âFuck! What the hell was that!?â
That sentence and pain were the only two things going through my head as I scrambled across some of the thick inner branches of The Tree. I stumbled and then ducked behind a large protruding knot, trying to hide myself from the view of anyone who would come from the same direction I did. I grabbed my shredded and bleeding left arm. It hurt to move or literally do anything. I was pretty sure it was fractured, and some muscles had definitely been torn. I ripped off the sleeve of my jacket, silently apologizing to Storm that she would have to fix it. Again. I then wrapped the torn sleeve around my arm, using it as a temporary bandage. It wouldnât stop the bleeding, but it worked for the moment. I looked down at my feet to see my reflection in a puddle of silvery reflective liquid. My long auburn hair was coated with dried blood, dirt, sweat, and grime. Yet it still framed my worn, lightly freckled pale face and my deep green eyes. The black and gold outfit I wore was ripped and had holes and slash marks all over it, same with my Groundskeeper jacket. (It looks like the expedition outfits from Clair Obscur: Expedition 33. What the hell is that? Donât worry about it.) Iâm not very tall, but Iâm also not short; Iâm just average.
I groaned, half with annoyance and half with pain. As I steadied my breathing, my brain went over the series of events that had led me to my unfortunate situation. Me and my squad of five others, I had just been assigned as team leader and didnât really know any of them yet. We received a mission from the top brass, a head honcho, one of the Gardeners themself. The job was simple: prune a dying branch, a universe on the brink of collapse. But we were surprised when it showed up. A shifting mass of foggy shadow and darkness, changing shape seemingly at random. It, with seemingly no effort, had massacred my new squad and nearly taken my arm off. I was barely able to get away, and I wasnât even sure if it was chasing me or not.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I poked my head out over the knot and looked around for anything. All I saw was the usual endless expanse of blue, green, red, and purple branches that contained the many multiverses of the World Willow, or The Treeverse, as it is more commonly called. Itâs a breathtaking sight, and one that reminded me of my job as a Groundskeeper; to prune dying branches, because if one dies, it could create a ripple effect that would destabilize the entire quadrant around it. But at that moment, I heard the sound of footsteps, and I ducked back down behind the knot. I held my breath and hoped that whoever or whatever the footsteps came from hadn't noticed me. After waiting for what felt like an eternity, I heard a voice. A voice that sounded like it was dipped in sweet sugary honey, but still deep and masculine at the same time.
âYou suck at hiding.â
I let my bandaged and ruined arm drop to my side, and then pulled out my gun with my other hand and aimed at the voice. (And before you ask, no, itâs not a special laser gun, itâs a 9mm caliber Glock 11 if you want the specifics. A bunch of old white conservative men just got way too excited. Do I wanna know? No.) When I saw the face that the voice belonged to, I nearly dropped my gun in surprise. It was a face that every Groundskeeper had committed to detail, to the smallest detail. It was a face that adorned wanted posters throughout Groundskeeper HQ. It was the face of the Groundskeeperâs most wanted who had escaped capture for eons. The face of an agent of chaos and Treeversal destruction, the very things that the Groundskeepers stood against. A face that seemed to have a different nose in every picture. A face with dark blue skin, short, unkept, messy black hair, eyes that were deep pools of black that you could get lost in, and long, pointy ears. It was him, shorter than I thought and with a dark navy colored cat on his shoulder, but still him nonetheless. The Anomaly.