The great Monster Hunter had departed many days prior, and still there was no sign of her replacement. In the basement of headquarters main building, the three world-punchers stood, gathering dust, calling out to be switched on once more. And Witchfinder Colonel Hara Teramura heard them calling.
She awoke from dreams of her celebration, of the riches rewarded to her for her successes, and of the life she might have once these experiments were deemed complete. When she awoke, there was none of the moment where you exists between the unconscious and the conscious worlds; her mind was already functional, and working at maximum capacity.
‘Orla!’ she cried out, and a young woman, barely of age, hurried into the room.
‘Yes, colonel?’ the private asked.
‘Fetch the Creature,’ Hara said. ‘We go again in an hour. Ensure that all parties are present.’
‘Yes, colonel,’ Private Orla said, and disappeared from the room once more.
Hara ambled over to the window that overlooked the courtyard. Though the witchfinder village had existed at the start of Hara’s leadership, it had been a humble affair. The village she looked onto now had grown—two new buildings constructed since her elevation, each housing a new generation of privates. With this number of witchfinders under her command, they may yet rid the western continents of witches forever. Oh, what a delightful thought that was.
Another private—a new recruit, new enough that Hara had not yet thought to learn his name—brought her breakfast, and she ate it at her desk while leafing through the latest correspondence. The few notes or required actions she jotted down in an old leather journal—one that her father had given her when she had been initially accepted as a witchfinder. The years had long passed, of course, and her father was not still of this world, but this notebook she treasured, her last remaining reminder of her loving father.
As Hara rose, meaning to head to the basement in time for the next stage of testing, a knock on the door announced the arrival of a more senior employee. ‘Walk with me,’ Hara told them, and together they strode down the long corridors of witchfinder headquarters.
‘You seek to use the Creature?’ Witchfinder Sergeant Alti asked as they walked, his hands clasped behind his back, as so often he did when uncertain. ‘Would it not be more prudent to continue to use the hags? If we were to accidentally kill the creature, then I’m not certain our benefactors would forgive us…’
‘Must you always be so negative, Alti? Perhaps they would appreciate a little initiative on our part, hmm?’
‘But what about Ni—’
‘Our last supervisor was many things, but perhaps a little too cautious, a little too considered in her approach. After all, it takes a great deal of courage to make history, wouldn’t you agree?’
By the time Hara arrived in the basement, she was pleased to discover that the requisite witchfinders were present, and the heavy wooden crate in the centre of the triangle signified that the Creature, too, was in attendance. A witchfinder sorcerer stood at each side of the triangle, each of their hands clasped in front of them, their eyes closed, preparing themselves for the task ahead.
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‘The Creature is awake?’ Hara asked, wasting no time on pleasantries.
‘If not, it will be soon,’ Alti murmured. The man had a point; for all his flaws, he rarely spoke that which was not true.
Hara nodded, then took the one seat available in the room. She hadn’t instructed Orla to provide it, but the woman had learned quickly. The witchfinder colonel gestured to the other seven witchfinders present in the room. ‘Whenever you are ready.’
‘Such haste, Hara?’ Alti asked, and Hara noted both his familiarity and lack of correct address.
‘I intend to conduct several such tests today,’ Hara said, and had considered expanding on this point further, but soon realised that it would not do to explain herself to her underlings; it might encourage them to question her more often. ‘Please, begin. Release the Creature.’
Three witchfinders—not the three sorcerers—stepped forth from the darkness, and gripped the edges of the crate. On the muttered count of three from the one in charge, they moved in one practised, fluid motion, allowing the box to unfold, revealing the creature inside. The Mala.
The sorcerers released their spells, three lightning-based magicks that met around the Creature to trap it in a cage of a new making. Hara tensed for a moment as the Mala tested the boundaries of the trap, pushing against the sheets of lightning, before eventually settling once more.
She breathed a sigh of release; it was a tamer one.
Their suppliers of the Malae—a rather unsavoury group of elves, so unlike the typical elven stereotypes—had been inconsistent with their deliveries. A failed shipment many moons ago meant that this was the last such creature available to the witchfinders. Their experiments would need to be successful.
‘Is anyone compromised?’ Hara shouted over the noise of the spells. ‘Does anyone feel fear?’ When none of her soldiers replied, the colonel nodded once more.
‘Press!’ Witchfinder Sergeant Alti commanded, and the sorcerers intensified their magicks. The Creature began to squeal, and began to push against its confines once more. Hara, at that moment, saw one of the sorcerers twitch, and she knew then that the trouble was beginning.
‘Replacement sorcerer required on side—’ Hera began, but at that moment, the faltering sorcerer screamed, her hands slamming at her face, as though patting out flames that weren’t there.
One of the backup sorcerers stepped forward to replace her in the triangle, but the Mala was already pushing against its now weakened bindings.
‘Faster!’ She shouted, but it was too late—the inky surface of the Mala protruded through a vulnerability in the spells, and with a grotesque wet sound, it squeezed through the gap and flopped onto the floor. The sorcerers rushed to redirect their spells and recapture it once more, but it was slippery, managing to slip through the lightning until finally it squelched onto one of the world-punchers.
Hara’s heart dropped as she realised what was about to happen. ‘No!’ she screamed, reaching a hand forward. But it was too late. One of the sorcerers, in their haste to continue the fear-inducing creature, allowed their lightning magicks to touch one of the devices.
A wave of dark light immediately erupted from the three world-punchers, sending the present witchfinders soaring into the wall, hitting them hard. Hara, winded against the staircase, and with several cracked ribs, tried to sit up, but another wave of dark light hit her again. And then another, and another, each with increasing frequency. She watched as Witchfinder Private Orla, pressed against a wall to her left, began to fade away.
‘N-no…’ Hara managed to breathe.
Soon, the very walls began to fade, being replaced by a courtyard of stone, a tall wooden structure towering above them, the blazing flames of a signal fire at its crest. Hara, understanding but not quite comprehending that which was happening, tried to stand. She pressed her hand against the wooden steps, and it passed right through.
Orla, falling backwards through the wall, screamed.