A might tree stood in the middle of the Deadlands.

So many powerful undead existed around it, that not a single being could get near its precious existence.

Still, some could live on and inside of it.

Living in seclusion for millions of years, entire kingdoms could be found on its massive branches.

Still, one thing was certain on these - almost no white seeds could be found on them.

The simple fact that the Tree itself exuded magic in large amounts was enough for white seeds to quickly turn dark.

It wasn’t much long after the ascension of the Overseer that the White Order of Angels decided to leave the Tree.

Some said the first ones to notice the effects of the trees’ magic on Seeds where the Seraphim.

Others said some higher existence told them about it.

Regardless, the War in Heaven finally took a turn for better.

Even if it couldn’t be counted as a war since the very beginning.

How could white seeds compete against dark seeds?

They couldn’t even touch them! At most they could banish them, or rely on summoning beings to use against the enemy.

Even when, eventually, the white orders found a way to threaten the dark seed beings on the Tree, they still would be deterred by the Black Seed Angels.

The Tree was the birthplace of all races. The Seraphim would not allow for its leaves to be tarnished by bloodbath. It was their nature not to. Specially those who had the blessings of the Overseer, even if most of those high and mighty beings couldn’t even remember how it looked like.

This was the reason why the White Order left the Tree behind and took over the World.

And this was also the reason why very few of the Old Existences on the Tree cared for the rest of it and its state of being.

Dozens of millions of years had already come and gone, and they had not moved in the least.

What if the number of white seeds had reached the billions?

What if they could travel to other words and convince them to fight for them?

The Tree was mightier than all. Except for the Overseer and Tiphoon itself, which kind of existence could shake its roots?

Not even if all the Seraphim worked together, could they destroy a single rotten piece of its hardened bark.

Elves lived on small kingdoms at surface level and on the very first branches. Undead could be kept away with regular offerings to the demi-gods which were now revered as gods, and to the Tree itself.

Then, at higher levels, all kinds of primeval existences basked on the radiance and boundless prosperity of the Tree.

Most didn’t even need to eat or drink to live. The Tree would nourish them all, just by existing and channeling its energy.

It asked for nothing in return, and they wanted nothing as well.

And, still, one day the Tree talked.

It talked with a coarse and old voice. One none had listened for eons.

And it commanded all to do something. To massacre.

None understood very well at first.

The Seraphim decided to carry on the will of the Tree, so the other orders of Angels followed suit.

The demons schemed, and the Dark Sages commanded armies of millions of Dark Cultivators.

But some questioned why.

To those, the Tree answered simply:

“-It is needed”.