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Chapter 432: 432
It was through this perspective that Ikem came to understand symbiosis.
He saw that the world thrived on mutualistic, parasitic, and commensalistic relationships. Most living things were not truly independent; they coexisted with countless unseen organisms, bound together in an eternal dance of cooperation and conflict. Just as he was in symbiosis with Bara, his power evolved, reshaping his wooden manipulation into something beyond what had ever existed. The roots and trees under his control no longer bore the ordinary hues of nature; they bled. Their bark deepened into a visceral crimson, their growth fueled by the blood they consumed. They fed on the essence of others, drawing strength from sacrifice.
Even his own body had become a living extension of this principle. His roots could detach, burrowing into foreign trees, latching onto creatures, spreading like a parasitic network of life, an extension of his will.
Through this, Ikem understood the dynamic and ever-evolving nature of symbiosis. It was not merely a static relationship—it was a constant negotiation of power, a delicate balance between dominance and dependency. It was a living consciousness beyond a singular entity.
He could hear it now—the collective whisper of all microorganisms living in harmony with their hosts. It was the silent conversation between the roots of trees and the mycorrhizal fungi that fed them. It was the unseen presence of bacteria shaping the bodies of creatures, influencing health, behavior, even evolution itself. A quiet hum of life in its purest form.
This knowledge reshaped not only his own power but his people’s understanding of life itself. Among all others, they became unparalleled in their comprehension of biological nature. Their healing surpassed that of any other, for they did not simply mend flesh—they guided life’s very process, influencing the unseen forces that dictated growth, decay, and renewal.
Through their wisdom, they even shaped a new life.
It was this mastery that led to the birth of the Hippogriff. A creature that bothers Zephyr a lot at his young age.
The creature was no natural creation—it was a manifestation of Ikem’s understanding of symbiosis and microorganisms. It had not been merely born; it had been guided into existence. The melding of species, the reshaping of genetic destiny, the influence of unseen life—this was the power Ikem had come to wield.
And in this, he had found his answer.
He was not a god of nature. He was the god of the unseen, of interwoven existence, of the endless dance of life feeding upon life.
At last, after a decade of silent contemplation, Ikem had his answer.
He was not merely the son of the God of Nature. He was something more.
His power did not lie in the simple dominion over trees and beasts but in the unseen web of existence—the quiet connections that wove life together, the intricate dance of root and soil, parasite and host, decay and renewal. He had grasped the true essence of wood—not just as a material, but as a living force, a conduit of endless exchange.
He was the god of Verdant Communion.
As the realization settled within him, the air thickened. The world seemed to pause, as though the very land, sky, and rivers held their breath in acknowledgment.
And then, she came.
Nana.
The world called her thus, for she was not merely his grandmother—she was the Elder Spirit, the silent heart beat of this world. She stepped forth, draped in robes the color of ancient bark and newborn leaves, her presence carrying the scent of deep forests and the whisper of distant constellations. Her eyes, dark as the night sky with dots of stars in it, yet alight with wisdom, met his.
A slow smile graced her lips.
"So, you have finally seen child."
Ikem bowed—not in submission, but in reverence. "Yes, Nana. I have found what I am."
She extended a hand, old and lined, yet brimming with the quiet might of one who had seen empires rise and fall like seasons.
"Then speak, child. Tell me of your path."
And so, he did.
He told her of Bara, the entity that had fused with him, reshaping his very being. He spoke of the unseen world—the fungal networks that passed knowledge through roots, the trees that drank blood to grow strong, the parasitic vines that thrived even as they fed. He described his power, no longer bound to simple control over wood but instead an extension of life itself—a force of mutual growth, of sacrifice, of boundless interconnection.
He recounted the Hippogriff, a beast that should not have existed, yet did—because he had willed it so, because he understood the malleability of nature, of evolution itself.
Nana listened, her expression unreadable. Then, she turned to the heavens, lifting a hand.
The stars trembled.
The sky itself peeled apart, revealing the vastness beyond. From that celestial rift descended a throne—not of stone nor metal, but woven from living roots, pulsating with golden ichor, its form shifting like a great tree caught between seasons. It carried the scent of rich soil and fresh rain, of bark hardened by time and leaves forever reaching for the sun.
Nana turned to him, her voice now resonating through the marrow of the world.
"Then rise, my child. Take your place among the gods. Your path is set, your domain realized. Now, tell the world—who are you?"
Ikem stepped forward, and the earth itself answered.
Red roots erupted from the ground, twisting toward the sky, latching onto the divine throne as if embracing an old friend. The whisper of the unseen became a roar—the voices of roots stretching deep, of fungi sharing secrets, of the ever-hungry, ever-thriving wood.
Ikem inhaled deeply, feeling the pulse of all things interconnected.
Then—
He spoke his name, his truth, his godhood.
"I AM IKEM, SON OF THE GOD OF NATURE AND CURSES NOW TO BE
THE GOD OF VERDANT COMMUNION!"
As soon as Ikem proclaimed his divinity, reality trembled. A force beyond mortal comprehension seized him, pulling him into the very essence of his newly formed realm.
Nothingness surrounded him.
A vast, empty void stretched in all directions—a blank canvas awaiting the touch of creation. But Ikem felt no fear, no hesitation. He knew this was not true emptiness. It was potential.
And then, he felt Bara stir.
The being that had dwelled within him for so long, that had fused with his essence, now uncoiled from his spirit like a great serpent shedding its skin. Ikem did not stop it—this was always meant to happen. With a deep, guttural reverberation, Bara plunged into the formless ground of the realm, vanishing into its depths, drilling towards the very heart of this unborn world.
For a moment, all was still.
Then, the ground shook.
A tremor rippled outward, the silent realm rumbling as though awakening from an ageless slumber. Ikem watched, eyes gleaming, as the first root erupted from the soil, thick and glistening, pulsing with a deep, blood-red hue.
More followed.
An entire network of roots surged forth, twisting and intertwining, drawing sustenance not from mere soil but from something far more primal—the echoes of all the creatures Bara had ever devoured.
And then, the first tree was born.
A single towering monolith of wood surged skyward, its bark dark as night yet glistening as if soaked in ichor. Its branches spread wide, extending endlessly, stretching across the realm like a vast skeletal canopy. Its leaves burned, not with ordinary fire but with an eternal red flame—a fire of renewal, of transformation, of insatiable hunger.
Ikem smiled. This was his domain.
A sudden gust of wind rushed through the realm, carrying the burning leaves away. They drifted, glowing embers in the dark void, scattering far and wide. Wherever they fell, life began to stir.
From the ash of the fallen leaves, new life forms emerged—wooden creatures, molded by the essence of the beasts whose blood had once fed Bara.
Some were colossal, their forms reminiscent of the great beasts that had once roamed the mortal lands, now reborn as towering wooden titans with glowing red veins. Others were small, scuttling things, their wooden exoskeletons shifting like living roots, darting through the undergrowth of newly sprouted crimson forests.
The template for this life had already been written—not by Ikem’s hand alone, but by the countless creatures that had been consumed, their forms now reshaped into something new, something eternal.
With every second, the realm bloomed.
Vast crimson jungles stretched into the horizon, their trees whispering in a language only the wood understood. Rivers of sap-like ichor carved through the land, teeming with writhing, root-like organisms. The air pulsed with the breath of an ecosystem that should not exist, yet did.
And at the center of it all, standing before the ever-burning Towering Red Tree. These life forms are still without souls but one thing Ikem came to understand with souls, it can be created but with the right condition and passage of time, it was something that will bloom and Ikem was looking forward to the new life of these wooden lifeforms.
