The jungle was alive with the sounds of a fearsome storm. The wind howled through the colossal trees, their vast trunks groaning as if under the weight of the dark clouds above. The dense canopy swayed, allowing the rain to pelt down in heavy sheets, each drop hammering against the slick, muddy earth below.
War’s breath fogged in the humid air, the metallic tang of the rain mixing with the earthy scent of the jungle floor. His bright crimson eyes flickered with every flash of lightning, catching glimpses of the black-skinned ri’bot lurking in the shadows, their forms only visible for a heartbeat before the darkness and veil of rain swallowed them once more.
Suspended between two massive tree branches, War felt the tension in the silk threads binding his body. They were slick with rain, slightly more elastic now, but still strong.
The threads pressed hard into his skin, yet they couldn’t pierce it—his body, hardened by the hum of war that permeated the restless land; he was nearly impervious right now, which was why Jennifer had opted for this route.
He could feel the drums of war in his chest, each beat synchronizing with the storm, with the hearts of the Xaltan warriors, and with the growing power within him.
A grin spread across his face despite his predicament. He gently flexed his muscles in slow, rhythmic study, testing the strength of his bindings. Each digit of his fingers were bound, twitching as he focused on the tension in the threads.
The Empress must have leveled up, he mused to himself, sensing the hold on his spirit from Rylee’s ritual growing weaker as the current witches maintaining it grew more weary due to the hammering storm. He was only growing stronger—the pulse of inevitable battle grew stronger by the second. Soon…
Below him, nestled beneath the exposed roots of a colossal tree, three young witches huddled together—Natalia, Beatriz, and Isabella—all below the age of twenty-one. The Xaltan were not very good at constructing decent shelters for the weak constitution of humans, and Jennifer was busy excavating something within the caves below the Xaltan’s land.
He observed the young women’s determination and drive as the night and miniature hurricane of the wet season went on, flooding barely kept away from their heightened shelter.
Their forms were barely visible in the dim, illuminated mushrooms they used as a light source; War could practically see their faces pale with exhaustion. Maintaining the ritual that kept him bound must have been more taxing than they realized since his power was only growing stronger by the minute. Their spirits flickered like the dying embers of the fire and hatred they’d shown him the previous day.
War could sense their weariness, their power waning as they fought to stay awake and focused. The rain was relentless, soaking through their cloaks when the wind hit their shelter just right, its drumming on the earth assaulting their stressed minds.
The smell of wet leaves and damp soil filled War’s nostrils as he breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of impending conflict. He could feel it in the air—the anticipation, the tension, the rising tide of battle that would soon wash over them all.
The Xaltan young bloods had taken over the watch of the cautious seniors who had guarded him through the day. Their inexperience was evident in the way they moved through the trees, changing positions to better escape the elements.
Four of them in total, eager to prove themselves to their chief, patrolled the perimeter of the makeshift prison. War could hear their hearts beating, their blood pumping with the excitement of a potential fight from the few Roxim warriors who were left, tied somewhere beyond War’s vision. They were oblivious to the danger he posed as the night went on, what it meant that the human women were growing tired.
War’s vision narrowed as he tested the threads again, now slicker, easier to manipulate than before as the roar of thunder echoed through the foliage. His power reached its new zenith within him, a surge of energy that had been growing since the previous day hitting its limit—the Empress was coming closer, and with her, the full might of her wrath… He could feel it.
War’s grin widened, his teeth flashing in the darkness.
Let the war commence.
A flash of lightning illuminated the jungle, turning night into day for a brief moment and blinding his inexperienced guard; the sound that followed would disorient the frightened human girls, unsure why they had yet to be relieved.
In that instant, War flexed his fingers, condensing the red aura of his fighting spirit into a claymore. The blade shimmered with a crimson light, its edge sharp enough to cut through steel with the surge of kinetic force running along its edge like a tangible force.
With a flick of his wrist, the threads snapped, and with a single arced slash, the rest of the bindings fell away. Not skipping a beat, War dropped to the mud below, the crash of thunder masking his landing and making the witches flinch.
Concentration broken, they looked up out across the darkness, only able to see his glowing aura in the black, their eyes wide with terror. They’d instantly known their hold over him had snapped, but the young ri’bot warriors had yet to recover.
Red didn’t spare the women a glance, his focus on the four young bloods that could still alert the others. With a surge of herculean strength, War launched himself toward the first of them, his claymore slicing through the air with a deadly hum yet masked by the billowing wind.
The blade cleaved through the toad’s torso, the force of the strike splitting him in two before he could react.
One down.
War moved with the speed of a predator, his eyes burning with the thrill of combat. The second Xaltan barely had time to register the death of his comrade before War was upon her. The claymore swung in a wide arc, catching the toad in the side and cutting her clean through in an upward angle.
Two.
Spinning on his heels, keeping balanced with the wall of wind and rain that peppered him, Red searched for the beating heart of the third rather than relying on his other senses—the thirst for battle gave the young Xatlan away.
Flipping his blade around, he threw it like a spear, cutting through the mist and fog like a hot knife through butter. The toad noticed just in time, raising his weapon to block, but it was futile. The sheer kinetic force behind pushed the dagger aside, snapping his wrist in the process. The claymore passed clean through the toad’s skull at an angle, pinning him.
The fourth Xaltan’s neck bulged to let out a warning croak as War’s landed on his branch. A pulse of ruby light illuminated his stunned expression as his crimson armor took shape around his form, unblocked by the witches spiritually restricting power.
Fingers closing around the toad’s throat and pushing the air out like a deflated balloon, he pressed the warrior up against the slick black trunk. His shimmering maroon cloak billowed in the wind as he held the victim firm, unbothered by his powerful kicks and punches that bloodied and crippled the boy’s arms and legs.
War didn’t say a word but there was a smile on his face as he slowly applied more and more pressure until a snap was barely heard past the hammering downfall. The Xaltan fell limp, spine and throat crushed, and Red tossed him in front of the root-like alcove the girls were using, letting the rain wash over it as he retrieved his claymore.
The three women jumped and cried out, the fear he instilled from [Intimidation Aura] preventing them from scattering into the storm and getting themselves killed.
Flash flooding riddled the area, the currents carrying the slain ri’bot into their muddy depths, the last of which was still alive, paralyzed and helpless as he suffocated to death. Red retrieved his claymore, the blade shimmered with its own crimson light with the storm raging around him.
He stood amidst the carnage, his eyes scanning the jungle for any other threats. The thunder and pelting rain had reached its peak, falling in sheets that blinded even his enhanced vision, the wind tearing through the trees with fury.
Turning his gaze to the hollowed-out tree where the witches huddled together, their fear locking them in place. War’s smile faded, replaced by a look of grim determination. He’d only thought of one way to free the witches—one way they could be saved without death and resurrection…but it would be painful.
War’s glowing eyes narrowed as he approached the witches, their forms huddled together beneath the twisted roots of the colossal tree. The storm’s fury raged around them, the rain slashing sideways as the wind tried to carry him into the dark, rushing waters. His boots sank into the mud with each step, but the squelch was drowned out by the relentless hammering of the rain.
He towered over the women, his presence casting a dark shadow in the faint light of their mushrooms that made their already pale faces drain of what little color remained.
So much for them seeing me as a lovable guardian, he ruefully thought, a pang of guilt surfacing briefly before being buried under the weight of his mission.
“Hands on the tree,” War commanded, his voice low but carrying the weight of an ironclad order. “Don’t move, or I’ll rip off your fingers, one by one, and I don’t want to do that.”
The witches hesitated, but Isabella was the first to move. She was the leader here, the one who had the nerve to speak when the others faltered. With trembling hands, she pressed her palms against the rough bark of the tree, and the others quickly followed suit, their eyes wide with terror, looking to her for guidance.
“W-We don’t have anything here to do much to you," Isabella stammered, her voice shaking as she tried to maintain some semblance of composure. “Our ingredients…they were ruined by the storm… We aren’t a threat, I promise. Please don’t—”
War cut her off his bright eyes within his helmet no doubt coming off as a sharp glare to them, his hand tightening around the hilt of his claymore making them flinch and whimper.
“You don’t need to talk. Just do as I say.”
Isabella’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes dropping to the ground. War felt a brief flicker of pity. The Empress didn’t want them in this position… They were supposed to be safe in the back, yet Jennifer, you had to use them as bargaining chips, and to steal the Empress’ loyal people because you can’t create your own at such a caliber needed to stop me.
He worried if they were close to breaking entirely; the women may have built up a more solid foundation in the past few months, but this storm was something else—like what he heard they’d come into when first arriving in this world, only without the protective barrier the Plant Callers and Aileen had crafted to weather the hurricane.
The storm roared louder, a bolt of lightning striking a nearby tree, splitting it in half with a deafening crack. The thunder followed, shaking the ground beneath their feet, and the witches flinched, their knees buckling as they struggled to stay upright, tears leaking down their faces.
This storm is getting out of hand, War mused, casting a glance up at the dark, churning sky through the thinned canopy, branches torn from trunks providing a partial view of the impenetrable blanket of gray above.
The wind was fierce enough to peel the bark off trees, the rain a relentless assault that made him think this had to be unnatural. It was practically a hurricane now, a force of nature unleashed upon the Xaltan.
He turned his attention back to the witches, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. “If you want to live, don’t move.”
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Without another word, War jumped up to the branches where the Xaltan had been keeping guard, cutting one of the ropes binding Zargoth in his suspended position, being beaten by the raging elements that inflamed his open wounds, bindings cutting deep into his wrists, ankle and chest.
The main line cut, he jumped toward him, cleaving another thread to loosen him on the left side, allowing Red to carry him to the rapid waters below. Landing in a stream that had swollen with the flash flooding. The liquid rushed around them, waist-deep and icy cold, but War’s strength held firm with [Immovable III], his feet planted as he made his way to the raised area where the witches were gathered.
The chief was heavy, his body weak and sluggish from the strain of captivity, the rapids crashed around them, battering against his frame and making him groan. War hoisted him over his shoulder without effort, continuing until out of the surging waters to lean him against a tree and cutting the remaining cords to crouch beside him.
“Can you still fight?” he asked, his voice raised to be heard over the crashing waves while peering out at the apocalyptic scene. “I doubt your people will last forever in this kind of storm, even with your natural adaptation, and it only appears to be getting worse.”
Zargoth’s breath came in labored gasps, his eyes half-lidded as he struggled to focus. “My limbs…they’re not doing well but it is the voice…the voice in my mind that keeps me shackled…”
War’s vision narrowed, centering on Jennifer’s bright red handprint burned into the chief’s chest, the flaming eye at its center seemingly having a life of its own.
“It’s…degrading my ability to stand—to think… It feeds me images of something…something terrifying beyond my sight… A dead abomination, seeking souls to be reborn…for my soul to join her.”
His voice was a rasp, raw from the strain. “But…give me five minutes… Haha. I should be able to work enough blood back…into my limbs, and get the willpower to combat it. I could at least wield a blade. Can you…free the other Firewalkers, or is our window for escape too narrow?”
War’s lips curved into a grin, the feral edge of battle creeping back into the seasoned warlord’s voice as he gained a second wind. He wasn’t chief of the Roxim for nothing.
“You’ll have plenty of time since…” Red paused and cast his gaze toward a small wave that crested the edge to wash over their feet before returning to the rapids.
His tone laced with dark humor, he held out a hand to steady Beatriz, crying out with panic as it cycled, pulling her with the tide. “I think they’ve got their own problems with flooding in their caves where they keep their precious eggs and resources… I figure that is where Jennifer has focused the efforts of the other witches in order to reach whatever she’s searching for before it’s submerged.”
“I like the spirit. But first, I want you to try something… Can you burn the mark on your chest with your fire?”
Zargoth’s tired eyes widened in surprise, a strained smile splitting his torn lip, long tongue exiting to show wounds all along its length while wetting his throat. With a groan, he forced himself to his feet, his movements clumsy.
“I won’t know until I try…”
Using a small break in the rising tide, Zargoth spun in an awkward circle, attempting to reach the required movement to summon the flames his Mysticism required. A weak flash of fire ignited around his palm, flickering like a candle that could be blown out at any moment.
Gritting his teeth, Zargoth pressed the flame against the eye on his chest, his flesh searing under the heat as water coursed over his smooth skin. He didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out—only a weak chuckle shook his body as War steadied him.
“It worked,” Zargoth breathed, his voice a whisper of relief. “She’s no longer in my head.”
“Perfect. Do the same with the three witches. Strip them if you need to find the marks, and free your people in the prison… I’ll find some way to do the same to the other witches when I find them.”
War started to enter the gale, his mind already shifting to the next phase of his plan, but Zargoth’s voice stopped him. “Where are you going, Red? Wouldn’t it be better to reunite with the Empress to form a solid assault?”
War paused, turning back to the chief, his bright eyes gleaming with anticipation. “She’s on her way,” he said, his grin widening as he glanced at the tumultuous heavens. “In fact, maybe this storm is her doing.” He laughed, the sound a rumble of dark amusement that mingled with the roar of the tempest. A thick branch was pulled along by the thickening currents, the vast Wandering River likely expanding all the way to their location.
“I’m going to free the other witches under my protection and confront the true orchestrator behind our capture,” War continued, his voice growing more serious. “Besides, I owe Jennifer my undivided attention. Do what you can for the girls and take them with you. Retreat into Clanless territory. Meet up with the Empress’s forces or head to the Shattered Crystal base to report back to the Wixum camp. It was a pleasure serving with you, Chief.”
Without waiting for a response, War turned and strode into the thick cloud of gray, the thumping of battle coursing through his veins. Ahead of him was an army of enhanced ri’bot warriors, lurking in the shadows of their cavernous depths.
Spinning his long blade around in a flourish, his laughter mixed with the thunder that split the sky. “It’s days like this that make me feel alive again.”
* — * — *
Elinor’s boots hit the ground with a soft thud as she leaped down from Quin’s hand, her slender frame landing gracefully on the damp soil. The Shattered Crystal base loomed ahead, nestled against the backdrop of towering trees that pierced the darkening sky, the canopy peeled back to the domed wooden fortress. Quin dropped the dusting corpse of a large creature she’d used on the way to top off her leaking Death Energy reserves.
The light gray clouds swirled above, rolling in from the northern peaks that had drawn them in to spread like ink over the valley, promising a simple rainstorm.
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, the memory of Fennel’s final words surfacing in her mind—Jennifer’s goal wasn’t to best her here but to obtain a critical item buried within the Xaltan caves. That one bit of intel had changed all of her plans.
The jungle around her was alive with the sounds of the night, the cacophony of insects and distant calls of nocturnal creatures adding to the tension felt in the air. Her father was on her other side, having met her along the way, standing tall and imposing, his frosty cold eyes sweeping over the expanded and refined forward base with approval.
Valdar, looking winded and worn, followed closely beside her. His normally composed demeanor was strained, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as they approached the base. Elinor could sense the weight of his thoughts, though she didn’t press him—he would speak when ready now that his time was drawing near.
The light rainfall began as they passed through the opening gates, the stationed Plant Callers nodding respectfully as they entered the sanctum. The gentle patter of rain on the leaves outside created a soothing rhythm that contrasted sharply with the tension brewing within her. Inside, the sanctum was illuminated by the soft glow of bioluminescent moss that clung to the walls, casting a pale, ethereal light over everything.
Camellia was already waiting, her excitement barely contained as she bounced forward to meet them. Zara was visible in the background, engaged in conversation with one of the White Witches stationed there.
Elinor’s gaze shifted to the wall where a thélméthra drone Tiffany had sent sat perched, another corpse they’d found bound to its back ready to be raised, its unintelligent gaze fixed forward; it would have its uses shortly.
“I see you’re going to raise another drone,” Camellia chimed, her bright eyes eager to feast on ri’bot meat. “We’re heading out right away for the hunt, right? I can’t wait to see what has become of my former home and devour those who would desecrate my mother’s nest.”
Elinor nodded, her thoughts already spinning ahead. “In a moment… The armies will close in and clean up what’s left, but I don’t plan on waiting for them, as I mentioned in my last communication. But first, I need to prepare a present for the Scarlet Hand’s incessant hounding and transgressions.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly, a cautious gleam entering his gaze. “For your mother? What are you planning?”
Elinor smiled, a secretive curve of her lips. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, Dad.”
They moved through the sanctum, the atmosphere thick with the scent of wet earth and the steady hum of critters who had added to the internal ecosystem. As they approached the communication area, Zara stiffened, the young White Witch beside her was clearly nervous once realizing she was here. It was the first time she’d met the 27-year-old woman in person.
The brown-haired woman quickly bowed her head, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. “Do you need to communicate with the others, Your Majesty? I’ve strengthened the network to communicate for a short time between, umm, between all the channels, as instructed by The Queen.”
Elinor bypassed the comment, her focus already narrowing in on the task at hand. “I only need you to get in touch with Queen Tiffany. It should be quick.”
As Zara hurried to comply and to support the witch, Quin poked her head through the open door, her fur slick with rain, curiosity gleaming in her eyes as she took in the scene. Ectria was patrolling outside, on-guard of any lurking threats or surprises the Xaltan tried to send their way if they had brainwashed some of their people.
Everyone waited in silence as the ritual was activated, the skull on the communication platform lighting up with a soft, eerie glow. Moments later, Tiffany’s voice came through, steady and calm.
“I hope everything is going well over there! I see those clouds, darling. Everything is on track with solidifying the portal. No need to worry,” the witch reported, her tone lively and in heaven no doubt working and learning from the powerful hag.
Elinor’s gaze flickered with satisfaction as she turned to the red-haired spider lady beside her, a question already forming on her lips. “Camellia, how bad would a storm have to be to flood your holes?”
The disguised arachnid glanced to the side, doing a myriad of calculations in her head. “That is my part of the jungle,” she said slowly. “It would take a significant effort, despite me not caring that much for guarding against that, but it’s doable. My younger sisters were more homebodies while I always roamed.
“That being said, Mother moved the primary nest there for her preparations to fight the big white ape. It should only be small sections that are reinforced, though, and it would be hard for me to break into her nest once covered.”
Elinor chuckled softly, her mind whirring with possibilities and now realizing perhaps one element that was holding Jennifer up.
“Excellent,” she murmured, her attention shifting back to the communication device. “Tiffany, I understand Countess Evelyn Autumn, our resident hag, has acquired quite the store of power from the Tempests in the Autumn line. Negotiate with our indentured ‘guest’ to whip up a storm over the Xaltan to flood the area. Red could use some cover to rescue the witches, I’m sure, and it will provide the perfect surprise battering ram for our assault.”
Zara exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, visibly relieved at the shift in focus. “Thank you, Empress. I hope my sister is okay.”
Tiffany, however, wasn’t as quick to celebrate, her voice becoming oddly strained and tinged with unusual caution. “Mmm. Are…you sure about this, Empress? You know I’m not one to deny a party! It’s just…you’re talking about using the Hag of the Everborne Marshlands. We haven’t really, mmm… How should I put this? Uh, tested how powerful she is—especially not her Tempest side, and a fully fledged Countess, as she posed as is…not something light, from what stories I heard when we were in the kingdom.”
Elinor’s eyes narrowed further with excitement. “It’s a perfect test then. I’ll handle the rescue with an elite force. It’s time Jennifer answers for the crimes she committed against us, and why not let Evelyn announce her presence to any other spying eyes that might be watching. I’m sure it will make them reevaluate their decision to move against me.”
Tiffany sighed, a sound that was half-concern, half-intrigue. “Understood. I’ll take care of the negotiations. Happy hunting, Empress! I hope this doesn’t get too out of hand… My! What am I even saying? Yes, she does intimidate. What can I say?”
The connection ended with the two witches nearby giving each other looks that asked, ‘Who and what was this hag that could intimidate the Witch Queen?’
Elinor turned to the entrance, her movements filled with anticipation while silently ordering the drone on the wall to follow her. Camellia, Valdar, and her father rallied behind her, Quin waiting by the door as she felt others drawing near. “We’re moving out as soon as Ash, Black, Grace, and Valentina meet up with us… They’re close.”
As she strode towards the exit, the soft breeze of the gathering storm brushed against her face, her thoughts returning briefly to the raw display of power she’d seen from the Great Houses, knowing that it had likely been child’s play and mostly for show. They hadn’t struggled in the least in their confrontation.
How powerful is a Countess-level Tempest really in full on war? What levels can Castria get to on the other side? Oh…
The clouds started to darken, a loud crack of thunder streaking from the western side of the valley—it came from the ground to strike the lulling gray.
It seems our hag is moving faster than I thought… We’ll have to pick up our pace.
She studied the swirling mass growing larger, darker, more ominous by the second, and a cold grin split her lips, recalling the moment she’d witnessed her mother’s death.
Tonight, I’m coming for you, Jennifer. You’ve tempted Death, and I’ve answered. I hope me knocking at the doors doesn’t frighten you off… But if anything, tonight, a certain yellow-skinned Xaria’s head will be mounted on a stick.
Elinor’s heart chilled instead of quickened as she felt her two horsemen drawing near, stepped up to her drone to awaken the slumbering dead arachnid. She’d need its senses to navigate the jungle, and she’d only channel its spirit once she reached the river crossing… She needed to squeeze every second she could out of the hour she had to use its powers.
Watching the green butterfly land on the metallic corpse to spark an inferno, she turned her gaze onto the rain-soaked night, her gaze fixed on the sparks of electricity charging the atmosphere in thick, deafening roars.
Her soul sang to be released, expanded to its limit. The storm clouds cycled into a tight cyclone that would soon unleash her fury as devastating tempest, and she hadn’t even begun to reveal the horror she could unshackle.
This is what I’ve built, Jennifer. Bluff by bluff, negotiation and strengthening my soul every day…risking my life every step of the way… You asked for war. This is how I do war.