To panic, or not to panic? That was the question buzzing around in the mind of the Great Tree right now, and it seemingly had no clear answer. Or at least it had no clear answer to him. If he had already fallen deep into an endless mess of delusional thinking before, then what could his current mental state be called right now? It was something deeper, more potent than mere conspiracy theory or Orwellian delusions. No, this was something altogether worse, and it was also something even more incurable.

If one were to peer into his thought process, one would see a line of thinking so utterly removed from reality that no sane man would be able to understand it. Conspiracy Theories wove together in ways that none should be able to, plots and plans and schemes of all kinds melded into a twisted and monstrous amalgamation that defied logic and reason, and all the while an endless, rambling, unhinged train of thought chugged on, utterly detached from the truth around itself.

In fact, the unspeakable cobweb of unfathomable delusions had gotten so bad that even the Great Tree’s sibling had to pull out lest he risk his own mind being corrupted by the mad ramblings going on there. The noose was now snug around the Great Tree’s ‘throat’, and out of a mix of desperation and self-induced paranoid schizophrenia the poor thing could not tell if he had wanted things this way or if all the ‘plans’ that he had assumed existed did not, in fact, exist at all.

Calling him insane at this point would be an understatement, and as a result, the very thing he had long since feared would happen ultimately came to pass. Any and all despots, tyrants, and ‘Great Leaders’ fear one simple thing. They fear that the source of their power, authority, and control will leave them and, as a result, leave them vulnerable to danger and death. That is why so many of these regimes focus so heavily on oppression and indoctrination, after all.

But as is true everywhere, all things must inevitably end, and no power or authority remains within a being’s grasp for all time. And, when that authority, when that power has a will of its own, then it can determine whether or not to support a tyrant if it wants to. And that is the nightmare that the Great Tree now faced, as Nature Itself finally cut its last remaining ties with him, leaving him isolated, alone, and at the mercy of all that he had tried to dominate.

Now he was further trapped inside his own delusional mind, further isolated from reality, and ultimately driven even deeper into the infinite depths of madness. Death would not be a punishment at this point; it would be a mercy. And, despite all that he had done, the brother of the Great Tree still empathized with its wayward sibling. And so, with a heavy heart, it asked Kain to end his brother and put him out of his misery.

The pain had gone on for long enough; now the only cure was death, and Kain said he was happy to administer such a ‘cure’.

…

Gazing out across all of the plants, fungi, and animals he now ruled over, the Fallen Tree felt no pride nor glory, just a crushing sense of disappointment and melancholy. He had been right after all and his brother had been wrong, but there was no joy in that victory. No, he merely felt sorrow that he could not convince his sibling to stop his foolishness.

He would survive, and History was written not merely by the Victors, but by those who Survived. In a thousand years, he would be one of the few living beings to remember this tragedy, and so it would fall to him to tell this tale from an objective point of view.

He needed to record all of this for posterity, to show the world that he had tried to save his brother, even if only to assuage his own feelings of guilt over his failure. There was no doubt in his mind that the elves and plantoids that survived this war would act as they sought fit, and already there were those who worshipped him.

Such things did not make him happy. His brother’s ego had grown out of control when such a cult of personality formed around him, though he was, in some part, responsible for starting it. But he knew this, at least; he was no God, nor was he a savior. He had been both utterly helpless and utterly powerless up until a few short months ago, and even though he now had such power he was loathe to use it.

If the fall of his brother had taught him anything, it was that power and ambition could corrupt anyone, and it would do so more easily if you actively embraced it. But, then again, his brother had always been ambitious, so maybe he was destined to go down that road regardless of the events that led up that point.

Still, he cared for his sibling. He did care, but he knew that his only other family member was too far gone to help. Now, all that could be done was to cease his threat and his life at the same time, giving him one final act of mercy and, some would say, love, before they parted ways one last time.

As the gathering Darksolian assets prepared themselves in the air, the Fallen Tree dearly wished that he could just ignore the battle to come. This was no longer a swift execution, but a performance, and that did not sit well with him. However, if this performance had the effect of deterring further violence, then it would be well worth the final humiliation that his brother would experience before embracing oblivion.

These were the final moments of his brother’s ambition, and he had an obligation to watch the fight play out. He would burn this into his mind, for better or for worse, and make sure that no other champion of Nature would go down this dark, fatal road. This was his burden to bear, and he needed to bear it for others and to assuage his sense of failure. The time had come for his brother to die, and like a good brother he would watch and make sure that it would never happen again; not to himself or to anyone else.