Roots exploded from beneath the leaf-covered ground, their ends sharpened to razored tips, and shot for Arwin’s heart with blinding speed. The Wyrm slammed a huge foot down on the ground before him, shattering the roots and blocking their path off. Arwin burst into motion. Leaves cracked beneath his feet as he charged toward the Ashleaf Tree, power pumping through his body from the new hand at his side. He bounded over a root that rose up in his path, not even slowing in his charge. A branch whipped down toward Arwin, razored leaves plummeting toward his head like blades of glass. He didn’t even react. The sky above him darkened and the Wyrm’s feet slammed down on either side of his body as it put its body between him and the attack. Leaves rang off the huge monster’s scales harmlessly, and the branch struck it with a loud crack a moment later. The Wyrm snarled and staggered, but it didn’t fall. It was more than just a manifestation of a monster in Arwin’s mind. It was the Wyrm’s Revenge. The manifestation of a shield — and if there was one thing it was good at, it was defense. A cold smile split across Arwin’s features as the distance between him and the Ashleaf Tree evaporated. He was nearly upon the monster’s trunk. All the pain that had been flooding his body had receded to a dull throb. His body was his once more. With every step that Arwin took, the Ashleaf Tree lost power and the arm attached to his right shoulder grew stronger. He didn’t even know what it was capable of yet, but the sheer magical energy thrumming within it was enough to nearly make him dizzy. “That is my power!” the Ashleaf Tree roared, its branches shaking in fury. Roots burst up around the Wyrm, tightening around the monster’s legs and slamming it to the ground, but the tree was far from done. More roots erupted from the ground before Arwin. He tried to leap over them, but they were too fast. Two wooden spikes slammed into his legs and carved straight through them, pinning him in place. He slammed to a halt, a sharp burst of agony ripping through him. The Wyrm’s tail whipped forward to meet the branch. It struck it with a loud crack, and the Ashleaf Tree’s limb shattered. It spun through the air and impaled itself in the ground several feet behind Arwin. The Ashleaf Tree screamed in pain. Leaves rained down from its branches and clattered to the ground, shattering as they landed. It wasn’t an attack. The tree was starting to wither. It shrunk before Arwin’s eyes, losing nearly half of its height within just seconds. A pulse rolled down Arwin’s wooden arm. For a moment, the barriers between himself and the arm fell. He could feel the Cursed item in its entirety. He could feel all the emotion, all the desire gathered within the wood. He could feel the intent he’d painstakingly poured into it and its determination to exist. It seemed the arm had made its choice. “This is my power,” the tree howled, the intensity of its voice growing weaker with every word. “Mine! You are a thief! A hypocrite! I will not—” The arm tugged at Arwin’s mind, offering guidance. Arwin accepted it. He thrust his right hand forward like a spear. His wooden fingers lengthened, stretching out like the roots that had been used against him just moments before. They slammed straight into the heart of the tree. Its words slammed to a halt. For an instant, the clearing was silent. Sunlight shimmered across the dry leaves beneath his feet and danced as it reflected from their glasslike surfaces. Then a loud crack split the air. The Ashleaf Tree split down the center, its two halves pitching down and crashing to the ground. Leaves fluttered up all around it. The roots extending from Arwin’s fingers slithered back and the arm returned to its normal state. A wind blew through the clearing, picking the leaves up in its gentle embrace and sending them swirling upward. They rose from the clearing, somehow not cutting Arwin as they danced into the sky. Green scales shimmered in the sunlight. The Wyrm looked down at Arwin. Its features were unreadable, but intelligence sparkled within its dark eyes. Arwin inclined his head in appreciation. Even though he’d been the one to call his shield here, this was no mere item. It held intelligence. The right thing to do was acknowledge its help. The fight would have gone very differently if he’d had to take it entirely on his own. His shield had done its job well. The Wyrm started to turn translucent. For an instant, Arwin caught a glimpse of a Maristeel Shield floating in the air. Then it was gone. All that remained in the clearing was Arwin and the destroyed Ashleaf Tree. Arwin’s connection to the arm at his side vanished. He could still feel the power within it, but it was not power meant for him. With a grunt, he reached up to the arm and gave it a sharp tug. It ripped free with a loud pop. Surprisingly, there was no pain. Arwin held the arm before him, watching the sunlight reflect off its glossy wooden surface. “It was a good fight,” Arwin said. “I’ve got someone who can use you far better than I ever can. You’ll get what you seek.” The arm didn’t respond. Its mental connection to him was severed — but a warm breeze danced past Arwin and rustled his hair. He craned his neck back watched the last of the leaves disappear into the sky. Then Arwin let his eyes drift shut. When they opened once more, the vision was gone. He stood in the Infernal Armory. On the anvil before him sat a perfectly smooth wooden arm. Embossed onto the back of its palm was a familiar mark.