Despite the clear morning sky come the next day , the forest was pitch black. Thick tendrils of ivy had risen from the ground around the trees, slithering through the branches and swallowing up the light. The forest had taken on a feral appearance. Yet, there was something else that felt unsettling to Harken. It wasn't until he had crossed the forest's edge that the realization finally dawned on him.

The place was eerily silent. There was no bird song, no insect noise, and no signs of life. Only the occasional breeze and the crunch of his boots in the dirt broke the stillness. Instinctively, he reached for the jar clasped to his side, gliding a finger across the lip and neck. Now was not the time for fear, he thought. Now was the time to act.

He pulled the heptagram shaped ward from his pack and held it out. At first nothing happened until a green glow emanated from its center. Very steadily the axiom, the very essence of life itself, collected into the ward until an orb the size of Harken's fist formed before him.

"Show me the way." he whispered. The orb began to glide along the strings before settling on the edge of the heptagram facing north, pointing deeper into the forest.

The farther Harken walked, the more corrupted the forest became. Ivy as thick as his thumb choked everything in his way, forcing him to cut down swaths in his path. The air became colder, and his labored breath came out in hazy clouds. He was getting close now.

The choking ivy eventually parted to reveal a small clearing. In the center stood a mighty, white oak completely entrapped within the vines. The soil around the tree was dark and barren with large roots erupting from the ground in all directions. At the base of the tree, piled in heaps, were the corpses of those the Krole had killed. Some clutched swords and wore the tattered remains of leather and chain mail, while others were dressed in simple clothes.

Harken's tattoos began to itch fiercely as he gazed upon the tree. The Krole's heart most likely lay within, anchoring the spirit in the physical world as it suckled away at the axiom in the forest, as a tick would steal the blood of its host.

Harken knelt beside the tree and staked the ward into the ground. The glow began to spread to the seven tips of the heptagram. Hopefully, the Krole would sense the ward and take the bait.

There was a sudden flutter of wings and Harken looked up to see a group of crows perched amongst the white oak's branches. They watched him with an intense curiosity, their eyes following his every move. He stepped back from the ward as more and more of the bloody things began to congregate before him until the tree was more bird than branch.

The crows erupted in shrieking, splitting the silence of the orest. They flew into the air in big, black masses and fell upon Harken. He drew his sword, cutting into the mob, but the more he swung, the angrier they became. They dived from all directions and pecked at anything exposed. A beak tore into his ear. A talon sliced across his forehead, dripping blood into his eyes.

The crows were relentless in their attack, picking him apart piece by piece. The Krole must have possessed the crows, sending them to kill him instead, too afraid to face him. The thought was almost ironic to Harken, but the irony was not going to save him. If the Krole wasn't going to come out, then he would force it out.

Harken ran through a clearing in the crow's assault towards the white oak. He yanked the jar from his pouch and chucked it. The jar sailed through the air and broke upon the tree. For a moment nothing happened, and then the Allysian Fire ignited.

Hot, white flames erupted in all directions and began to consume the vines surrounding the tree. The crows shrieked at the sudden burst of light and flew away from Harken in a panic. Some dropped dead to the ground while others scattered in all directions until only the sound of the burning tree remained.

The fire crackled nicely and warmed the bitter cold in Harken's bones. He wiped away the blood on his forehead and gulped in a few breaths of air. Eerie silence shrouded the clearing once more, until a fresh wave of pain erupted from Harken's tattoos. From behind the burning oak stood the Krole, watching him from the flames.

"Come on then!" Harken yelled, pointing his sword at the spirit. "No more games! No more running! Just you and me!"

The Krole stepped slowly towards him, the vines across its body writhing with agitation. Harken could practically feel the anger and fear coming from the spirit. For five years it had lived as the apex predator of the forest, killing any who dared enter its domain. Never before had it faced a contentious bastard like Harken. He couldn't help but smile at the thought.

In a flash, the Krole was upon him. It swung an arm, bellowing like a charging bull. Harken raised his sword just in time to block before he was thrown from the impact. He skidded off the dirt and rolled back up, stepping back from another swing mere inches from taking his head off his shoulders. Steel smashed against wood as Slayer and spirit traded blows.

Pain erupted up Harken's arms as they clashed, the blade doing little more than nick away at the Krole's solid body. At the rate he was going, he would tire out before long and then the Krole would add his corpse to the collection. He needed to try something else.

Keeping his body low, Harken sprang towards the Krole, driving the point of his blade forward. The Krole kicked out, missing Harken by inches as he pirouetted around the spirit and hacked into its leg. The Krole buckled and fell to a knee. Harken swung again, this time slicing into a clump of vines at its flank, revealing a hole in the body.

The Krole bellowed like an enraged auroch and turned, backhanding Harken. He skipped like a stone across the ground, smashing into the corpses at the base of the burning white oak.

Harken gasped for breath and pulled himself up. The damned thing was tossing him around like a sack doll to be toyed with. His arms hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt. He took a step forward and nearly stumbled back to the ground, the fatigue finally settling in. First the dream, then the barn and now this. It was all becoming too much to bear for his aging body.

The Krole watched him eagerly, flexing its fingers in anticipation. In the firelight it looked even more grotesque. The auroch skull was cracked and chipped in places and leaned precariously in the direction of its intact horn. Its arms were scoured in cuts from unsuccessful strikes. Truly, it was a demon of the forest.

If only he hadn't wasted the Allysian Fire on the tree. It would have consumed the Krole's body in an instant. He needed to think of something and fast.

The Krole stood up to its full height and let out a prideful roar, the hole Harken had created in its flank yawning open. A thought suddenly came to him. A dangerous thought, one born out of desperation. Sheathing his sword, Harken unclasped the mace at his side.

He scraped the head of the mace with the still burning oil that coated the oak. The mace burned brightly and dripped liquid fire onto the ground. The heat stung at his hands, but he had no time to worry about that. If his plan was going to work, he couldn't hesitate. It was now or never.

Harken charged towards the Krole, the mace streaking like a star in the darkness. The Krole swung an arm in a panic, surprised by his sudden ferocity. Harken swung the mace in an arc, smashed through the Krole's fingers, and lodged the mace deep into its open wound.

The Krole burst into flames like fresh kindling to a spark. It thrashed violently, throwing Harken to the ground as it raked at the mace. The fire began to spread, vines bursting into charred clumps as the Krole was consumed from within. The legs splintered and cracked, until the weight became too much to bear and the Krole crumpled into a charred heap.

Harken pulled himself up and limped towards the spirit. He grabbed the mace and ripped it out of the Krole, the head still glowing hot. With the last of his strength he raised the mace and brought it down upon The Krole's head with a sickening crack.

The Krole buckled under the blow, and then fell limp. Harken sank to his knees, letting the mace slip from his fingers as he fell onto his back in the cold dirt. Past the canopy, the first few rays of sunlight began to poke through the wilting ivy. Thank his lucky stars, he thought. It was over.