“The priestess would have been overjoyed,” the helmet wearing man said with a mocking voice, slowly pacing back and forth behind his men. “If she were still with us.” He added, glaring at them.

Ilya clenched her fist. “It’s your doing then?” She asked, slowly sliding her left hand behind her back. “You broke the barrier? Why would you do that?”

The man let out a laugh. “Why would I do that?” He mocked her. “You and your false god have no place here!” He waved his hands vaguely upwards. “We will awaken the old gods – the gods who were here when we needed them!” His shouting grew louder with every word. “The gods who answered our prayers and showed us a path to our future.”

His men nodded in agreement, muttering something quietly.

“How dare you-“ Cait hissed, but as soon as she took a step forward, the crossbows turned to her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, murderer.” The man folded his arms. “I’m afraid even the best resonance caster isn’t faster than a bolt.” Despite his helmet hiding his face, it was clear that he was enjoying this.

Midhir’s gaze turned to his men. While they all seemed somewhat nervous, their aim remained steady, and their gazes focused Cait and Ilya especially. Even if he acted as fast as physically possible, he couldn’t summon and activate the last stake he had. Not before the bolts hit their targets.

“How does disrupting the barrier even serve you?” For now, they needed to stall for as long as they could. “Do you seriously think an old god slumbers here or something?”

The man laughed. “Here?” He shook his head. “No, they are somewhere beyond our world.” He lifted his chin, pointing behind Midhir. “That portal there, that will help us awaken them. And you,” he chuckled. “I’m so lucky that I won’t have to search for you.”

“What?” Ilya hissed.

“Now,” the man pointed at the ground. “Weapons, on the ground. All of them. Or I’ll have them shoot the black haired one.” He nodded towards Willow.

Willow grew pale, her gaze darted towards Ilya and Midhir.

Midhir gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he slowly bent down, placing his weapon on the root covered ground. “See,” he showed his open palms, then slowly got back up again. A moment later, Willow and Arwen did the same.

“You too, murderer and princess.” The man chuckled. “Be smart like the ritual thief over there.”

Ilya scoffed, and dropped her weapon. Cait hesitated for a split second longer before letting go ıf her two daggers.

“Gather them,” the man ordered. One of his men lowered his aim, then hurried towards them to collect the weapons. As he gathered them in a hurry, the sound of uneven footsteps reached them from the long hallway.

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“Go check out who that is,” the man ordered, pointing at two of his men. They hurried off, the man watching them as they disappeared in the slowly thickening mist.

Midhir watched with frown as one of their assailants continued to collect their weapons. The man bent down to grab Arwen’s staff, grunting as he tried to balance all of them with one hand.

A loud grunt echoed, coming from the mist covered hallway the two cultists had just gone to. The others flinched, about half of them shooting quick glances over their shoulder. The man stepped towards the hallway, reaching for the small mace hanging from a hook on his waist. “What the…” he muttered.

Arwen reached out with her left hand, grabbing the weapon collecting cultist’s throat. “Burn.”

The man’s expression turned from surprise to terror as he stumbled backwards, letting out a pained groan as he dropped the weapons in his arms and clawed at his own throat. His agony only lasted for a split second before he combusted into crimson flames that blinded them all for a split second.

Midhir fell on his knees as his hand brushed past his earring. He caught the stake mid-air, and truck it between the roots covering the ground. He felt the wood give way a little, and white sap seeped out of the damaged section of the roots. He poured whatever had recovered of his spiritual power into the stake.

A golden beam of light shot up, hit the ceiling, then rained back down around them, forming that reliable, yet draining barrier. It’s strength was immediately tested as bolts were loosed, and hit the veil of gold, spreading wrinkles along its surface.

“Willow!”

The young woman crouched beside him, placing her hand around the stake. “I’ll maintain it.”

While Midhir motioned to get up, Arwen snatched her staff and his sword off the ground, then quickly retreated behind him. “Here.” She refused to look at him as she pressed the hilt of his sword against his palm.

Theirs were the only two weapons that had fallen inside the barrier. Ilya’s blade and Cait’s daggers were piled in front of the ashes remained from the burnt man.

“Give me that.” Ilya brushed past him, snatching his sword, then yanked Arwen’s staff from her hands before she could protest. She marched to the edge of the barrier, holding each weapon in each hand, and pointed at the man leading the cultists with the sword’s tip. “You,” she tilted her head, and gave him the most vicious smile Midhir had ever seen. “Are under arrest.”

“Ha!” The man laughed. “Do you really believe we’ll just roll over and let you-“

Ilya casually pointed the staff at him. The golden crystal sparked, then a white hot beam shot through one of the cultists’ chest, and the man’s raised left hand, and hit the side of the archway quite some distance behind them.

The scent of burnt flesh filled the room before the afterimage of the beam cleared from their eyes. A split second layer, he let out an ear piercing scream, and fell on his knees, at about the same time the other cultists now dead body fell to the ground – there was hole where his heart should have been that was still smoking.

“You witch!” He screamed in agony. “Kill them all – all but the ritual thief!” his voice was more of a shriek now, twisted and distorted by pain. “What are you waiting for! Kill them!” He held his wrist – once connected to a hand that had been reduced to ashes – as he screamed again.

Ilya once again pointed her staff at the remaining cultists. “Well?”

Midhir almost couldn’t believe it when they threw their crossbows aside, drew their swords, and rushed towards Ilya. They were throwing their lives away… for what?

The staff sparked again. The air around the crystal vibrated.

A figure wearing a tattered cloak stumbled into the hexagonal chamber from the mist covered hallway. “You came!”