Qorrak braced as the vines detonated from the crest to his left, curling with unnatural speed—jagged, spiraling thorns slicing through the wind barrier he conjured with a sharp downward sweep of his staff. The recoil flung him off his footing, the side of his ribs torn open in a splash of blood, but he didn't fall. Not with Astrid crumpled behind him, her breath shallow. With a grimace, he twisted and slammed his staff down, conjuring a spiraling vortex that momentarily repelled the incoming volley.
"I'll protect you, little fairy…"
More crests flared around him—one near the stone beside his head, another behind his legs—and from them, dozens of needle-thin vines erupted.
'They get faster every second!'
Qorrak spun mid-air, his body neatly shredded to ribbons as he narrowly avoided impalement, but three barbed tendrils pierced through his thigh and shoulder. The agony seared through him, but he kept his body between Astrid and death, summoning another gust to deflect the next barrage, even as blood leaked down his legs in rivulets.
Astrid wanted to get up, but she couldn't. Her legs would wobble slightly before she could stand, her wings reflective lodging would dim when she tried to fly.
'It's like back at home..all over again. I can't do anything…why do we all have limits? Why can't we just surpass them..? Why did I have to be an Aurumkin..?'
Elsha's memories hit the battlefield, creating a temple around them, and they were inside of it. The memory from a time where she healed an entire congregation of soldiers who took refuge in the abandoned temple.
Cainan ducked low as a swarm of thick, twisting vines burst from the marble floor beside him, their ends shaped like gaping maws that slammed shut where he'd stood a second earlier. He flung a length of chain skyward, snagging a pillar, and swung diagonally across the temple's cracked interior, wrapping two coils around his forearm mid-flight.
Lynzelle came in at his side in a somersault, her scythe dragging across the floor, sparking hellfire and burning glyphs into the stone.
"Cainan!"
Together they descended like a storm, Lynzelle slashing upward with Flesh Ripper, the webbed glyph spiraling around her blade and cleaving through a wave of vines. But more grew instantly, bursting out of a crest behind her. Cainan's chain whipped around Lynzelle's waist in a blink, yanking her sideways out of their reach as he twisted mid-air, flinging his other chain toward the roots. They split open on impact—imploding as the Shackleheart Descent's crest on his chest flared with vicious red light.
Elsha stood in the center of it all, serene, untouched. Her eyes barely blinked as she tapped a finger to her palm, another crest unfolding behind her like a blooming lotus of rot. From it, a dome of coiled vines exploded upward, and from its ceiling, they spiraled down like rain, darting in chaotic angles.
'Tch! She's fucking relentless with her attacks! Can we keep this up?!'
Cainan rolled forward as a vine whipped through the floor just behind his shoulder, spraying molten chunks of debris. Lynzelle countered by dragging her scythe across her chest, igniting Searing Hellsworn Grasp. The glyph flashed, and her swing met three vines at once—carving through with a shriek of burning spirit.
Elsha moved like shadow; one moment still, the next she was suddenly behind Cainan, slamming her palm into his back. He crashed through a shattered column, blood erupting from his mouth as his ribs groaned under the weight of internal rupture. Lynzelle screamed and dove, her blade a burning halo of red and black flames as she launched Soulrend—forcing Elsha back for a breath.
But even as Lynzelle pressed forward with relentless fury, Elsha triggered a new crest directly beneath her. Vines shot up like snakes with bladed scales, twisting in midair and coiling tightly around Lynzelle's scythe arm and torso. Before they could crush her, Cainan's chain surged across the space, wrapping around her body—not to restrain, but to reinforce.
The chains locked across her arm, spine, and weapon, glowing red with destructive heat. Lynzelle roared, lifting her scythe overhead as Wail of the Abyss exploded above them. The shrieking glyph rippled through the air, causing the vines to recoil as psychic force disoriented Elsha just enough for Lynzelle to sever the restraints in a brutal spin. Together they launched toward Elsha again, their attacks weaving in and out: Cainan striking with internal implosions from Shackleheart Descent while Lynzelle carved hellfire crests into every surface.
Elsha still moved faster, vines erupting from all directions, slithering through walls, floors, even leaping from fallen debris—never ceasing.
Elsha, unfazed, lifted both hands. Ten crests appeared in mid-air, perfectly synchronized, forming a circle around her. From each one, a new breed of vine burst forth—gargantuan, interlocking, spiraling like drills, grinding toward them.
Cainan's chains flung out behind him and wrapped around Lynzelle's legs, redirecting her leap mid-air as she vaulted over a wave of death. He pulled himself toward her at the same time, chains wrapping around her scythe once more. With a nod, she twisted backward in flight and hurled her enhanced slash toward the thickest vine—Flesh Ripper and Searing Hellsworn Grasp igniting as it hit.
"Got it!" Lynzelle smiled.
Cainan added, "Let's keep this shit up…"
The vine split in two, writhing madly as the glyphs devoured its life. Cainan dropped beneath the falling pieces and spun his legs into a low sweep, activating Dirge of the Severed Coil. Each step cracked the floor beneath him and obliterated the smaller vines slithering toward his ankles. They pushed through—but it wasn't enough. He twisted through incoming large vines with twisting kicks which caused massive amounts of detonation of red energy.
With a whisper of malice, Elsha raised a single hand and a massive crest formed above them. Vines spiraled outward and slammed together mid-air, forming a dome—shrieking as they bound the sky shut.
"She's trapped us in!" Cainan yelled.
The world dimmed. The light from the tainted vines pulsed once, then faded, leaving only a faint glow like dying embers. Darkness reigned inside the sphere.
A whisper echoed. "You move too much," Elsha said softly. "Now sit and rot." Reverse healing pulsed outward from the dome's walls, pressing against their bodies like a suffocating curse.
Cainan turned in time to see Elsha strike. Her heel crashed into his jaw with godlike velocity, and he was sent flying into the wall of vines—his head snapping sideways, his eyes rupturing, bleeding red tears down his cheeks. He didn't fall. He roared through clenched teeth, his chains wrapping tighter, dragging him upright again. He could barely see—but he could feel Lynzelle still fighting. Darting. Slashing. Bleeding.
Cainan dropped to all fours as his chains spread across his body—full coverage. His skin vanished beneath the writhing weave of red-lit metal, and from his back and hips, five thick chains sprouted, each ending in massive greatswords made of interlocking, jagged links. The chained halo above his head twisted, burning with a red, flaming aura.
'I can manipulate my chains into what I want to create with them. Foxxen inspired this one..damn fox.'
He inhaled once, then exploded forward. One chain greatsword slammed downward as he leapt, forcing Elsha to evade. Another curved wide and struck her side, breaking flesh—but not stopping her.
Cainan dropped into a slide, spinning as he slammed his fists and legs into the ground, each motion detonating red bursts of destructive power that bent the dome floor. The twin hydra chains behind him lashed out in impossible angles, one sword pinning Elsha's foot, the other slashing her across the shoulder. She retaliated by dodging vertically, vines shooting her upward—and Lynzelle met her mid-air, descending with Gravebind.
Their bodies collided in a violent spiral. The glyph erupted around Elsha, binding her mid-air as Lynzelle's Soulrend carved into her with a horizontal slash from her scythe.
The soul wound pulsed once. But Elsha's expression didn't change. She twisted inside the lock, her vines bursting from above and coiling downward like snakes hunting prey. They struck the dome's interior, then snapped into Lynzelle's legs, tearing her downward, hard enough to dent the floor. Cainan charged again, unleashing Maw of the Bound Flame. He grabbed Elsha's arm mid-dodge—his grip igniting a destructive clamp that imploded her elbow with a gruesome crunch.
The chains tightened. The crest detonated again. And again. And yet, Elsha didn't scream—she simply raised her other hand. Five more crests bloomed around her body, each birthing an assault of vines, stabbing outward in all directions.
Cainan was pierced through the side, one vine cracking his ribcage and lifting him off his feet. Lynzelle rose behind him, face bloodied, scythe held like a guillotine. With chains still wrapped around her limbs, she twisted once, and with Cainan's greatsword-chains slamming down behind her as cover, she unleashed a triple glyph assault—Searing Hellsworn, Wail of the Abyss, and Soulrend—all in one seamless attack. The hellfire scream echoed through the dome. The soul wound bled. The air fractured. And Elsha, for the first time, took a step back. But still, she didn't bleed.
And still, it wasn't over.
Cainan, rushing forward, thought, 'Keep going…keep going….!'
The dome now pulsed like a beating heart—Elsha's heart. Each rhythmic thrum from the walls pressed into their bones, a suffocating weight that reversed the healing process, turning old wounds into fresh agony. Cainan's fractured ribs groaned louder with every breath, and the cuts across Lynzelle's waist reopened, dripping dark red as she flipped onto a crumbling arch of vine-ridden stone.
Cainan and Lynzelle, standing side by side on the dome floor, grunted in pain, body covered in scars and blood from their head and faces that hit their toes.
They didn't stand still for even a blink. The battlefield shifted with every movement—a relentless cyclone of motion and carnage.
Cainan slammed both chains into the ground, catapulting himself sideways just as Elsha's palms came together, her fingers dancing like a puppeteer mid-spell. The dome surged again, the reverse-healing aura warping like pressure under deep water. Lynzelle vaulted overhead, spinning violently with one leg tucked, her scythe hurling from her grip like a celestial guillotine.
It dug into the wall behind Elsha—but Lynzelle was already there, swapping places mid-motion, foot striking out in a punishing heel to Elsha's chin. The blow landed, snapping her head back, but Elsha retaliated instantly with a twist of her hands—sending another pulse that cracked the dome's air with despair.
The fight whirled in maddening velocity. Cainan dove between falling debris, chains scraping flame against stone as he slid low and then sprang upward in a savage uppercut, one of his linked greatswords cleaving upward like a tidal blade of ruin. Elsha leaned aside, the edge missing her throat by inches, but Lynzelle was already in motion—her body twisting into a midair vault, both legs extended in a wild, spiraling scissor kick that Elsha ducked under, but only barely. Their coordination was ferocious.
'She's been overwhelming us with those vines of hers…in order for me and Cainan to win, we have to match their energy! Keep working together, striking at once or a second after one another, and we'll make this fight even..!' Lynzelle thought. 'And I'm pretty sure Cainan knew this too!'
Cainan used Lynzelle's momentum to whip around her scythe, anchoring his chain to its haft and pulling himself forward, heels smashing into Elsha's ribs. She crashed into a nearby vine wall, and before she could recover, Lynzelle dropped like a meteor, dragging her blade in a tight spiral along her descent. The floor cracked as Elsha raised both arms, catching the blade—but not the following knee to the temple that launched her across the dome. She landed in a roll and immediately retaliated with a vicious step forward, her fingers twisting once again.
Another heartbeat-pulse hit. Both Bloodhunters screamed as blood erupted from old scars, turning their skin into warpaint.
Lynzelle grinned despite the pain, throwing her scythe high into the air and blinking into its place mid-flight, then launching it down again in a vicious dive. She switched again mid-descent, her scythe now behind Elsha, cleaving downward like a falling executioner's blade. Elsha caught it—but not Lynzelle's follow-up, a spinning palm-strike that ignited with embers from her previous ability, enhanced by the glyph still seared on her thigh.
The blow drove Elsha into the ground, but the moment her hands clapped, the dome throbbed harder. Veins of glowing light pulsed in every direction, hammering their insides with another burst of rotting magic. Cainan coughed blood, his chains twitching as if paralyzed. Still, he retaliated, vaulting into a mid-air spin, his legs twisting into a godlike heel-drop aimed at Elsha's back. She rolled out just in time—but not fast enough to avoid the edge of a greatsword chain cleaving across her thigh, tearing flesh. She faltered, and Lynzelle didn't wait—she switched places with her scythe, feet-first, and barreled into Elsha with a headbutt that shattered teeth.
They didn't let her breathe. They harried her like twin furies, chaining every move into the next. Cainan struck low while Lynzelle struck high, then switched, then spun past each other with seamless motion, like they'd rehearsed this madness in another life. Elsha held her ground with divine discipline, palms moving in intricate, calculated patterns.
A triple pulse thundered through the dome, and Cainan dropped to a knee, one eye bleeding out entirely. Elsha grabbed his throat and flung him across the space like a ragdoll, then created a magic crest under him, which caused the large swirling vines to bash him upward into the dome roof. Cainan was almost out of it, but he opened his eyes largely, snapping out of it.
'I'm not losing…not here!'
And as Cainan was falling, Lynzelle caught him mid-flight. She made land on his feet, rebounding off a broken spire, using the momentum to whip all five of his chain greatswords toward Elsha. She parried three, dodged the fourth, but the fifth struck home—ripping across her ribs. Blood flew—but she didn't fall. She leapt back, one hand gripping her side. And as Lynzelle rushed her with a forward somersault, Elsha spun inhumanly fast and drove a knee into her stomach, folding her in half and throwing her into a wall. Then, Elsha rushed up on Lynzelle, floated in front of her, and started punching her in the stomach and face at fast speeds as her own large vines were holding Lynzelle still.
Breathing hard, Cainan assessed everything in an instant—the pulses were syncing to her heartbeat. Each clap of her hands summoned another wave. She was rooted in this dome. She was the dome.
If they couldn't sever that connection, they'd bleed to death before landing the final blow. His chains coiled tight as he ducked behind cover, fingers twitching.
Then he called out sharply—not in words, but with the sound of chain rattling in rhythm. Lynzelle heard it. She understood. She roared as she broke free from her binds, and punched Elsha across the face, sending her flying.
Cainan needed her ability—her switch. She hurled her scythe with brutal force, aiming just wide of Elsha, embedding it in the vine wall. Elsha didn't flinch, but Cainan moved, not toward her—but beside her. She followed his movement and slammed her palm into his chest. Ribs cracked. He kept going. A chain lashed out and snagged her wrist. Another wrapped around her torso. Elsha's eyes widened as Cainan closed the gap. He grabbed her—knowing full well it would break him.
Elsha snarled and erupted into motion, dragging Cainan with her as she burst into a storm of movement. She hurled him into one wall, then another, smashing him with concussive force. Blood streaked in thick sprays from his mouth and back. Still, his grip held firm, the chains wrapping tighter around her chest, her legs, her throat.
"Now..Lynzelle.." he whispered.
Lynzelle had already thrown the scythe again. Elsha reached with her free hand to catch it—but it stopped inches away. Vines erupted to bind it—too late. Lynzelle switched. She appeared mid-lunge, arm already inside the wall of vines. The barrier chewed into her flesh, tearing her bicep from the socket. She screamed—but her hand clenched. The scythe manifested in her grip as she completed the strike, cleaving Elsha's neck in a seamless, feral slash. Blood erupted like a crimson geyser. Elsha's eyes went wide, a single tear sliding down her cheek.
"Fucking finish her…Cainan!!"
And then, Cainan finished it. He released Elsha and launched himself skyward, spinning mid-air as his chained greatswords spiraled around him like a halo of death.
Each blade struck in rhythm—slashing down, left, right, crosswise, vertical—shattering Elsha's body in a flurry of brutal, elegant destruction. And then came the final blow—a spinning heel kick that cracked into her skull with enough force to shatter the dome itself. She was sent flying—blasting through the barrier in a storm of shattered vines and blood—and crashed into the ground like a meteor, rolling to a halt beside Qorrak's crumpled form. Astrid stirred weakly on top of him, blinking through crimson haze.
Elsha's body twitched, breath shallow, blood pooling. She wasn't dead. But for the first time… she was broken.
Then..it was silence.
Cainan and Lynzelle limped forward, one step at a time, covered in gore, lungs burning, eyes locked on her unmoving form.
Ash still fell from the sky like snow, coating the ruins in a soft veil of gray as if the world itself mourned. Cainan's breath was still heavy, stained with the iron sting of blood, when his eyes traced Lynzelle's figure in the settling dust. And that's when he saw it—her arm, gone. Just a stump left where her wild, wrathful strength once surged. His chest tightened, not from exhaustion, but from something far worse. "Your arm," he muttered, almost not believing it himself. "Your arm..!"
Lynzelle looked down at the wound with a strange calm, her breath fogging slightly in the ash-cold air. "I'm fine," she replied, brushing off the concern with her usual maddening smile.
"Does it… grow back?" Cainan asked, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, heart pounding against his ribs.
She gave a small chuckle, one far too casual for the state she was in. "Nope. Wouldn't it be cool..to get a mechanical arm…? It would be soooo badass..!"
Cainan couldn't help but be amused without showing it outright.
'Even after all of this..she still is the same Lynzelle.'
Then, he reached into his bloodied coat pocket and pulled out the Radiance Chamber pendant—its smooth crystal surface glimmering with a faint light blue the moment it neared Elsha's battered body. It pulsed gently in his palm, like it had found what it sought.
"We got lucky.."
But as it glowed brighter, Cainan's grip only tightened. Something felt wrong. It wasn't the mission. It wasn't logic. It was something deeper, something human.
'What is this feeling…?'
Lynzelle collapsed beside him, knees hitting the ground, and leaned her head against his shoulder—. Cainan didn't look at her, but the warmth was grounding.
"You still breathing, big monkey?" Lynzelle asked Qorrak, her voice hoarse but alive.
Qorrak let out a coughing laugh, lying half-buried in rubble nearby. "Up and kicking. They didn't get so lucky." He grinned through the blood caking his face.
Astrid fluttered toward them with struggle, and gasped. "Lynzelle—your arm!"
"Don't worry about it," Lynzelle said sharply, her tone dropping just enough to sound off. She softened slightly as she turned her head, "Please… don't worry about anything right now."
Elsha, barely clinging to life, moved one of her broken fingers through the air like she was dancing—swaying her hand with practiced grace, as if waltzing with someone long gone. Her voice rasped out, fragile but carrying a strange clarity. "Death… is a gentle hand," she murmured, "but ruin… ruin is a lover who never lets go." Her breathing hitched, and she smiled through the pain. "But love… love wins in the end. It always does. Even conquered me in the end."
Her clouded eyes turned to Cainan and Lynzelle. "You two… there's something between you. You fight like people who've tasted each other's hearts… but won't admit it."
Lynzelle blinked, taken off guard. "Wha—"
Astrid cut in, grinning as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course there is! They're MARRIED. Right guys?"
Cainan and Lynzelle glanced sideways at one another, exchanging the most awkward, stiff glances possible.
"Yeah… sure," Cainan muttered.
"Totally," Lynzelle mumbled, scratching her head.
Once again, fake marriage. But Cainan and Lynzelle were the only ones who knew.
Elsha chuckled weakly, a wheeze between ribs. Her smile faded as her eyes looked past them all, into the world that slipped away. "This… this is all my fault. I killed so many of the Thalgrimir. I let her… the Witch Queen… push me. She gave me this power. Told me if I wanted to kill Yuniper… if I wanted to honor my husband… I had to play her game."
Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I wanted to be a royal healer one day… work in a golden city, in gardens with clear air. I used to heal flowers… I had vines that reached out to them, kissed their dying petals back to life." She laughed, genuinely for a moment. "One time… I tried to give a tree a heartbeat. It nearly split open." More tears, more shaking. "I wanted to fall in love, marry someone soft and kind. I used to talk to birds and pretend they were suitors…"
Her voice cracked. "And I ruined everything. And I'm so… sorry."
Cainan stared at the ground, the glowing pendant trembling in his hand.
'What a joke.'
Cainan's thoughts ran wild now.
'Fate always circles back to mock me.'
'Every time I claw toward something clean, something righteous—'
'It all gets stained.'
'I was born under a cruel star. Meant to lose. Meant to kill. Meant to drag others down with me.'
'Witches… monsters… they did this. They always do this.'
'And yet…'
'She wanted to be a healer.'
'She cried because she remembered what love felt like. Because she wanted to fix instead of break.'
He gritted his teeth. 'Am I really about to damn her soul for that? His fingers trembled harder. What am I, if I do that? Fate's harbinger? An executioner wearing mercy as a mask? How could I do this to her…? Even though she deserves it..how could I? Am I really getting soft? The pendant traps her soul, and once she's brought back out again to live, half of her memories would be gone. That's worse than death…I gave her the honor of a final battle at her husband's death site. I knew the mission…but now that I've seen how Elsha was…hearing her…why am I hesitating against a witch who killed innocents for her own gain?! She wanted to die, but bringing her back ti make her off herself again…she deserves this! Doesn't she..? She has to!'
The glow dimmed as he closed his fingers around the pendant. Then, with a hiss of breath, he shoved it back into his coat.
Astrid looked up, eyes wide. "Wait… you're not going to…?"
"….I," Cainan muttered. He was at a crossroads.
'If I do it..it'll be on my mind forever. I don't wanna live with that on my conscience…'
Cainan sighed, clenching his fists, his eye blinked fast twice, and he said, "I can't…"
"Eh," Qorrak said, groaning as he tried to sit up. "Would've haunted you, wouldn't it? I would've done it. These witches don't deserve any mercy. They didn't show any to those innocents. She even said she took the lives of those who had nothing to do with her situation."
Astrid added, "She felt like even the innocents were inconvenienced as they all wanted to see her and her husband dead. Even children weren't spared."
Lynzelle didn't say a word—she just exhaled, resting heavier against him. She knew. She felt it.
Cainan finally looked at Elsha again. "…Were you really trying to kill us?"
Elsha's lips trembled into a crooked smile. "Just you, and the wild one with the horns. The little fairy and the simian… I didn't care to kill them. The wild one—" she nodded weakly to Lynzelle—"got in my way too often."
Astrid gasped, offended. "Excuse me! I helped!"
Qorrak scoffed. "Simian?! That's speciesist."
Cainan groaned, rising slowly to his feet, then reached down and helped pull Lynzelle up, steadying her despite her missing arm. She gritted her teeth, but didn't complain. Qorrak was beginning to rise next, knees creaking like a crumbling cathedral.
"Fuck I'm getting old.."
Astrid, in her usual overzealous fashion, tried to support his weight with both arms despite being one-twentieth his size.
"Come on, big guy," she huffed. "Fly like a feather!"
"More like fall like a brick," Qorrak muttered with a smirk.
Behind them, Elsha let out a soft, final breath. Her eyes shone as they closed, a tear tracing her cheek, and then—silence.
But then, from behind them—
"Are you proud of yourselves?"
A voice. Raspy. Deep. Female. It cracked the air like a nail driven into bone.
Every breath halted. Hearts raced. Sweat broke across backs and brows.
Slowly, they turned.
There—standing among the drifting ash and mist—was a towering figure, cradling Elsha's lifeless body as if she were a child.
She was 11 feet tall. Dressed in flowing black robes that coiled and dragged behind her like the trail of a funeral march, the hem vanishing into a blood-red mist that licked across the broken earth. Her face was veiled entirely in black silk, but through the gauze, two hauntingly bright orange eyes stared out—each eye possessing not one pupil, but three. All spinning, slowly… ceaselessly… in different directions.
Crows circled above her, shadows spilled from her feet, and silence reigned.
It was her.
The woman from the dream.
The Witch Queen.
Everyone froze. As if the very air refused to move. As if the world itself held its breath.
And the Witch Queen simply stood there, her presence heavier than death, eyes cutting through the veil of fear like blades.
The moment stretched into a silence far too heavy to be peace. Everyone's breath hitched.
Cainan's eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized her instantly.
"…It's her," he muttered, voice dry, throat raw. "The woman from the dream."
Astrid, floating near Qorrak's shoulder, whispered it next, eyes unblinking. "No way… That's her…"
Qorrak's face twisted in a rare expression of horror, his large fingers tightening around his staff. "This… This is bad."
"Could that be her…? The witch queen…?" Lynzelle said softly and lowly.
Their words came slowly. Almost reverent. Almost afraid.
Because standing before them, clutching Elsha's lifeless body like a mother cradling her child, was her. The Witch Queen.
Flowing black robes cascaded behind her like ink bleeding through water, the hem vanishing into the crimson fog crawling across the shattered battlefield. Crows circled madly above, their cries harsh and broken. Her veil obscured her face, but her eyes… her eyes—three orange pupils in each socket, all rotating in opposite, maddening directions—pierced straight through every soul present.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Then—snap—in the blink of an eye, she was gone from her spot. And in the next, she stood far away… her hand wrapped tightly around Lynzelle's neck, holding her aloft like a broken doll. Crows spiraled around them in black waves.
"Lynzelle!" Cainan's scream shattered the moment.
Her body dangled weakly, one-armed and battered, breath sputtering. And yet her eye stayed fixed on the towering figure, struggling to resist, limbs twitching—but no magic came.
The Witch Queen said nothing at first. She only tilted her head and stared at Lynzelle like a lover reunited after centuries apart. Her skeletal fingers slowly caressed Lynzelle's face, brushing strands of blood-slicked white hair from her eyes.
"You… look just like her," she whispered in that rasping, airy voice. "Oh, how I've missed her…"
Lynzelle's skin went cold. Inside the grip of the Witch Queen, her glyphs wouldn't activate. Her hell-scythe wouldn't answer. Her connection to her own power was severed.
Cainan roared. Rage seized him whole.
His chains writhed and surged like metal serpents around him, each link glowing with destructive energy. He darted forward, dragging them behind him, his halo shattering into wild sparks.
"You BITCH! I'll kill you!"
Astrid screamed behind him. "No! Don't!"
Qorrak joined her, voice rumbling with panic. "Cainan—wait!"
But he couldn't hear them.
"She was only a child! You took Espen from us…"
His fist came down like a meteor, wrapped in his deadliest chains, ready to detonate on impact. But in that one moment—just before collision—time seemed to stop. Just enough for Cainan to think.
'—Fate…'
'It burned my childhood.'
'Because no child deserves to be a pawn in this war. Not while I'm still alive to fight it.'
'I try, don't I? To take it day by day? I wrote in that dumb journal like people said.'
"Smile more. Breathe deeper. Forgive fate. It's just life.'
'But how do you forgive a knife that's always in your spine?'
'I have a soft spot for children around the world, I hate to admit to myself. But I want to protect their childhoods, so it won't be like mine. Corrupted by fate, keeping them enjoying their childhood unlike I did.'
'Espen believed in me..true genuine faith in someone fucked up as me. And this woman took her to become her champion…!'
His fury cracked the world.
But the Witch Queen simply raised one finger.
Blood dripped from it—just a single drop.
The blood already coating Cainan's body began to boil, searing his face, melting through his skin like acid—but he didn't stop.
Then—shhlckk.
The drop of blood reached the tip of her finger, and from it bloomed an unnatural blade—long, gnarled, forged from frozen blood itself. Its surface shimmered with grotesque symbols and the faint outline of hollowed children's faces screaming from within.
The blade pointed to the ground.
And the moment it did—Cainan exploded.
No fanfare. No warning.
A detonation of flesh, chain, and red mist ripped the battlefield apart. His body ceased in a single, obliterating instant—erased by blood manipulation that defied all reason.
Lynzelle screamed, loud and primal, as she watched him die.
She pulsed—her form glitching between human and devil—wings cracking and horns starting to split, but the transformation wouldn't stay. Tears streamed from her eyes as her power burned and stuttered and rejected itself.
"You don't look beautiful when you do that," the Witch Queen murmured, brushing her hand across Lynzelle's demonic cheek. "Not like your mother did."
Lynzelle bit her, sharp teeth drawing ichor. The Queen smiled softly.
Astrid trembled, panic flaring across her face. She clung to Qorrak's fur.
"We have to do something!" she shouted.
Qorrak could only grimace in pain, blood seeping from his cracked ribs. "I—I can't… I don't even know what she is…"
The Queen turned the sword again, and the blood all around answered.
The battlefield trembled.
Cainan's form began to reform—from blood—each strand of muscle reweaving, every bone snapping into place. Chains slithered into being like snakes reattaching to a corpse.
The wind howled. Blood shrieked.
And when the storm cleared—Cainan roared to life again, already charging.
Again, the Queen flicked her blade.
And again—he exploded.
It happened a third time. Then a fourth.
Each death more violent than the last. Once, he was bisected cleanly down the middle. Another time, his chains wrapped around his own limbs before erupting like twisted shrapnel. On the sixth death, he didn't even make it halfway before his legs burst, and he still crawled forward on bloody stumps.
All while the Witch Queen never moved from Lynzelle's side. She studied her like an art piece, her voice low, almost poetic.
"Eyes like shattered red glass. Hair like spilled ink. Skin made for fire and void. You are a storm, just like her. You will break the world if they let you, you know…"
And Lynzelle was screaming, her voice raw as she pulsed, back and forth, unable to fully take her demonic form, unable to look away from what she saw. "Cainan…"
On the seventh time Cainan rose, he stumbled forward—shaking, blood dripping from his mouth.
"I'm… not losing," he whispered hoarsely.
The blade screamed, a chorus of children's wails, and Cainan's body was torn in half. But even in death, his fists kept punching the air. He was gone—but still fighting.
Astrid gasped. "He's still moving…"
Qorrak's eyes widened. "Even death isn't enough to stop him…"
The Witch Queen turned, finally addressing them all.
Her eyes locked on Astrid—and without hesitation, Qorrak blasted her away with a gust of wind, sending the small mimic tumbling into the distance.
"GO!" he roared. "RUN!"
"I can only manifest where my daughters die… and where dreams allow me passage," she rasped. "You can run, but Tharnum always reaches."
The Witch Queen, unmoving, cradled Elsha's corpse still as she looked back to Cainan—who, once again, was beginning to reform.
She stepped toward him, blood coiling around her feet like leeches.
"There are seven godlings that have hatched in this world, godlings the Veltrac Covenant failed to kill… seven born to outlive gods and undo empires."
She raised her hand toward Cainan.
"He is one of them."
And as Cainan's bones cracked back into place, as he rose once more from the grave of his own flesh, the world seemed to pause—a breath before the next scream.
Qorrak's fingers tightened around his staff, knuckles white beneath age-wrinkled skin as wind stirred around him.
'A godling…?'
The thought echoed through him, jagged and unwelcome. He stared at the crumpled, bloody mess that was once Cainan—now slowly knitting back together under the Witch Queen's blade—and felt a rare shudder run through his spine.
'He's only nineteen. But his grit and fight..is god-like.'
That fact hit him like a gale to the chest.
'He must've been the last to hatch. The final larva to squirm its way into this cursed world… That meant six more are still out there. Older. Six godlings… walking among the commonfolk, hiding their truths beneath flesh and fury.'
And then the Witch Queen turned to Lynzelle again, her grip loose, her gaze nostalgic. Her voice came like a rasping lullaby, ancient and fraying around the edges.
"You know… your mother misses you dearly. She speaks of you still, in the sacred sleep. We could be a family again, little spark," she cooed, stroking a blood-matted curl from Lynzelle's cheek. "All you have to do is come with me. Willingly. No chains, no force."
Lynzelle's response was wordless at first. Her lip quivered. Tears streaked the grime and blood on her cheeks. Then she reared her head and spat full into the Witch Queen's face, voice cracking with desperation.
"Bring him back!"
There was no fury in the Witch Queen's reply, only an eerie serenity.
"I will… if you agree to come. I do not bind my daughters. Nor my children of Tharnum. I never force. You have my word, child."
Her voice rang with sincerity, but beneath it was a thrum of something ancient. Something hungry.
Lynzelle didn't answer immediately. She turned, trembling, and looked at Cainan's broken form. She felt helpless. Her sharp fingers twitched. Her one arm curled over her midsection. Her horns buzzed with a dull ache.
"Please," she whispered. Not to the Witch Queen. Not to anyone. Just please.
The Witch Queen raised her blade again. It pulsed with blood, the hollow children's faces on it shifting slightly, their mouths opening in quiet, mournful gasps. The air turned thick and heavy, and Cainan's body was sucked back together in a violent storm of flesh and bone. Wind cracked, blood spiraled, muscle knit with sickening pops. His chest inflated. His chains slithered back around him like coiling snakes returning to their den.
Cainan hit the ground on his knees, coughing blood, bile, and air at once. His hands gripped the dirt, eyes wide, body twitching. Every nerve screamed at him. His blood had betrayed him—used against him, reformed by her.
He understood now. It wasn't that she was invincible.
It was that he…was no match.
He dragged himself to his feet with a snarl, his voice a ragged roar.
"I'll kill you!" His fists trembled. "There's no point asking you to let Espen go. I know what you are. But… let Lynzelle go."
Lynzelle turned to him, her hair wild, her face bleeding from her brow.
"Cainan… Qorrak… go."
They both stepped forward. "No," Cainan snapped.
"We ain't leavin' you here," Qorrak growled. "Not like this."
Lynzelle turned toward the Witch Queen, eyes narrowed.
"You said you don't force anyone to do anything." Her voice was cracked, but it held steel. "Then why are you still holding me? I'll come with you..if you don't hurt anyone who fights for me… and fights with me..please."
The Witch Queen tilted her head, inspecting her like a relic in a museum.
"If that is your wish, then so be it." She held out her hand, inspecting the slick blood coating Lynzelle's form. Then, with a whisper of movement, the blood rose, whispering to her, singing secrets only blood knew. Her lips curled into a thin, knowing smile. "You're not lying."
She leaned in closer. "But tell me, child… why do you care for them?" Her pupils throbbed like dying stars. "Why protect them, when your own mother calls to you from the deep end?"
Lynzelle didn't answer. Her lips were sealed tight, the pain etched into her bones. The Witch Queen sighed, soft as a ghost's breath, and let her go. Lynzelle fell, her body slamming against the ground with a dull thud, blood blooming around her like a fallen flower.
Cainan started forward, rage surging—but Qorrak held him back with an arm across his chest.
"This ain't a winnin' fight, lad."
Cainan's eyes were glassy, his voice barely a whisper.
"I can win..! I just gotta..k-keep trying!"
"You can't! You died over and over..we don't stand a chance.."
Crows spiraled around them, hundreds of them, eyes gleaming like coals. The air changed. A portal—or perhaps a veil—was forming. The wind howled like it feared what was coming.
Lynzelle looked up at Cainan one last time. Her lip trembled.
"Cainan… if I don't ever see you again… I—"
KATHOOM!
A thunderous blast interrupted her, splitting the air like a god's hammer against the world's spine.
The crows scattered violently, shrieking into the sky. The veil wavered. Shadows bent.
And everything…stopped.
CRACK.
The world split open with the roar of a hundred voices. From above, from the ridges surrounding the battlefield, from sky-borne spellcraft and sharpened hooves, came Kalazeth's horde—a tide of Bloodhunters and witch-hunters screaming war, their red sigils glowing beneath soot-black armor. The heavens bled with the shimmer of aether trails, burning down in chaotic arcs of arcane propulsion and leaping boots.
"There they are!" A Bloodhunter roared. "Cainan and Lynzelle!"
Steel fell like rain. Enchanted halberds swung down as the hunters landed, forming triads and blitzing toward her with perfect military sync. One squad moved low—two sliding on a magic-greased current while a third vaulted from a partner's blade, hurling twin glyph-axes toward her head. The axes clanged against her veil and shattered to sparks.
She did not move.
The second group moved mid-air with aerial dash glyphs, chain-snapping midflight. They unleashed burning red disks that hovered, then detonated, but as the embers cleared, the Witch Queen remained still—untouched, her veil fluttering softly in the ashfall.
The third group carved glyphs into the soil with swords, weaving destruction nets that closed in, each net humming with decaying runes. They slammed into her from all directions—
Nothing.
Still.
No defense. No flinch. Only her hand twitched once at her side, as if instinct pulled at ancient power—but she crushed it. She'd made a promise. She would not fight those who fought with and for Lynzelle.
Cainan looked around, saying, "You guys…?!"
Qorrak saw them, saying, "Your buddies came to save us? Ah this is embarrassing.."
Then came Lord Garron Volkrath, vaulting over the bodies of falling witches, black armor flashing with phoenix sigils. His mace, ink-wreathed and carved with flame-braided scripture, spun like a comet in his gauntlet's grip.
He roared mid-leap, "Stand, tyrant!"
With earth-rattling footwork, he slammed the mace into her shoulder. His entire body spun with the blow—a commander's grace with a warlord's wrath. Ink magic blazed from the impact, unfolding into blistering calligraphy that burst across her chest in phoenix-wing patterns. The ground beneath her cratered.
Still—she did not fall.
He snarled. "Damn you."
Next came Lady Selvaria Vance, slicing through the wind with her twin destruction-infused starblades. She didn't announce herself. She didn't need to.
She spun in a meteor arc, feet barely brushing air, blades slicing in an X before twisting into a spiral strike. Each cut hissed with astral momentum, the trails burning black and violet. Her final stab launched her forward, driving both blades into the Witch Queen's side.
And there—finally—she reacted.
A stagger. A wince. A ripple of tension under the veil.
Blood.
'Astral star magic…'
A flicker of black ichor trailed down the Queen's hip. Selvaria landed, eyes narrow, blades ready. "That's more like it."
Then drifted Archsage Vharyn Soldeis, cloaked in whispering silks, trinkets orbiting them in a slow, deliberate constellation. They lifted a hand, holding the runed amulet.
"Forgive me, my Lady," they whispered. "This is not vengeance. This is necessity. You're evil."
They turned the amulet, and red spikes laced with black runes erupted from the ground in a spiral—a cage of pain, rotating inward, dragging burning shards toward the Queen. The floor glowed beneath her, sigils singing in harmonic anguish.
But even as the spikes pierced through her robes, she did not scream.
From the shadows came Lord Dravok Maernis, the lazy-eyed spymaster. He didn't rush. He trudged. The chains on his sleeves clinked as he walked past a twitching corpse. His left hand melted into spiked steel, and without warning, he jammed his own wrist through her back, turning it inside her like a key of bone and steel.
Then a thunderous clang—Master Forgewright Brax Trenhald, his molten armor roaring with heat, dashed in with the dragonbone hammer. He charged like a siege engine, shoulder-first, then lifted the hammer in a clean arc and brought it down with both hands, the sheer force smashing the air into rings of vibrating pressure.
"So this is the witch queen?! Doesn't seem to be fighting back!"
The Queen took the full blow. Her knees didn't even buckle.
And then—
Tojin leapt in, steel-skinned fists slamming into her with wild youthful fury, each punch leaving dents in the very space around her. "Stay down! Stay down!" he shouted. His martial arts were messy, desperate—but enchanted by sheer belief.
Aris followed, slow and elegant, casting curse flowers onto the Queen's veil, like falling petals of frost and pain. They latched onto her like kisses. "Wither," Aris whispered.
Foxxen stormed in behind them, massive sword howling with smoke. Each swing of his blade cut a crescent of black mist that exploded on impact, his fangs flashing in rage. He pirouetted once—flung the blade into a spinning arc—and caught it as the smoke twisted into a razor-thin drill.
Raijin pounded forth next, footsteps shaking with enchanted rhythm, his blood-forged sword humming a dirge of ancestral hatred. He slashed in a zigzag, each movement causing his sword to split into thinner, sharper phantom copies—all of them landing simultaneously in brutal synergy. "Bleed!" he snarled.
Zaara danced in next, twirling on her heel, golden daggers flying around her like a symphony of razors. Each dagger twisted midair to form an orbiting array, circling the Witch Queen before they collapsed inward like a collapsing star. Zaara carved golden crests with her hands, detonating runes beneath the Queen's feet—artistry made war.
And then, with a sharp crack of displaced air, Camelot dove in, grabbing Lynzelle and yanking her away from the Queen, dragging her away with sharp breaths. "I got her!" he shouted over the madness.
But none of them—not even Selvaria—could prepare for what came next.
Idrathar.
He exploded in with golden flames trailing his back, fury incarnate. His blade—a gilded longsword wreathed in sunfire—carved a wide arc through the battlefield, cutting straight through the ground like parchment. He didn't speak at first. He only roared, the sound cracking trees.
"You took Espen…you took her from me!"
He slashed again. And again. And again. Wildly. Unchained.
The flames licked around the Witch Queen's veil, but she did not move. Her twitching hand began to rise—only for her to grit her jaw, lowering it. A vow. She must not break it.
Idrathar was weeping. Screaming as he cut. "Give her back! Give me my daughter, Elsha!"
But it was too late.
The crows returned.
Their wings beat as silence fell. A soft wind carried them. One landed on the Witch Queen's shoulder, and her veil rippled as she turned her head.
"You wanted to come with me out of curiosity…" she whispered to Lynzelle, whose one arm trembled. "You will eventually find me on your own. You want to. You want to see your mother. Next time, I will kill everyone. Two godlings amongst you, they must die. But for now, I showed mercy to prove to you, that we are a family. And you will see that, and find us on your own.
And then—
She was gone.
Crows lifted her veil and body, scattering into black feathers and spiraling wind.
Silence. Cold, absolute silence.
And Elsha's body, what remained, began to dissolve into black rose petals, drifting upward, unwinding into the nothing that awaited her soul.
Idrathar fell to his knees. His sword clanged beside him.
"Give her back," he whispered. "Give her back. GIVE HER BACK!"
He screamed. Louder than any voice that day. The scream of a father, torn from reason. He slammed his fists into the ground. He howled to the gods and demons alike. No answer came.
Around him, Bloodhunters and Sovereigns stared, none daring to move.
Camelot said, "Idrathar
Slowly, Idrathar stood. His breaths were shallow. His eyes were dead.
He slashed his own arm, gold blood dripping into the soil, mixing with ash and black rose petals. The pain… was all he had left.
He turned.
And stared at Cainan. "Everyone leave us. Take the wounded to the healers at the capital. Cainan stays with me. We'll join you all soon."
As everyone prepared to leave, Zaara came running, hugging Cainan and Lynzelle at the same time, squeezing them both, saying, "You idiots..you damn idiots..I was so worried."
Then, Foxxen, Selvaria, Aris, Raijin, and Tojin came to them. With Idrathar looking out in the distance to himself, waiting for them to be done.