Ivy sat atop the two-story rooftop of a tavern situated in the center of the market. Night had only just fallen, and it was about time for her to get to work. All day she had thought about what Rose had said to her, but it changed nothing. None of her secrets could make the situation any different. As far as Ivy was concerned, they were at war with the church. The archbishop had struck first, and now the consequences would come back to bite him.
Just below Ivy sat her first target. The structure was a squat little one-story surrounded by an iron fence. Its steepled roof gave it away as one of the houses of the church, if not for the triangular symbol painted onto its facade. She stared down at the two guardsmen standing at the sole gate. They weren’t paladins. The church wouldn’t waste its prized warriors on such a small establishment. But they weren’t Virian’s men either. The church had its own regular militia, and just like the priests and paladins, they were Ivy’s enemy.
She fell into the witch world more on instinct than anything else. If she thought too much about what she meant to do tonight, she might back down. Rose might worm her way into Ivy’s head. She couldn’t allow it. Tonight the church would face the reckoning that was hundreds of years coming. She would no longer allow the church to do as it pleased. No matter the cost.
The writhing, colorless figures of the guards stood below her, and Ivy leapt from her perch directly behind one of the men. She slipped out of the witch world and plunged her dagger deep into the man’s neck. He tried to get out a gurgled cry for help, but Ivy ripped her weapon free and jumped back into the witch world. A second later she was behind the second guard, her dagger finding his neck just the same.
Before either of them even knew what had happened, they were both lying dead against the cobbles. Taking a life was always so easy. It didn’t matter if they were asleep in their beds or standing guard. Everyone died the same. And it always filled her with an exhilaration she could find nowhere else.
She walked past the exterior gate without the aid of her power and found her next target. A woman dressed in white robes emblazoned with the symbol of the church waved at Ivy from the path leading up to the main building.
“Hello, young lady,” the worship leader paused, her eyes sinking to find Ivy’s dagger, “is there trouble?”
Ivy smiled.
“Not for much longer,” she said, before stepping up the woman and cutting her throat.
She stepped over the corpse and continued further. When she threw open the heavy wooden double doors, three more faces greeted her. A priest stood at the head of the interior over a dais, tending to a flock of candles. Two assistants swept the aisles between pews. Once again, they tried to address her, but Ivy ignored it this time, diving into the witch world instead.
She didn’t even have time to adjust her eyes to the changed environment before she let go of her power, exiting less than a pace from one of the priest’s aids. The witch world responded to her will, and took her to where she needed to be. In a flash of dark steel, she plunged her blade into the side of the unsuspecting man. In another instant, she was beside the other, her dagger deep into his eye socket. The whole thing had taken mere seconds, and the priest stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing with no words coming out.
“You can thank your archbishop for tonight, priest,” Ivy said.
Finally, he seemed to find his voice.
“W-witch!”
“Yes.”
Ivy let the witch world take her a third time before reappearing at the priest’s back. She stabbed high on his back and through his chest, pulling her dagger free after a moment of savoring the feel of it inside of him. The priest fell with a soundless scream on his lips and Ivy watched him crumble and bleed out.
One down. She started with the smallest church she knew of, but still, it had been far too easy. Why hadn’t she done this long ago? Why hadn’t any witches fought back for centuries?
Behind the dais sat a closed door that Ivy threw open to find a fourth man huddled over a desk of papers and a collection plate full of silver coins. An administrator of some kind? It didn’t matter. She killed him too, leaving him flopped over the desk, his blood staining his work.
Ivy left the building and did a quick scan of the grounds. There was no one left. The whole thing took a couple of minutes maybe. There was probably a hundred churches at least in Atrican, but at this pace, she might just finish in a single night.
And so she got to her work. Bouncing in and out of the witch world, she went from church to church, leaving nothing behind but corpses stained red. Her power was more responsive than ever, set to a purpose that it seemed to know would help it thrive.
The night flew by in a whirlwind of obsidian steel and viscera. All who came across her died at the end of her knife. Priests, aids, worshipers. Through all of it, there was not a single ounce of remorse that found its way into Ivy’s conscience. Every person, every death she caused made the world safer for people like her. Every one of the bastards she slaughtered would do the same to her. What choice did she have? Someone had to do it. It might as well be her.
And then she met her first paladin. But that too did not slow her. The woman lie sleeping in the basement of the church on the outskirts of the noble district. Her room was barren save for a single cot on which she slept, a shelf full of alaricite poison vials, and a heap of her unworn armor on the stone floor.
Ivy plunged her dagger deep into the paladin’s heart before destroying all two dozen vials of her doses. She stared down at the corpse of the figure that imposed such fear on her kind and laughed. It seemed paladins died just like anyone else. On her path through the noble district she eradicated several more churches, and by the time she stood in front of the gates of the grand cathedral, the sun just began to peak out on the horizon. How many had she gone through? It had became a crimson smeared blur after a while. It would have to be enough.
There was only one target left. But something was off. In all of her grisly deeds throughout the night, she had only ever found the single paladin. And now, at the cathedral’s gates, still, there wasn’t any sign of the “holy” warriors. Worse than that, she had been dipping in and out of the witch world all night, and the dark power nestled within her heart was running low before she had even fought a real battle. Had Virian detained them somehow? Were the paladins still at the palace?
She walked through the gate unmolested, moving through the vast courtyard and past the great bubbling, fountain. Early morning fog pooled around her feet, adding to the eerie silence that surrounded the cathedral. She climbed the shallow set of stairs that fanned out from the entrance and stared up at the alaricite symbol hanging above her.
Not too long ago they had been waiting for her past the threshold of a similar set of doors to the Bloody Flag headquarters. This felt all too similar. They would not catch her again.
“Here we go,” she said, taking a deep breath before pulling the doors open and jumping backward to avoid an ambush.
The moment she revealed herself to the interior, two loud bangs filled the air. Something…hit her, despite there being no one nearby. She stumbled back, a tinge of pain blossoming in her shoulder. It kind of felt like someone had pinched her. She looked down at herself and blinked. Blood started to ooze into her tunic at an alarming rate. Her instincts told her to run, but she had already come too far to give up at the first sign of trouble.
Not understanding what had just happened, she turned her attention to what lie beyond the doorway. Her first thought was another witch had done something to her, but that was ridiculous. Instead, she saw two familiar figures standing in the central aisle between the pews. The witch hunters Perro and Eraven were grinning at her. Each held one of their strange weapons aloft, smoke pouring out from the tip. All those years ago, Ivy had no idea what they were, but Rose had told her that the witch hunter guild alone held the secrets to creating the things. Pistols they were called. Ivy had hardly believed their supposed function when Rose had explained it, but after seeing her bleeding shoulder, she couldn’t deny it.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Behind the hunters stood the archbishop, also confident with his cocksure smile. And…one, two, three, four…uh oh. Fifteen. She counted fifteen paladins among the pews. Backpedaling, she reached for her power, only to find it…missing?
“How does god’s metal taste, witch?” the hunter Eraven said.
And then Ivy felt it. That same feeling when she had been forced to drink the alaricite potions. From within her shoulder, a foreign power was draining away her own. Devouring it. They had shot her with an alaricite bullet! Ivy turned and ran.
“Catch her!” This time it was the archbishop’s voice that rang out. The clank and clatter of metal followed, and despite Ivy sprinting as fast as she could, her shoulder now throbbing with each stride, a circle of paladins soon surrounded her. Fifteen swords pointed at her chest from all directions. She held out her dagger with her uninjured arm and spun, searching for anything that might save her. Some weak point in their enclosure. The paladins were as solid as rock. Was this really it for her? In some way maybe it was inevitable. Perhaps it could even be called just. How many people had she slaughtered tonight? But it didn’t feel right. Rose’s words came back to her.
Because all paths where you learn the truth end in your death. And now that I am certain about who you are, that cannot come to pass. He calls you Ll'qixllin for a reason.
Was she supposed to die like this? So pointlessly?
“You’ve given me quite the trouble, witch,” the archbishop said. A tiny gap in the paladins opened up so she could see him, flanked by the witch hunters. “You even got that foolish prince wrapped around your finger. Truthfully, I did not expect such a rescue.”
Shit. Fuck. He knew about Virian. If nothing else she had to get out of this and warn him. Of course she had been right. Everyone around her suffered. Why didn’t he listen? She needed to buy time. For what? She didn’t know, but the more he was talking the less he was killing.
“Trouble huh? You don’t know the half of it.”
“Oh?”
So he didn’t know. In the dead of night, news would travel slow, and though locally each community would soon be learning the fate of their church if they hadn’t already, nothing had reached the cathedral yet. But still they had been waiting for her. They must have simply expected her to get revenge.
“Send one of your paladins to check the city’s churches. You might be surprised at what you find there.”
“What have you done?”
“Go find out.”
The archbishop laughed.
“And weaken my guard here? Am I really so stupid looking?”
Ivy eyed his ostentatious purple robe.
“Well, yes,” she said, “but do you really need seventeen men to capture one girl?”
“Is that what you think you are, a ‘girl?’”
“Well maybe I’m little old to be called that. So…you need seventeen men to capture one woman?”
The archbishop’s face twisted in disgust.
“No. You are a descendant of hell itself. And I will no longer lower myself to speak with you. No more interrogations. No more imprisonment. No trial. Kill her.”
The paladins closed in immediately, swords at the ready. Ivy didn’t bother attempting to fight back, and closed her eyes.
Please. Please. Please.
A tiny ember of her power sat dormant in her heart, not engulfed by the bullet in her shoulder. She latched onto it before it had the chance to slip through her fingers. Lunging forward, she hit something solid. When she reopened her eyes, she was back inside the cathedral, beside the altar, the tiny speck of power drained. What? No! For the first time ever, the witch world had betrayed her, taking her further into the enemy’s domain instead of as far away as possible.
The witch hunters being closest to the door were back inside first, their weapons out. A pair of booms echoed through the chamber and Ivy flattened herself behind the altar. Chunks of white marble sprayed into the air where the shots made contact.
“How does she still have the strength?” Perro asked. His voice brought back memories of her first imprisonment.
“I do not know,” Eraven said, “but she is undoubtedly weakened—”
Ivy stopped listening and took the opportunity to dash out from behind the altar toward the only way out of the worship hall: further in. Before she made two steps, however, the bangs of their weapons once again rang out, and she dove behind a column of marble beside the altar.
“You can only hide for so long, witch,” Eraven said, “should the paladins drag you out from that pillar, or will you face your end with some measure of dignity?”
“Ivy,” Perro said, and Ivy immediately regretted ever telling the bastard her name. It sounded dirty on his lips. So unlike when Virian called her. Virian…she had to get out of here. “You must know this is over for you. Do we have to drag this on?”
Indeed, she heard the clank of the paladins reentering the cathedral. She had seconds at best. Then—
Pain coursed though her head, and she let out a scream as she did every time this happened.
It’s time.
The demon had found her again.
“Shut up! I have to—”
“It woke up! It’s trying to communicate with her!” the archbishop said. “Quickly, finish her!”
Ivy peaked around the edge of the column and saw the retinue of paladins charging her position, the closest less than fifty paces from her. She had no choice but to run for the door leading deeper inside, but the moment she did, the hunters would use their pistols again.
Accept the inevitable, Ll'qixllin.
“I don’t know what that means!”
A contract between us. So we may step upon these insects.
“So I can be your slave?”
Not at all. You misunderstand—
“Not ever! Do you hear me! Never!”
So stubborn. So like Calanthe it is uncanny. Fine. Then I give my gift freely. You need only accept.
“Accept what?”
The footsteps were so close now.
Power.
“I can’t even do anything. They shot me with—”
The insects play with toys they do not understand. There is no obstacle. The flow of our combined might cannot be absorbed by so little. Choose now. Power or death.
That wasn’t much of a choice.
“Okay,” Ivy said.
Nothing happened. Once again she looked beyond her pillar, but something strange was going on. The paladins were moving in slow motion. Like they were underwater or something. And then the promised power flooded her. Engulfed her. Encompassed her being. She felt the alaricite bullet disintegrate inside her shoulder. Her core sent out shock waves of power that made her body tremble with each passing moment. A dark radiance bloomed from the blade of her dagger that normal light could not escape. False night surrounded Ivy in the midst of the morning light pouring in from the cathedral’s windows.
But it didn’t last long. The next second she was thrust forcefully into the witch world.
Swing, and the world will be cut.
Ivy turned toward her attackers and paused. No one was moving anymore. Slow or otherwise. Even the constant vibration of the witch world held steady.
“Be cautious,” a paladin said.
“Yes, I feel it.”
“Kill her you idiots!”
The archbishop was running out of patience apparently. Ivy studied the darkly glowing forms of the paladins, clad in their alaricite infused armor. Her dagger shined like a black sun in comparison against the gray tones of the witch world. They were nothing compared to her. Why had she ever been afraid? And they were all lined up so neatly. A path opened up to her, that she could traverse in a single step. And so, Ivy swung her blade along that single stride.
Something slammed into her again and again and again, all in the span of an instant. It felt like she had been run over by a four-house carriage and then stomped to death by the horses. She dropped out of the witch world and fell to her knees gasping for breath. Her right arm and hand must be on fire for how much pain wracked them, and her dagger fell from limp fingers. She had no idea what had just happened, though she was currently facing a wall in the corner of the worship hall. She dared to look behind her, and gasped for more air at what she saw.
There were…no more paladins. Well, to be exact, there were now thirty halves of fifteen paladins spread out in a gory mess amongst shattered and destroyed pews. Each warrior appeared to be cleanly bisected at the same height and angle, armor and all. Crazier than that, behind them, the pillar that Ivy had been hiding behind also had been…cut. A few feet from the base, the two-foot diameter column had been severed, the top portion sliding down against a diagonal incision. A central line of destruction carved through the room several feet wide. Blood and debris had been flung in all directions from that singular path. The path Ivy had taken.
She had no words. Only one other time before had she ever tried to attack someone from inside the witch world, and she had not known what had happened then either. Somehow she had killed a man with a tension rod from her lock pick set. And now, she had…cut the world. She looked down at her dagger, and it looked as good as new, despite the destruction it had just caused. A failed attempt at retrieving it revealed her arm and likely most of the bones in her hand were broken. Nothing in her right arm seemed to work at all anymore.
“W-w-what,” a trembling voice spoke out, “what are you?”
Ivy looked up and saw Perro, the sole survivor of the carnage, standing over the blood soaked ruins with his pistol pointed at her. She thought about going for her dagger with her semi-good arm that he had shot earlier, but decided on answering him instead.
“I…I don’t know.”
Perro dropped his weapon and ran. He was out of the doors in a second, leaving her alone with what she had done. Fifteen paladins, one witch hunter, and the archbishop of Atrican. She had killed them all in a single strike. For a moment—just a moment—the lure of the demon’s power tempted her. But then she remembered her mangled arm, sore body, and the idea of being beholden to some creature.
She sat for some time, the sun coming in from the windows brightening to a midday shine before she finally picked up her weapon and got back to her feet.
“Well,” she said, “I guess there’s only one thing left to do. I’m coming, Mr. Demon.”
Finally.
For better or worse, it was time to meet her benefactor. She trudged through the gore, every painful step a challenge, following the “voice” of the demon. Down a hallway, a never ending spiraling staircase, and through a maze of ever darkening underground passages, she eventually made it to a solid, dark metal door marked by the church’s symbol. The atmosphere oozed witchly power that she could almost touch. There was no mistaking it. It was behind this door.
Yes. Enter.