took another deep breath to steady himself.
"How am I doing compared to the other Weavers you've assisted, Wisp?"
A silence fell. A few quick chirps came from Wisp as it tilted its head side to side thoughtfully.
"The outcomes, despite your behavior, have been miraculous," Wisp stated like a teacher lecturing. "All other Weavers I've serviced prioritized fertility. Masses of common creatures to create Divinity with only a handful of beings that were anything more."
"This is the case for over 99% of new Weavers. You are one of the extremely rare cases where, at this stage, a majority of your Divinity comes from special units- which is both your strength and your weakness. On that same note, you're also lacking Divinity due to your delayed involvement in the world."
"In short, defeat is not certain. Especially since after only five hundred years, you now have an Eldritch Demigod."
"And how do I win? What happens if I win?"
"Normally, a Weaver simply forfeits when defeat seems certain. If they don't, then the other must genocide all life on the planet until us, the assistants, deem it over. The victor then has the option of consuming the loser's essence and keeping their planet or allowing the fallen Weaver to live as a vassal."
"Oh? So medieval lordship in god-form?" Atlas mused. "Or consumption to become the strongest Weaver."
Wisp nodded. "Year 510, I should advise, is when the first Weaver Gathering will occur for new Weavers. You should complete everything you can before then."
Atlas nodded and fell silent.
"Irkalla! That will be the name of the afterlife!" Atlas said aloud to himself. "Myra, afterlife, Weaver Gathering, and then..."
New Weaver Gathering: 9.7 years (510)
Weaver War Countdown: 19.7 years (520)
"My fate will be revealed."