Brandon returned the binoculars to Albert and readied Bonehacker. "Stay here. I'll take a closer look and deal with them." His comrades protested with frowns, which he ignored as he rushed to the commotion.

Hiding behind a massive tree, he observed the culprits of the discordant orchestra and winced in disgust. Had ants always been ridiculously hairy? With a pair of scissor-like appendages near their mouths? And the eyes... They just looked like some oversized black balls with neatly-positioned little bumps on the surface.

Standing surrounded by the huge hairy insects was a humongous four-legged tree with ramified roots as its toes. It might lack a face and arm-like structures, but the plentiful leaves at the top - its hair - made it look quite human. Much better than those creepy crawlies.

Better study their fighting style.

"It's really a treant," someone whispered to Brandon. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Albert. Oswald's men stood further behind him.

"Stand still and watch," Brandon grumbled.

The treant's toes went into the soil, rattling the dried twigs and leaves on the ground as they searched for their targets from beneath. Brandon would definitely have to pay attention to the trails when the time came to fight; whatever the treant was doing, it couldn't bode well for the recklessly charging ants.

Swish!

Wooden stakes shot up from the earth and pierced through the ants. The skewered insects wiggled helplessly for a few seconds before the stakes retracted. The treant had a heart?

No! Just as the six-legged monstrosities plummeted, the skewers shot back up. And went down. And rose again. And down. And up. Again and again until clear greenish fluid and motionless ants stained the terrain radially. The stretchy roots retracted afterwards.

Brandon grimaced, wondering how the woods would smell right now. Though from Albert's pale face and act of cupping a hand over his mouth, he thought he was better off without any functional olfactory nerves.

"I'll skip today's lunch and dinner," Albert mumbled. "Insect blood makes me sick."

Brandon nodded and stared at the silent treant's feet. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty toes. And it was just the forelegs.

The treant has a retractable spike trap around it, Brandon thought. He could perhaps jump over it, but the roots would then chase him until they turned him into shish kebab. Even if he made it to the leafy area, how long could he stay up there to hack off the stout branches?

His gaze dropped down, and the sight of his holstered Cerberus handguns gave him an idea. He then looked back and stared at the anti-necrolyze rifles wielded by Oswald's men. The big bullets packed a punch although their poison probably wouldn't work on a tree.

Brandon placed his axe between his teeth, stepped out of his hideout and motioned Oswald's men to ready their weapons.

Gunshots echoed. Bullets drilled into the stout trunk, only to come back out a few seconds later. Wounds regenerating rapidly, the treant ran towards him and his comrades.

Brandon shifted his aim to treant's hair while retreating along with his friends. Leafy boughs crashed to the detritus-ridden soil, but the incoming tree grew them back each time it lost a branch.

"I think we gotta set the treant on fire," Albert suggested. Brandon stared at him, at which he added, "I know. Your body resists fire quite well, but wood burns more easily than flesh. Anyway, lead the treant outta here so that we won't end up burning down the forest."

Brandon nodded. Good idea.

The treant suddenly halted. Brandon shifted his gaze to the ground and noticed the moving bulges on the soil. They shuffled through the crispy foliage and towards him.

Gun holstered, Brandon seized Albert by his hand and scurried. Five timber skewers shot up and struck nothing.

Albert let out a sigh of relief. "That was close."

Running with Albert in his grip, Brandon looked back. No signs of the treant. Oswald and his men were catching up with them, with Oswald yelling, "Just what the hell are you doing, Sir? We've lost three men to that crazy tree, you know?"

Brandon gnashed his teeth against his axe. He expected it, but what could he do? He lacked the stuff to kill the treant on the spot. Then he only had one arm, which he had used to save Albert.

No, he had to move on. Else he could neither avenge the dead nor stop the treant from killing even more.

After a few minutes of running, he let Albert go and took Bonehacker from his mouth. As they rushed to the forest's exit, he asked Albert, "Do we have some gasoline? And a lighter?"

"Just the lighter, Sir." Albert glanced over his shoulder. "Oswald, you got gas?"

"There are a few cans inside the trucks."

Once Brandon spotted their vehicles, he headed to his van and put his axe on its roof. Then he stripped himself to his waist and put his clothes away. From his experience, a brief contact with fire would only leave some rashes - or at most blisters - on his skin.

"Leave one truck here," Brandon commanded. "Switch it on and uncap the fuel filler."

Handing a lighter to Brandon, Albert quirked an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Just to make sure that the treant is dead. After that, run."

As Brandon pocketed the lighter, Oswald came to him with a fuel can in his hands. The man said nothing, but from his glare, Brandon could tell that Oswald wanted him to get burned badly.

Some people just couldn't forgive and forget.

Brandon grabbed the gas fuel can and hopped onto the truck's roof. Standing still, he surveyed the entrance to the forest. A silhouette of a four-legged tree drew closer and closer.

Engines roared. Brandon's truck trembled, while the other two fled from the scene along with his van. The further they went, the better, because he couldn't afford to lose more Millennion agents. Oswald's prattling would annoy him, but it wouldn't pain him as much as failing to protect the ones who needed his protection.

Once the treant stepped on the asphalt road, Brandon leaped at it. Twigs and leaves pelted the earth as he plummeted into the mini forest and landed on a stout bough.

The treant shook frantically, wooden stakes shooting up and down around it. Brandon grinned at the panicked treant as he poured the gasoline across its head. After throwing away the empty container, he took out his lighter and flicked it.

Whoosh!

Flame spread across the treetop within a split-second. The treant rocked even harder; unexpectedly, the skewers retracted and never appeared again. Victory was in sight.

Brandon snapped off a burning branch and jumped away from the inferno, his body covered in sweat and painless rashes. Landing on the truck's roof, he waggled the makeshift torch at the treant and whistled.

The stupid treant took the bait. Smirking, Brandon hopped off the roof and jammed the burning branch into the uncapped fuel filler. The truck blew up with a deafening boom, its shockwave sending him flying across the road.

Upon landing, Brandon sat up and observed the product of his stunt. Thick black smoke rose into the sky. The torching treant toppled together with the blazing vehicle and remained still.

Something tickled and heated the left side of his thigh. Looking down, he found fire on his pants. A few smacks killed the flame.

He caught a glimpse of his burned hand; it was red and slightly swollen with a few blisters. As he went to take a closer look at the wounds, an incoming vroom distracted him. His van halted and shut down beside him, and Albert came out of it with a first aid kit.

"Let me apply some standard serum on your hand." Albert sat down beside him and opened the box. After putting on a pair of rubber gloves, he picked up a vial of serum and a piece of gauze.

Coolness traveled across his wounded arm as Albert wiped it with the serum-soaked gauze. The intact blisters shrunk, while the burst ones stopped discharging clear fluid and blood. Only rashes, peeling skin, and crater-like scars remained.

"This is enough," Brandon said. "Bandage me and save the serum for later."

"If you say so, all right."

As Brandon waited for Albert to finish bandaging his arm and body, he saw Oswald and his men walking towards the blaze. They surrounded it and - except Oswald - watched the raging fire in glee.

Fully bandaged, Brandon stood up, retrieved Bonehacker from his van, and approached Oswald and his men.

Oswald turned to him, straight-faced. "You could've thought of something better. Three men. One truck. A pricey victory."

"There wasn't much time for him to figure out something else," Albert suddenly spoke from behind Brandon and tapped his shoulder. "At least we killed the treant, right?"

"Well, I'll have a few men take care of our colleagues' bodies and gather some parts of the treant and the giant ants for the lab." Oswald pointed at the forest. "Now, lead us into the forest again, Sir."

Guided by Oswald's grumbling about three dead agents, Brandon retraced his steps to where they first saw the treant. Finding the men's mangled bodies meant he was on the right track, although he had to look away quickly. He might have resolved to move on, but the corpses shoved him back by spawning the question, "Isn't there a better way?"

Albert gave him the push to go on. "You did your best, Sir."

Brandon nodded, a small smile creeping to his lips.

Few good trees existed in the forest, which let the sunlight pour down upon everybody. Brandon couldn't imagine how uncomfortable it would be without the serum-coated bandage; his rashes would probably feel like heating pads minus the refreshing vibes.

"What a guy!" Albert complained, looking left and right at the felled trees and fresh carcasses. "Zach, the forest did nothing wrong!"

Brandon snickered. Aside from knowing a lot about the forest, Albert could also crack a joke about it.

As they walked, Brandon heard a whimper coming from his right side. It sounded like something out of an injured puppy's mouth.

Brandon ran towards the source of the noise, bringing with him the rest of his entourage. A mound of dead wolves with several missing body parts lay there, its peak shaking. Brandon swept away the carcasses on the top and found a crying wolf pup lying on its side.

Upon seeing him, the little beast wagged its forelegs - a pair of bloody stumps. Brandon suspected that the giant ants had cut them off with their "scissors."

"Poor pup is badly hurt, but..." Albert shook his head. "It has nowhere to go with missing legs."

Nowhere to go.

Brandon could only think of ending the pup's life, but his hand quivered. Death wasn't always the answer, was it? Yesterday, had he spared Nancy, the girl might still have the chance to live a decent life with him. He had once decided against the idea of mercy killing actually, hoping to give William that one chance, but William died before Brandon could even bring him back to Millennion.

Brandon tightened his grip in his axe, as though he wanted to crush the handle to bits. His first and second attempt of helping the hopeless - which both happened in the same day - had failed miserably. This was the third try, and whatever it took, he'd make it successful.

"You want to help it?" Albert asked. "I don't think it's possible."

"I'll find a way," Brandon replied. Zach's hideout must have a lot of refined serum; he knew it. This would result in a superiorized wolf while superiors were infamous for their battle-hungry nature, but what if his attempt created a friendly one?

"Stop wasting time here!" Oswald barked. "If you want to help it, just put it out of its misery!"

"I'm bringing it with me." Brandon put his axe between his teeth and scooped up the injured pup.

Everybody gasped. Then a scowling Oswald stomped towards him. "Leave it be, you idiot! Or just kill it!"

"Watch your mouth, bro," Albert scolded. "Mr. Brandon is our leader in this search."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I didn't pull out my gun and shoot that pup dead."

Teeth grinding against the handle of his axe, Brandon strode past Oswald. Likewise, you being a Millennion man is why you haven't lost your head yet.

The investigation continued with Brandon as the lead. He gazed left and right to anticipate unwanted guests, but occasionally, he'd look at the pup to tell it that he cared for it.

The pup seemed to understand his gestures. Hope now glimmered in its once hopeless eyes.

A wooden lodge loomed in the distance. Brandon ran to it and kicked the door down. Stepping into the building, he grunted at the very little luminescence. Good thing they came here in the afternoon, when the sunlight could enter the lodge via the windows.

The shelves and crates in the cabin drew his attention. But first, he'd have to free his hand.

Brandon sprinted towards a table and put his axe and the pup down. Then he hasted to a shelf, where two test tube racks lay on each level. His eye scanned the label on the vials and the color of the fluid they contained; once he found the one containing golden fluid and the "Refined Serum" label, he snatched the whole rack and returned to the table.

Behind him, Albert spoke, "Mr. Brandon, what are you-"

"I'm saving this pup's life." Brandon picked up the vial of refined serum from the rack. "Whatever it becomes, I'll deal with it."

After uncapping the vial, Brandon gently pushed it into the pup's open mouth. As the little beast slurped the fluid like a thirsty baby, blood gushed out of the stumps of its limbs and transformed into new bones, muscles, and furred skin.

Once the pup had finished drinking, it stood up and jumped at Brandon.

"Sir!" Albert shouted.

"Give it a chance," Brandon replied, smiling at the pup. It now stood on his shoulder.