With a wave of her hand, the witch commanded the crows to descend upon the group. Their dark wings created a thunder of flapping feathers, their talons outstretched. Flynn pushed forward and raised his shield, deflecting the onslaught of fowls. Their thick bodies were a torrent against the metal shield, thudding off and falling to the ground before flying away to try again. The half-elf dug his feet into the ground to steady himself, pushing his entire body weight into holding the barrier up.

Gostor roared and pulled free his axes, swinging recklessly into the swarm. The dying caws of the birds split the shrieks as he hacked through their oily forms. His front quickly became coated with their viscous dark blood, but he continued forward.

Acadian grabbed Arsa by the arm and led them to an empty cart a small ways back from the main square. They mounted the platform and readied their arrows. Together, they unleashed shot after shot into the storm of black feathers, picking off what enemies they could.

Flynn raised his shield upward, redirecting the flow of the never-ending tide. He charged forward, pulling his sword from its sheath as he ran. Moving his shield to protect his head, he stormed ahead with his sword in the air. He brought the blade down toward the witch but clashed against an invisible barrier. The force of the impact reverberated through the square, the vibration of which pushed up the dust of the courtyard.

The woman laughed with a deep, bellowing echo. She leaned forward in the bubble to face the boy, “Fool.”

She gathered a dark energy around her hands before thrusting them forward. A black beam emanated forward and buried itself in Flynn’s chest. He fell back and tumbled along the cobblestone, his armor clanging with every turn.

Frank’s tattoos began to glow a bright, pale blue as his fingertips became covered in frost. He held out his right hand, grabbing his bicep with his left. As he grit his teeth, the frost began to fly forward like a volley of needles off his fingers, striking against the barrier before quickly melting away.

Stepping around to the other side of Frank, Circe’s eyes began to glow a bright orange. Her black hair began flowing behind her, flying against an unfeelable wind.

“Ignimi,” she called out. Sparks began falling from the palms of her hands as flames the size of large apples manifested between her fingers. She tossed them ahead, lobbing them toward the witch. They burst into small explosions as they made contact, still not breaching the barrier. The witch smiled as the flames burned against her amber eyes.

The birds continued to attack, swarming Gostor and Flynn in the frontlines. Frank and Circe retreated toward Acadian and Arsa, who were beginning to run out of arrows.

Frank’s tattoos glowed golden as a thin barrier formed around the unmoving Flynn.

Stolen story; please report.

“That won’t hold for long,” he said. “What do we do?”

Arsa unleashed another arrow, “We give her the letter, that’s what.”

Acadian lowered his crossbow, “No. If someone like her is this desperate to get it, she shouldn’t have it. Flynn may have been on to somethin’ with that.”

Circe turned to the others, eyes severe. She pointed to Gostor, “Arsa’s right. Let’s give her what she wants. She wants the letter? Make her chase it.”

Before they could disagree, she whispered, “Ras.” The letter flew out of Gostor’s shirt and toward Circe, narrowly avoiding being nabbed by several of the crows. Gostor immediately turned to chase after it, followed closely by the attacking birds.

The witch pointed at the letter, sending her crows diving toward Circe. With a spin, she turned and began to run, holding her tattered dress above her feet. Realizing what she was doing, the others scrambled around the square, running in random directions.

As they passed one another, Circe handed the letter off to Frank. He took it and jumped onto some crates by one of the storefronts. The birds began to follow him, flying close enough that they managed to nip at the back of his head.

The witch hissed, summoning a wave of dark energy. She unleashed it in two hurtling slashes at Frank, who barely dodged them. He slid under one of the waves, passing the letter off to Acadian. The elf rolled with a heavy grace, evading the crows and passing the paper to Arsa.

Arsa notched an arrow quickly, the letter rolled tightly around its shaft. He fired it high into the air, the witch’s eyes widening in fury as it soared out of reach. The birds immediately followed it, diving quickly as it crested its arc.

“Gostor, catch!” he shouted.

Like a boulder, the dwarf barreled forward, competing with the crows to reach the landing position first. Arms outstretched, he tackled the arrow on its descent before any of the birds could catch it in their beaks. The witch screamed in a crackling annoyance.

“Enough!” she screeched, her voice echoing with power. She pushed her hands forward, tendrils of shadow snaking out ahead, reaching for the dwarf. Gostor continued charging away, but the magic slithered too quickly. The tendrils wrapped around his ankles and pulled him to the ground.

He twisted himself around, keeping the letter close to his chest as he writhed against the shadowy chains.

The witch spoke with a quiet and barely contained anger, “No more games.”

She suddenly shrieked as the sound of a thunderous crack broke through the barrier surrounding her. Flynn stood, his sword glowing a bright, divine gold, behind her with sweat gliding down his temples. He was breathing heavily as the witch turned, releasing her hold on Gostor.

“Now!” the knight shouted.

At once, Acadian and Arsa shot arrows through the cyclone of crows, which had returned to the witch’s side to protect her (although they were far fewer in number now). Gostor shoved the letter back in his shirt and hurried forward to swing his axes blindly into the birds again.

Frank and Circe held out opposite arms, firing two beams of pure energy that intertwined and struck into the middle of the storm. The witch screamed, the shriek piercing through the caws of the crows around her.

“No!” she cried. “This cannot be!” The crows dissipated from her wounded form, leaving her alone in the midst of a sea of dead birds. She looked around like a frightened animal at the attackers and what few townsfolk stayed behind to watch. Her nose twisted with fury and she clutched her heart.

“This is not over,” she spat. With a wave of her cape, her humanoid form vanished into a flurry of smaller ravens that flew away from the rising sun. Arsa fired one more arrow after them but it fell into one of the rooftops.

“No,” he said. “It most certainly is not.”