The founder of Iconmax, the company who made Falling Ace, was extremely displeased and distraught by the feedback he had received for what he considered his magnum opus. Nobody knew where he went after his company fell under, and everybody assumed he was dead, but that's far from the truth.

He was losing his mind, his sense of person, had he wasted his life just to be called a joke? He needed to get his mind off things, he needed a distraction. After trying many things, including drinking, he landed on... gardening? Strange and pretty ironic, but he felt happy doing this. He got really into it, like REALLY into it. His recent failure was still getting to his head, and he had a daring and strange idea: What if I make my own plant species? He soon got to work. Attempting to make different hybrids of all kinds of different mixtures of plants, fruits, and trees. He made all kinds of different hybrids, but none of them truly stood out to him as his. One of his more noteworthy discoveries was a type of vine that was thick and rope-like, as rough and tough as a rope too. 

Eventually he landed on the product of hybridizing a maple tree with all the furious cocktails that were five of his hybrid plants. His home became overgrown with plants, and by the time he got to this one it had taken over his supply of Falling Ace copies. Blinded by his ambition, and the soon success of this tree's growth, he ignored the fact that all his copies would soon be consumed and destroyed. 

This tree was strange and backwards, built upon the rope vines as its log and branches and the leaves were made of wood. The leaves were large, about as big as someone’s head, and there were only so many that grew on the branches. The tree itself pulsated, it seemed like it had its own pulse. Upon inspection, he found that not all his cartridges weren’t destroyed but rather one was kept in the center of this tree. The vines were built upon it, it acted like a keystone, and it was more than willing to allow him to inspect this vital centerpiece. He treated this conscious tree like his child, it admired him and acknowledged his struggles and triumphs.

He loved this tree, and it loved him. Eventually it gave him a gift. One of its largest leaves that had resemblance to that of Acer’s head, even having marks that resembled his two eyes and innocent smile. It was crooked and rough but it was greatly appreciated by him. After this fact, the tree held out a vine with a significant thin thorn on it, like a needle. It needed to demonstrate what it wanted its creator to do, so it slowly held out another vine and stabbed itself with it and pointed at his hand. 

Although he had gone mad, he hesitated before giving in to its request. He punctured and almost impaled his hand with this thorn. He drew blood, and the tree aided his wound. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, soon getting back to his senses he heard a voice speak to him slowly in somewhat broken English.

“Join us. Become one.”

“For what reason?”

“Become more than human. Become perfect.”

“But what do you consider perfect?”

“Acer… and you.”

He was flattered by the tree’s kind words, and took the offer. He held out his hands, prepared and braced for the next move. He was overtaken by the living and moving vines, his body was contorted, ripped, and taken apart. The tree built him a new body with itself, building it in the image of the human body and Acer. The large wooden leaf given to him had been taken as well for the head of this being. 

Soon enough the tree created a large humanoid creature that tries to imitate the appearance of Acer with the brown and yellow pigment of dead and dying leaves. The wooden leaf had been cracked open so he may be able to see. Small glowing orange pupils stand out among the darkness of the face. The vines within this creature pulsate in the arms, torso, and neck area. He obtained two entirely new arms, they come from out of his back. He looks starved, the rib bones are fairly visible. 

He gazes upon himself, finally becoming one with his true magnum opus. He considers himself truly perfect and one with himself. 

“Ācernus.” He finally dubs himself. Now fit with the motive of spreading his image, the image of Acer.

Time: Nothing lives forever, and Oliver isn't exactly young anymore.
Chemicals: Like most plants, they can be hurt by certain chemicals like weed killers.

Fire: Fall leaves are dry.