As Edith shopped around a bit, she couldn’t help but feel the piercing eyes of the shopkeeper behind her.

Something’s off, she thought to herself while picking up and inspecting a miniature antique clock

Suddenly, Edith cocked her head to the left as a dark steeled dagger flew and hit a stitched doll. Glancing towards the shopkeeper, she dodged a few more incoming daggers. Pointing her hand towards the short old lady, purple light twisted and contorted in the air to form crude spears that launched towards the enemy. Putting up her arm, the purple spears clashed against an invisible barrier that the shopkeeper put up.

“Who are you?!” Edith questioned.

“That’s not of your concern,” the shopkeeper responded coarsely.

Reaching into the inside pocket of her robe, she pulled out an odd object. Hanging from a chain that wrapped around her finger were golden rings that surrounded a silver eye. The pupil of the eye was dark red and it leered towards Edith.

“Witch hunter!” Edith exclaimed as she attempted to move out of the way of the eye’s range of vision.

Ever since the first witches coven was created, there have been witch hunters. Each of them are as, if not more, powerful than a witch. As part of their “induction” as a witch hunter, they are given what was widely known among them as the eye of silver, or the eye of god. The eye of silver was a powerful artifact made from the souls of witches and bound together using the power of an unknown and mysterious ritual.

Edith frantically tried to find a place to escape the eye, however she was too late. She could feel the eye peering into the depths of her very soul, shrouding and sealing her power. Severely weakened, she made one last ditch effort to save herself.

Gathering the remains of her scattered and sealed power, she mumbled the single word, “Whispers.”

In the graveyard, Agnes froze for a second as she inspected the man in front of her. Unlike what she saw on top of the building, he had much more of a defined appearance. His jaw was quite a bit sharper and his uniquely gray eyes made the stern expression on his face more noticeable.

To Agnes, he almost appeared as if he should’ve been one of the bodies inside a grave.

The undertaker sighed as he sized up Agnes.

“This wasn’t really a part of my job, but since you’re here, I might as well kill you.” Crouching down, he reached into the grave he stood over and pulled out a bone sword.

It was a great sword that boasted a sharp and well made blade crafted purely of bone.

“A necromancer, I presume?” Agnes remarked as she held up her gnarly wooden cane.

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A smile appeared on his face as he replied.

“Perceptive.”

Swinging the great sword towards Agnes’ neck, she held up her cane and it clashed violently against it. Rearing back again, the necromancer launched a series of powerful and explosive blows. With each one Agnes blocked, she could feel a tingle surging up her arm.

If one of these hits connected, it could do some damage, Agnes thought to herself.

Suddenly, hands reached out of the ground and grabbed her ankles, arms, and wrapped themselves around her waist. The hands were those of rotting corpses.

The necromancer lifted his sword above his head, and with incredible power, he brought it down in an attempt to cut Agnes in half.

As Edith spoke those words, the purple light that would usually float around her instead dispersed into the air. With its invisible tendrils, it drilled deep into the mind of the witch hunter.

Without any further warning, the witch hunter lurched over in pain. Inside her mind, voices screamed the ravings of a mad man. They whispered to her words of extreme sorrow and pain. The voices were of those Edith collected herself, the voice of the ones she killed.

“A powerful spell no doubt…” The witch hunter spat out, still huddled over in pain, “But that won’t be enough.”

Regaining her composure, she stood up and took out a revolver. Pointing it at the witch’s head, Edith could do nothing to stop her impending death.

Shnnk. A well crafted spear with a steel tip pierced through the witch hunter’s chest and heart. She immediately collapsed and dropped the eye of silver along with her revolver.

Edith watched as her savior, which was none other than Abigail, stepped over the body and picked up the eye of silver.

“Thank you, I was going to die if-“

“Are you that dense?” Abigail interrupted.

Her smile lessened as she placed her hand on her face in annoyance.

“You are aware that we shouldn’t face witch hunters alone. They are part of the reason we aren’t even allowed to use our powers if we aren’t in a group.” Abigail shook her head as she slipped the artifact into her pocket.

As soon as the bone blade was going to split Agnes in half, her body turned into her gaseous form and moved away from the sword and rotting hands.

Reforming into a physical form, she peered towards the necromancer. As expected, she saw as the necromancer pierced the ground with his bone sword, causing many hands to reach from each and every grave. Rising up were rotting humanoid creatures with a focused yet dead stare. Lumbering towards her from all sides, she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Trust me, I would like nothing more than to fight you right now. It’s been ages since I’ve fought a proper necromancer, plus it would limber up my joints a bit. Unfortunately, I need to return with that creature over there.” She glanced over the goblin that was currently cowering behind a grave.

Ignoring her words, the necromancer stood tall and waited for her to be torn to shreds by the zombies.

With a deep breath, she murmured, “Return.”

The zombies halted instantly before slowly lumbering back to their graves to return to their eternal slumber.

Baffled, the necromancer commanded them to continue their attack, but to no avail.

“That… shouldn’t be possible. She’s no necromancer, so how did she trump my original command?” The necromancer mumbled to himself.

Supporting herself with her cane, she unhurriedly approached the necromancer.