Wood Demon - Chapter 5
Chapter 5: Regret and a Verdant Arsenal
The newfound ability to draw sustenance from the great tree, from ‘Woody’ as Jack had half-jokingly, half-desperately christened his silent benefactor, was a fragile candle in the oppressive darkness of his new existence. It was a lifeline, a whisper of possibility that he didn’t have to continue down the bloody path Muzan had set for him. He clung to that whisper with the desperation of a drowning man. As dusk had fully settled, transforming the forest into a realm of deep shadows and faint, silvery moonlight, he had felt a surge of energy, a clean vitality that was starkly different from the feverish, tainted power he’d gained from… from before.
But the candle, however welcome, cast long, dancing shadows, and in those shadows lurked the unerasable stain of his actions. The relief of not feeling that monstrous, clawing hunger was immense, yet it was almost immediately overshadowed by the crushing, suffocating guilt for the family he had murdered. The faces, the screams, the sight of the small, bloodied wooden bird – these images were etched into his memory with acid. He knew, with a certainty that settled like cold lead in his gut, that he could never undo what he had done. The blood was on his hands, a permanent, indelible mark on his soul, if he even still possessed one.
“So, I’m a vegetarian vampire now,” he muttered to the indifferent twilight, his voice rough. He was leaning against Woody’s massive trunk, the bark cool and solid against his back. “That’s… progress, I guess? A step up on the demonic morality ladder? From ‘unrepentant monster’ to ‘monster with dietary restrictions and a whole heap of existential angst’.” He sighed, the sound heavy. “Doesn’t exactly bring back the people I… you know. Doesn’t make it okay.”
The desire to avoid repeating that horror, to never again feel that loss of control, that sickening satiation born of another’s stolen life, became a powerful, driving motivator. This tree-feeding, this bizarre, plant-based sustenance, had to work. It had to be enough. Because the alternative was a descent into a cycle of violence and self-loathing that he wasn’t sure his already fractured sanity could withstand.
He pushed himself away from the tree. The night was young, and the immediate threat of the sun was hours away. If he was going to survive, if he was going to find a way to live this unlife without becoming the kind of monster he truly despised, he needed to understand what he was capable of. Beyond, apparently, absorbing tree-juice and having surprisingly pointy fingernails.
The System. That damned, ever-present, translucent blue screen still flickered at the edge of his awareness. `Blood Demon Art: Plant`. It was time to figure out what that actually meant.
“Alright, System, you inscrutable blue pain in my ass,” he addressed the hovering display. “Let’s talk about this ‘Plant’ Blood Demon Art. Is it like, a friendly suggestion? A hobby? Or can I actually do something with it?” He focused his will, trying to tap into that same wellspring of demonic power he’d used to absorb energy from Woody, but this time, directing it outwards. “Plant powers, activate!” he declared with a theatrical flourish, aiming at a patch of bare earth a few feet away.
Annnnd… nothing. The patch of earth remained stubbornly, unimpressively bare.
“Huh,” Jack grunted. “Underwhelming. Am I supposed to hum a catchy little photosynthesis tune? Offer encouraging words? ‘Grow, little hypothetical plant, grow for your demonic overlord who’s fresh out of ideas!’ This is not exactly intuitive, you glowing blue menace!” He tried again, concentrating harder, visualizing a flower, a bush, anything. Still nothing. “Maybe it’s voice-activated? Open sesame, but for botany?”
Frustration gnawed at him. He paced the small clearing, his new demonic senses picking up the myriad scents and sounds of the forest night. He idly reached out and brushed his fingers against a large, feathery fern growing near Woody’s roots. Its fronds were cool, slightly damp. As his skin made contact, he felt that faint, familiar thrum of life he’d sensed from the tree, albeit much smaller, more delicate.
On a whim, still touching the fern, he tried again to manifest something, focusing on the idea of the fern, its shape, its texture. This time, something happened. From the patch of bare earth he’d been targeting, a small, green shoot emerged, unfurling with unnatural speed into a near-perfect replica of the fern he was touching.
Jack stared, dumbfounded. “No way.” He let go of the original fern and tried to create another one. Nothing. He touched the fern again, and tried to create a copy beside the first. Success. “Okay, so… I need to be touching the original article? Or at least, have touched it recently?”
He looked around. There was a small, rather pathetic-looking weed with tiny yellow flowers a few feet away. He walked over, touched it, then focused on a spot near his fern army. Another near-instant plant, this one a weedy twin.
As he completed the creation of the weed-twin, a new chime sounded from the System, different from the EXP notification.
`[New Flora Data Acquired: Common Forest Fern. Added to Botanical Compendium.]`
And immediately after,
`[New Flora Data Acquired: Lesser Yellowbutton Weed. Added to Botanical Compendium.]`
“Botanical Compendium?” Jack raised an eyebrow at the System screen, which now displayed these new entries beneath his BDA. “So, I’m a demonic botanist with a supernatural Pokedex for plants? ‘Gotta touch ’em all!’ to weaponize ’em all? Seriously?” He looked from the screen to the two ferns and two weeds. “This is the weirdest, most overly complicated power set ever. Why couldn’t I just get super strength and laser eyes like a normal damn demon?”
Despite his grumbling, a spark of his old enthusiasm for understanding systems, for figuring things out, ignited. He spent the next hour cautiously touching various plants in the immediate vicinity – a patch of damp moss, a young sapling of some unidentifiable hardwood, a clump of broad-leafed ground cover. Each time, the System dutifully chimed, adding the flora to his ‘Compendium.’
“Moss,” he said, after touching a particularly vibrant patch. `[New Flora Data Acquired: Verdant Cushion Moss.]` “Fascinating stuff. Can I make a strategically placed slippery moss trap? Or maybe a really well-camouflaged, slightly squishy ghillie suit? The tactical possibilities are… limited, but intriguing.” He tried to create a patch of moss on a nearby rock. It worked, spreading with eerie speed.
“Okay, encyclopaedia mechanic understood,” he finally said, dusting off his hands. “Now, let’s see what else this ‘Verdant Arsenal,’ as I’m now officially calling it, can do. Time to move from peaceful gardening to something a little more… aggressively botanical.”
He focused inwards, trying to tap into his own demonic essence, his flesh. The idea of vines, thorny and prehensile, came to mind – a classic for a reason. He pictured them emerging from his arm. There was a strange, unsettling sensation, a pulling and twisting beneath his skin, not exactly painful, but deeply unnatural. Then, with a faint, wet tearing sound, his sleeve ripped as several dark green, thorny vines, thick as his thumb, erupted from his forearm, writhing like sentient whips. They were about three feet long, covered in needle-sharp thorns that glinted faintly.
“Well, that’s new,” Jack said, examining the thorny appendages with a mixture of revulsion and fascination. They twitched and swayed in response to his thoughts. “And itchy. And definitely going to be hell on my wardrobe, assuming I ever get another change of clothes. Do they make Kevlar gardening gloves for demons? Or maybe just full-body thorn-proof onesies?” He experimentally lashed one of the vines out, and it cracked like a small whip. “Could be useful for keeping people at arm’s length. Literally.” He then focused on retracting them, and with another strange, internal squirming sensation, they withdrew back into his flesh, the tears in his sleeve the only evidence. “Self-healing skin is a plus, I guess. Saves on band-aids.”
Next, he tried the poisonous sprouts idea. He focused on a flat, moss-covered rock a few feet away. He imagined tiny seeds, imbued with a potent, demonic venom, taking root and blooming with unnatural speed. He channeled his demonic energy into the thought, pushing it towards the rock.
For a moment, nothing. Then, the moss on the rock seemed to darken, and small, purplish-black sprouts, no bigger than his thumb, pushed their way through with eerie swiftness. They unfurled tiny, oily-looking leaves and a single, disturbingly beautiful, trumpet-shaped flower the color of a deep bruise. A faint, sickly-sweet odor emanated from them.
“Pretty poison,” Jack murmured, observing them cautiously. He didn’t dare touch them. `[New Flora Data Acquired: Nightshade Blisterbloom (Self-Generated Demonic Flora – Toxic). Added to Botanical Compendium.]`
“Blisterbloom, huh? Catchy. Note to self: do not use these as a salad garnish. Or a breath mint.” He wondered just how toxic they were. An unfortunate beetle that scurried too close to one of the blooms suddenly curled up and died. “Okay, pretty damn toxic. Good to know.”
He then turned his attention to the smaller, existing trees and bushes around him – ones he hadn’t ‘cataloged’ beyond a cursory touch for their data. He tried to exert his will over them, to make them move, to bend to his command.
He stared intently at a young sapling. “Alright, twiggy, dance for me. Do a little cha-cha. Or, you know, just menacingly wave your branches around. Whatever works for you.”
The sapling trembled slightly. Its leaves rustled. It might have leaned a fraction of an inch in the direction he was willing it. Or it might have just been a breeze.
“Okay,” Jack sighed. “So, mind control for shrubbery is clearly a work in progress. They’re giving me the ‘seen, but not heard’ vibe. Stubborn little things.” He tried again, focusing on a clump of bushes, attempting a more direct, almost flirtatious cajoling. “Come on, my leafy lovelies, don’t be shy! Show your demon daddy what you can do! A little sway? A threatening rustle? No? Tough crowd tonight.” The bushes remained stubbornly impassive. His influence was clearly limited, weak, unfocused on anything not directly generated by him or intimately ‘known’.
Finally, he decided to try something with a bit more flair. He gathered a pile of fallen leaves – mostly from Woody, whose data was now firmly in his Compendium. He focused his demonic energy, picturing the leaves lifting, swirling, their edges becoming razor sharp.
“Time for some ranged attacks,” he muttered. “Paper cuts from hell, anyone? Or, leaf-cuts, I guess. Less alliterative, but more accurate.”
Slowly, the leaves on the ground began to tremble. Then, one by one, they lifted into the air, spinning faster and faster until they formed a miniature, swirling green-and-brown tornado about the height of his knee. He could feel the edges of the leaves hardening, a faint shimmer around them. He directed the vortex towards a sturdy-looking mushroom. It struck with a flurry of tiny impacts, slicing superficial cuts into the mushroom’s cap.
“Huh,” Jack said, letting the leaf-vortex dissipate, the leaves fluttering back to the ground. “Needs work. A lot of work. Right now, it’s more likely to give someone a severe case of autumn-themed exfoliation than actual damage. But it’s got style, I’ll give it that. Ten points for dramatic presentation, two for actual effectiveness.”
He stood amidst his handiwork – the cloned ferns and weeds, the patch of deadly Blisterblooms, the slightly traumatized mushroom – and let out a long breath. Using his Blood Demon Art was draining, not in the same way as the soul-deep hunger, but it was a definite expenditure of energy. An energy that, presumably, would also be replenished by his arboreal snacking.
He checked his System display again. `Demon: Jack. Level: 10. Status: Lowest Rank Demon.`
“Still Level 10,” he sighed. “Got some fancy new plant tricks, a killer skincare routine thanks to instant regeneration, and a very exclusive vegetarian diet. And yet, still cannon fodder for any Slayer worth their sword-oil. My ‘Menacing Aura’ is probably more like a ‘Slightly Concerning Vibe That Might Be Pollen Related’ at this point.”
The knowledge that the Demon Slayers were out there, real, skilled, and dedicated to the eradication of creatures exactly like him, was a sobering counterpoint to any satisfaction he might have felt from his successful experiments. His current abilities, while… interesting, felt laughably inadequate against the kind of power he remembered from the manga – Hashira moving faster than sound, breathing techniques unleashing elemental fury. His little leaf vortex would be about as effective as a sternly worded letter.
The memory of the family, the crushing weight of his guilt, settled back over him. That, more than anything, fueled his resolve. The tree-feeding offered a path away from further slaughter. These plant powers, however rudimentary, were his only tools to walk that path and survive. He had to make them work. He needed to get stronger. He needed to find more plants, more potent flora to add to his bizarre ‘Botanical Compendium.’ He needed to learn, to adapt, to evolve.
“So, the new, improved life plan is as follows,” he announced to the silent, listening forest. “One: become a master demonic horticulturist with a specialization in weaponized botany. Two: diligently avoid anyone carrying a katana and looking like they have strong opinions about demons. Three: stick to the tree-sap diet, no matter what. Four: try not to have a complete mental and emotional breakdown over the whole ‘I’m a mass-murdering monster who talks to trees’ thing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Simple, really. Piece of cake. What could possibly go wrong?”
A faint, cool breeze rustled the leaves of the great tree above him, almost like a sigh. Or maybe, just maybe, Woody was wishing him luck. He’d need it.