They stayed inside that tree for hours.
After the descent of that monstrous, many-eyed being, Creed, Amara, Lilith, Tierra, and yes, even their unwilling plant companion, remained as still as statues in the pitch-black belly of the great tree.
The draining of the treemen had gone on and on... and on. It was like a dark ritual, one that didn't care about time or mercy.
The soul-wrenching screams of the treemen being pulled into the sky and withered into husks had become a horrible background noise, like the world's worst music playlist on repeat.
Every few minutes, the sound would rise to a fresh crescendo, and all of them would go stiff, afraid that somehow the many-eyed horror had sensed them.
There were even moments—agonizing moments—where Creed felt as if something was watching them.
Like one of those hundreds of glowing eyes had locked onto their tree, squinting through bark and shadows.
