The tale begins before Yoranios’s arrival in the demon lands, within the walls of the western castle. Here, Reyanna boldly confronted Jane and Mahin, declaring her rebellion.

With her sacred sword in hand, Reyanna quipped, "A fight to the death? Not exactly a long-term strategy, is it?"

A sly grin played on Jane’s lips as she toyed with a knife she had recently used for her meal. “Well, let’s test that theory,” she retorted.

In an instant, both Reyanna and Jane extended their hands toward one another. Jane’s voice rang out with a sharp cry, "Wind magic: kəsici!" Reyanna’s grin only widened as she countered, "Earth magic: Lava."

*Now,* the western castle lay in ruins, the aftermath of their fierce battle scattered around. Demonic creatures lay lifeless on the ground, juxtaposed against the scorched garden by the western part of the barrier. Mahin, his breath heavy and laboured, inspected his right arm, scorched black by Reyanna’s magic. Now it hung useless at his side, a lifeless appendage.

The fire spell had reduced Mahin’s arm to a dead weight, but his face betrayed no fear. Instead, it carried a wicked, almost demonic smile. This was the combat he had craved. Looking down at his useless arm with disgust, he muttered, “Damn you. Not like I needed you anyway—you’re just a good shield now.”

On the northern side of the barrier, Jane crouched behind the last remnants of the once grand wall, gasping for air. Her left hand, now gone, left her arm a bloody mess, her body stained with both her blood and the witches'. Her face was marked by a jagged gash, her dress a torn and dirty mess. Her fractured nose added another layer of pain to the battle scars caused by Reyanna, who—being the progenitor of witches—held a spell advantage that had drained both Jane and Mahin of their strength.

Across from her, Reyanna stood behind a barrier of earth magic, her eyes reflecting both weariness and triumph. She was as battered as the others, covered in blood and dirt, her left eye significantly wounded, and two of her front teeth missing. Her right hand bore the marks of combat, with three fingers broken and bloodied.

Following a brief interlude of eerie quietude, a colossal eruption of azure and ebony flames engulfed Jane's concealed refuge!

Reyanna, catching her breath and steadying her stance, spat, “That should leave a lasting mark, WHORE!”

The flames raged, consuming everything in their path, but when they finally receded, Jane remained intact. She had conjured a shield of dark magic, though it hadn’t fully protected her from the searing heat; her left arm bore the scars of the inferno. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she muttered, “Where’s the witch? The spell came from nowhere. I must find her… or this will be my end.”

Distant incantations floated through the barrier, faint but recognizable. Jane sighed in relief, whispering, “The witches are in battle—likely Mahin and Olwyn. Thank the fates they’re still alive.”

Her thoughts gathered, and she continued aloud, “Olwyn… the faithful disciple of Yoranios, always by his side. Yoranios built this realm—our schools, our roads, his war on poverty. He lifted us up from nothing. But me? What have I done?”

Jane glanced down at her battered form, drenched in blood and grime. Every inch of her body screamed in pain, bones either broken or close to it. Her broken nose dulled her senses further, and her mind was a swirl of agony and doubt. Through clenched teeth, she vowed, “I will make them remember me. I will carve my name into history, even if it costs me my soul.”

At the same time, across the battlefield, Reyanna cast her gaze toward the heavens. “Sisters, no longer shall our daughters be sacrificed for this wretched kingdom! If they choose war, let them fight it without us. We will not be their pawns anymore.” Her eyes burned with defiance as she clutched her amulet, a symbol of her conviction. In a moment of silence, she whispered an incantation: *bütün əziz bacılarıma, azadlığımız yaxındır, ruhunuz şad olsun, hamınızı sevirəm*—a call to her sisters, a declaration of their coming liberation.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the barrier, Olwyn squared off against a different kind of witch—a warrior skilled in both combat and magic. She was a formidable opponent, wielding her weapons with the same deadly precision as her spells.

Both were bloodied, their breaths laboured. Olwyn gripped two bloodied daggers, his chest tight from the strain of broken ribs. His opponent, the witch, was marked by a tapestry of cuts, with a deep wound on her back.

As the witch began an incantation, she cautiously backed away, wary of Olwyn’s next move. He, in turn, sought cover behind the remnants of the once-impenetrable castle walls. His voice was cold and filled with purpose as he called out, “You’ve taken the life of a good man for your fleeting ideas of freedom. You’ll pay for that with your own.”

The witch advanced, her hand glowing with blue flame, ready to strike. As she neared, she raised her hand slowly, the magic poised to erase Olwyn from existence. But just as she prepared to unleash her power, Olwyn appeared from behind, his sword swinging toward her neck. Yet the witch, anticipating his move, evaded it with a swift step, countering with a dagger aimed directly at Olwyn’s face.

Olwyn dodged the witch’s swift daggers in a flash and countered with a sharp thrust of his own. She matched his speed, parrying with precision, but Olwyn was quicker. He threw his sword away, then seized both of her hands, trapping her daggers between his palms. With a firm grip, he prevented her from casting any spells.

Without hesitation, Olwyn drove his forehead into hers, the impact breaking her nose and knocking out several teeth. He struck her again, and again until her face became a mess of blood and shattered bone. Her blood splattered across his face, and some of her teeth lodged into his skin.

Though dizzy from the blows, Olwyn stayed on his feet. He reached for his sword but was suddenly struck by an arrow in the back. Pain radiated through his body as he collapsed, but determination drove him to crawl toward the safety of a nearby wall. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the arrow from his back, forcing himself to ignore the pain.

Sword in hand, Olwyn carefully scanned the area, trying not to expose himself to another arrow. After searching, he spotted the demon archer hidden among the ruins, waiting patiently for another shot. Staying hidden, Olwyn weighed his options, planning his next move.

Before he could act, the archer abruptly shifted his aim toward another target, paying no attention to Olwyn. Confused, Olwyn watched as the archer was suddenly cut in half by a massive black sword, wielded by none other than Mahin.

Olwyn's eyes met Mahin’s, concern briefly crossing his face, but Mahin, blood-soaked and grinning with savage delight, called out, “Who’s next? Come on! I can do this all night!”

Olwyn pushed himself to his feet, gripping his sword, and approached Mahin. The massive warrior pointed his blade at him and growled, “So, are you next?”

Raising a hand in peace, Olwyn introduced himself, “Lord Mahin, I am Olwyn, Commander of the demon forces.”

Mahin glanced at the battlefield strewn with bodies, his voice tinged with disappointment as he said, “All these dead beasts and witches—your handiwork, I take it? You could’ve left a few for me, at least.”

Olwyn thought to himself, *This man is insane. Thankfully, he doesn’t remember our brawl at the tavern.*

Turning to Mahin, he said, "I had no choice but to fight for my life, Lord Mahin. They left me no other options."

Mahin’s disappointment was still clear in his eyes. "I heard there were monsters. I’ll catch up with you later."

Desperate, Olwyn pressed on, "Lord Mahin, Jane is locked in a fierce battle with Reyanna. Together, we can help her!"

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Mahin stopped, a smirk forming on his lips. "Monsters are my concern. Jane’s the queen for a reason, isn’t she? If she can’t handle herself, what’s the point of her title? You focus on the barrier so I can get out there. The real beasts are waiting beyond it, and I’ll fight them until dawn. Understood?"

Olwyn looked at him, his mind briefly flashing to the countless times he’d dragged Mahin from tavern brawls, enduring Mahin’s wrath and the mockery of onlookers. He remembered the insults, the bruises, the stones thrown at him because he couldn’t contain Mahin’s rage.

For a moment, the weight of those memories bore down on him, until Mahin snapped him out of it, barking, “Are you going to handle the barrier, or not?”

Meeting Mahin’s gaze with anger, Olwyn declared, “You’re damn lunatic!”

Mahin’s silence was chilling, his eyes narrowing at Olwyn as if he barely acknowledged his existence. Then, a cruel smile twisted his face as he gripped his obsidian sword. “I could kill you where you stand, but you’re my brother’s lapdog. I’ll let this go… for now. But when this is over, I’ll break you piece by piece. And Yoranios won’t be there to save you.”

With that ominous promise, Mahin turned and strode toward the distant sounds of battle.

Olwyn watched him go, then snapped back to the present, urgency taking hold. "My queen needs me!" he muttered to himself before rushing toward the battleground where Jane and Reyanna’s clash raged, the air thick with the flashes of spells and the destruction they left in their wake.

Beyond the barrier, the bodies of monsters and demon soldiers littered the ground. Yoranios had just felled a massive magical bear, roaring, "They’re endless! Where in the abyss is the black death!"

Commander Gij shouted in response, “More reinforcements are on their way! Hold the line, my lord!”

In the thick of battle, Yoranios muttered to himself, grappling with the gravity of the situation. *I can’t use my spell here. If I veil all magic, the healers will be powerless to save anyone. Reyanna planned for this!*

Meanwhile, in the forest nearby, a grim scene unfolded. The bodies of witches lay strewn across the ground, casualties of a relentless struggle. Special forces had captured the last surviving witch, and among them was a long-haired girl with an unyielding gaze. She seized the witch by the throat and demanded, "Who cast the spell? Who summoned the creatures? Speak, or you die!"

The witch sneered. "Death is preferable."

Without hesitation, an emotionless man thrust his blade through the witch’s skull, ending her life in an instant. She crumpled to the forest floor. The girl, unfazed, glanced to the north and remarked, "Perhaps that’s where we should head. This forest stretches on for miles."

The man was silent for a moment before his gaze dropped to the earth. "Erykah," he said softly, "let's pay our respects to our fallen comrade."

Erykah’s expression shifted as she approached the lifeless body of their friend—Tan, a short-haired girl who had fought valiantly, bearing wounds to her stomach and heart. Her sword was still clutched tightly in her hand, a testament to her final stand as a member of the Black Dead.

Kneeling beside Tan, Erykah gently ran her fingers through her friend's hair. The emotionless man stood solemnly nearby, his head bowed in respect. Erykah smiled sadly and whispered, "Tan, you died protecting this kingdom and its people. Your sacrifice won’t be forgotten, dear friend."

After a moment of silence, Erykah rose to her feet, and with the stoic man at her side, they both looked down at Tan’s body and solemnly spoke, "Requiescat in Pace."

With their comrade honoured, they pressed on, determined to avenge her death by finding those responsible for summoning the monsters.

Within the western castle’s barrier, Reyanna advanced with confidence, chanting, "Ancient magic: qara dəlik."

Suddenly, the ground beneath Jane’s feet became a void, shadowy pit with hands rising to seize her and drag her into the abyss. Jane fought back, severing the dark appendages with her magic, but for everyone she cut, more appeared in its place.

Reyanna’s voice was resolute as she declared, "I won't gamble on whether this spell can end you. Ancient magic: Təmizləyici su."

A massive surge of water shot towards Jane, and wherever it touched, lush greenery and vibrant flowers bloomed. Jane’s eyes widened as she saw the approaching wave, and she cried out, "Dark magic: Deşik."

A void formed around her, absorbing the water and shielding her from the assault. Jane then extended her hand towards the shadowy hands encircling her and invoked, "Light magic: günəş."

Blinding light burst forth, illuminating the shadows as Jane stood her ground, refusing to be consumed by the darkness.

From Jane's outstretched hand erupted a massive orb of light, slamming into the encroaching darkness and weakening its grip. Though the shadowy hands persisted, their numbers dwindled.

Suddenly, Reyanna closed the distance between them, her movements swift and precise, an ancient dagger flashing in her hand. She lunged at Jane, but in a move that defied belief, Jane reacted in time, shielding herself with her right hand. The dagger plunged into her flesh, but Jane seized the moment. She grasped Reyanna’s hand tightly, and with her left hand, she surged forward, brandishing her sword.

In a split second, Reyanna’s instincts flared. With a fluid motion, she raised her hand and unleashed a silent spell, severing Jane’s arm in an instant, without uttering a word.

Jane watched in horror as her arm flew through the air, but Reyanna’s triumph was short-lived. As Reyanna began to intone, “Ancient magic: kəsici küləklər,” Jane's expression shifted. Her despair twisted into a dark smile. The blood pouring from her severed limb began to gather, morphing into a blade. With a swift motion, Jane drove the blood-forged sword into Reyanna's chest.

Reyanna froze, her face a portrait of disbelief. Amidst the swirling darkness, Jane whispered, "You, me—together."

With her right hand gripping Reyanna and the blood sword impaling her, the two were bound together as the shadowy hands pulled them both into the abyss.

Elsewhere, near the southern castle, sorcerers held strong, their magical barriers shielding the city from the advancing hordes of monsters. Beyond the walls, soldiers fought valiantly, striving to hold the creatures at bay.

Inside the barrier, Aurelius had lost all sense of himself, driven to madness in his frenzied search for Lysandra. His transformation had stripped him of reason, leaving only raw, savage power. He tore through the castle, relentless in his pursuit.

Lysandra, cloaked in dark magic, fled from the castle, her heart pounding with fear. As she reached the garden, she felt a wave of dread wash over her, sensing Aurelius—no longer the man she knew, but something monstrous—closing in.

A sudden crash reverberated through the air. A throne chair landed beside Lysandra, nearly crushing her. She swiftly raised a light shield and ducked behind the garden wall, stunned. Glancing back, she saw Aurelius, now a twisted, grotesque figure, wielding a stone sword he had ripped from the statue of Karaban, the ancient demon king.

Rising to her feet, Lysandra's fear turned to defiance. She squared her shoulders and declared, "DIE!"

Aurelius fixed his menacing gaze on Lysandra and bellowed, "THERE YOU ARE!!!"

Without hesitation, Lysandra sprinted toward him, a dagger in one hand and a charged spell in the other. Her speed was astonishing as she closed the distance, while Aurelius, gripping his massive stone sword, charged headlong at her.

As they clashed, Aurelius unleashed a devastating swing, his sword cleaving not only Lysandra but the very earth beneath her. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he saw her form split in two. But something was wrong—there was no blood.

Realization dawned too late. It had been an illusion. Lysandra’s imposter dissolved into a bolt of lightning that struck Aurelius squarely, causing him to let out an inhuman scream before crumpling to the ground, still clutching his sword.

From her hiding spot, Lysandra emerged, breathing heavily. She taunted him with a sneer, "Twice the power, but half the wit, you filthy abomination!"

She staggered towards the barrier, dragging herself forward, and when she reached it, she uttered, "Azadlığımız üçün." With that, the barrier yielded, allowing her to step through.

But just as the barrier was sealing shut, Aurelius, recovering from the attack, hurled his stone sword with terrifying force. Lysandra barely dodged it, but it grazed her left cheek and scalp, sending a wave of pain through her.

Suppressing a scream, she turned toward the sealing barrier, her voice venomous, "YOU WRETCH! WHEN THIS IS OVER, I'LL BREW POTIONS FROM YOUR DAMN SKULL!"

Aurelius roared in fury, rising to his feet with a murderous glint in his eyes. His entire body trembled with rage as his veins bulged, his eyes turning pitch black. He fixed his gaze on the barrier, determination etched in every fibre of his being.

Lysandra watched with wary confusion as Aurelius suddenly charged the barrier and struck it with all his might.

The barrier quivered but held firm under his relentless assault. He continued to hammer away at it, undeterred.

Lysandra cackled in disbelief. "Only half a brain, it seems! Keep at it, and that barrier will drain you to dust!"

Yet Aurelius persisted, his blows growing more frenzied. Lysandra, satisfied with his fruitless effort, turned to leave but paused when three witches approached her urgently. "Sister Lysandra, the demons are fighting the monsters. What are your orders?"

A sinister smile curled across Lysandra’s lips. "The capital is untouched... for now."

Laughter rippled through the coven, only to be cut short as they felt an imposing presence drawing near. Ten warriors, led by Commander Kyj, were approaching—elite special forces, poised for battle.

Drawing her dagger, Lysandra smirked. "Sisters, the one with the highest kill count wins a prize from our mother!"

The witches advanced with murderous intent, their daggers gleaming. Commander Kyj raised a hand to issue orders but froze when he noticed a figure flying above them on a broom.

Lysandra followed his gaze and turned to see the airborne witch. She was a striking figure with dark, flowing hair, a bold red lip, and an aura of power. Dressed in a billowing black gown, a book of arcane spells hovered beside her. A small dagger hung at her side, while a large arcane artifact trailed behind. Her piercing azure eyes locked onto Lysandra.

One of Kyj’s soldiers, clad in traditional obsidian armour and gripping a large hammer, spoke up. "Sir, is this another witch? Another threat?"

Commander Kyj remained silent, studying the flying figure intently.

Lysandra’s expression darkened, her voice dripping with hatred. "So, you’ve finally arrived. Lilithra Gyovani, THE DEMON WITCH!"