Glittering, fresh-fallen snow had smothered the town in the freezing tomb of winter. The wind howled, carrying with it thin white snowdrifts and thick, dark green smoke that pooled against the ground, condensing in thick clouds along the roads and the sides of houses.
Aside from the wind, the world was silent. Standing at the edge of the Coven's hideout, overlooking the town, Circe found that the streets were still; those few that did attempt to leave their homes found themselves coughing, gagging-- keeling over onto the tundra-like ice and snow before they even had a chance to make it out of their yards.
Circe let out a nervous giggle. Had someone done her job... for her?
Something about this felt wrong. Circe had been planning for years; to bring ruin to this town that was so strangely blessed. Now, someone had done the hard part before she had gotten the chance-- this thick smog making the townsfolk lethargic and weak. The Coven Leader wanted to be happy, to celebrate the deaths of the people who had made her life hell. She wanted to praise whatever god watched over witches with each body that fell to the ground. She couldn't. The sense of dread that threatened to consume Circe with every step into the thick mountains of snow drowned out any jubilation she and her Coven might have felt.
"Nikki, prepare some healing potions," Circe ordered. "The rest of you, stay here."
"Yes, Ma'am!" Nikki did as she was told, brewing as many of those green potions she always kept stocked as she could. Kande stayed close to her, mixing concoctions of her own while watching Nikki closely. The rest of the Coven went about the task of preparing Bakt for her stay in the Coven hideout-- unpacking her many belongings and showing her around the cliffside rooms that would be her new home.
Helena approached softly after a moment, leaving the coven members that remained deeper in the hideout to their own tasks. Placing a gentle hand upon her beloved's shoulder, she gave Circe a small smile, one trying to be reassuring. Circe turned her head, acknowledging Helena briefly before returning her attention to the dying town. "We should scope out the town for a moment, see what's causing..." Helena glanced towards Salem. A vaguely humanoid shape slumped against the side of a building. No movement, no breath, just another still figure swallowed by the haze. "That."
Circe nodded. "Quickly. Something's not right." The sorcerers quickly took off on Circe's broomstick and vanished into the night.
A sharp whisper of magic surging through the sky broke the deathly silence. Stagnant air and thick smoke curled through the streets of Salem like a living thing, shrouding the town's ruined silhouette in an eerie veil. The distant flicker of pale green embers painted Salem with an angry emerald glow, but no flames roared. No sounds could be heard at all, save for the couple's blood running cold within their ears.
The moment Circe and Helena rose above the Royal Palace that edged this cursed place, the extent of the devastation unfolded beneath them. The smell of disease choked the streets, clinging to the ruins of hopes and shops, twisting around lifeless forms like the grasping hands of some unseen force. The witches sat hovering in eerie silence. Their presence felt disturbingly insignificant, against the vast and smothering stillness of Salem.
And there were corpses everywhere, barely visible through the haze. The bodies scattered in unnatural stillness, twisted as if caught in mid-motion, covered in blood and pus and bile and all sorts of horrific fluids. Some slumped against doorways, others faced walls as if the people had desperately tried to climb back into their homes. Still others lay crumpling in the streets like they had been simply tossed aside. There were no signs of struggle on any of these corpses. No unnatural wounds, no screams still echoing in the air. Just the unmistakable weight of death, pressing down upon the streets of Salem like a curse.
Helena's fingers curled tighter around Circe's waist. The Coven Leader's nervous giggling had increased in speed and volume, no matter how she gnashed her teeth to make it stop. Her sharp eyes scanned the empty streets below again and again. Circe still wanted to feel satisfaction-- these were not their people, after all. Not after what they had done to her sisters. Not after what they had tried to do to Circe, and the woman she loved, and what they planned to do to everyone like her for the crime of existing in their perfect town. These people had scorned Circe, hunted her people, burned her very flesh. And yet...
Circe exhaled slowly. She and Helena exchanged glances. They both knew without needing to say the words. Whatever had done this was no witch. Whatever had done this was a danger to townsfolk and coven members alike.
Soon enough, the couple saw it. A strange figure with a bright blue cloak and beaked mask that stood in twisted contrast to the dull, ashen world around them. In their gloved hand, the figure could be seen holding a lantern that spewed that same thick, terrible smoke. They seemed to be looking for something-- for someone. And they had the power to turn the whole town to dust in search of whoever had earned their ire. They methodically opened doors, running in and out of buildings at a steady, brisk pace. Whoever this mysterious being was looking for, it was seeming more and more clear that they weren't there to be found.
Circe giggled nervously again, the sound almost lost in the night air. Fear and excitement accelerated her pulse until her heart hammered in her chest. Such power, such wrath... A part of her wanted to embrace the stranger as an ally in the cause of bringing Salem to its knees. A part of her wanted to leave them to their task and watch every last soul in this wretched town drop. A part of her wanted to let them reduce Salem to dust, let them purge the last embers of its hateful existence. A part of her wanted to claim this gift-wrapped justice.
A part of her dreaded who they could possibly be looking for, and why they happened to be missing when Circe had arrived at the hideout. That nagging thought gnawed at the back of Circe's mind, eating away at her urges.
Helena shifted, her hold on Circe growing tighter-- and tenser-- by the second. "This isn't random," the Hex Master muttered. "They're on the hunt, and they're not finding their prey."
Circe swallowed another nervous tic. "That doesn't mean they'll stop looking."
The sorcerers felt it before they saw it. The masked figure abruptly stilled in the middle of the street. Their lantern swung slightly in their grip, the smoke curling unnaturally towards the air like the claws of a hungry predator. Then, slowly, their head tilted towards the cliff sides in the northern edge of town. There was a shift in the air, the way the figure's entire presence seemed to snap into focus. The creature turned sharply. They marched forward with the same brisk efficiency they had displayed before, only this time, they were heading straight for those cliffs. Straight for--
"They're going for the hideout." Helena's breath caught in her throat.
Circe's blood ran ice cold. "Shit--"
Before the stranger could intrude upon her home, Circe yanked at the broomstick's handle. The broom whipped north, and the couple shot back towards the hideout. Wind whipped behind Circe and Helena as they tore through the smoke-filled sky, praying to whatever god watched over witches that they would make it home before that thing did.
Circe and Helena nearly crash-landed in the courtyard outside the Coven hideout. To their infinite relief, nothing seemed amiss. No one unwelcome had sauntered into their home. The couple ran before their feet even reached the ground, hell's fury hastening their rush towards the hastily-made doors the two of them cobbled together half a decade ago.
The moment Circe and Helena burst into their hideout, the rest of the Coven turned to them. The other witches' expressions quickly shifted from confusion to concern.
Medusa lifted her brow. "You two look like you've seen a ghost."
"Worse," Circe nearly gasped for air. "Is everyone okay?"
A series of puzzled affirmations followed.
"...Yes?" Kande blinked. "What's going on?"
Helena exhaled sharply and shot a glance toward the doors. "Someone's gassed the town, and they're looking for us."
A moment's pause. Then--
"Look alive," Circe commanded.
There was no hesitation.
Nikki and Kande locked eyes for half a second before darting towards the potion stores. They pulled down bottles and vials, sharing quick assessments of their stock. The pair rattled the shelves with their haste, their fingers quickly danced over labels and seals. They sorted poisons, elixirs, and whatever volatile concoctions they could throw together onto a large table in the potions room, until an army of little glass soldiers surrounded the large burner Circe had provided and the many smaller ones Nikki brought with her.
"Fast-acting or slow-burn?" Nikki asked as she pulled a deep green vial from its rack.
Kande didn't even look up. "Both. The fast one would only weaken whatever could rattle the chieftain like that." She reached for a satchel of herbs from the other side of the room before returning to the racks of pre-made potions. "We'd need the slow ones to finish it off."
Nikki let out a sigh, popping the cork off a flask and carefully wafting its contents. "If only we had another hour, I could have made something really nasty."
"We don't have an hour." Kande's voice was curt-- more curt than she had intended. "We make do." Kande forced her tone to soften this time. Her focused hands moved swiftly as she ground her herbs into a thick paste.
In another part of the hideout, Medusa slithered her way towards the weapons cache. Her eyes were as sharp as the array of blades she scanned, searching for the golden sword and mirror shield she had won from Perseus in what felt like another life. She gazed longingly at her prizes for just a second. This wasn't only about her. She turned her attention to the rest of the cache, the weight in her chest heavier than usual.
A set of enchanted throwing needles caught Medusa's eye. Thin, silvery metal glistened with a black sheen of lingering poison that coated each sharp point. Immediately Medusa thought of Kande. Their Poisoner was the quiet type, like her. Kande thrived when working in the shadows, striking her opponents before they even realized they'd been hit. Medusa carefully set the needles aside, knowing they'd be put to very good use in Kande's hands.
For Nikki, Medusa's attention turned to a pair of glass vials, filled with a substance that glowed infernal shades of orange and yellow. Firebombs. Medusa remembered Nikki's face lighting up as she told the story of how she and her father crafted the alchemical recipe that went into these little glass vials. The story of how many times they'd blown up their lab to create a substance that would burn hotter and longer than normal flames. Nikki had always favored chaos, and what better way to create some than with fire that clung to its victims, eating through flesh and fabric alike?
Helena's weapon would require more legwork. Magic wasn't really Medusa's forte, even after spending nearly a year living among witches. The most she could claim regarding spellcraft was that she had been honing her control over the curse that made her a monster.
Helena was nearly the gorgon's opposite. The Coven's second-in-command scorned blades and brute force, relying on her hexes to do the real damage. Medusa's gaze flitted across the shelves of the weapons cache, looking for something that looked like it might be useful to Helena. After what felt like too long, Medusa spotted something that seemed fitting enough-- a set of iron rings inscribed with runes that were faintly illuminated with a strange purple glow. Medusa wasn't quite sure what these would do, so she took them all in hopes that at least one would enhance Helena's magic in some capacity.
Bakt was next. Similar to Helena, traditional weapons didn't suit her. The newcomer to the Coven had a bit of a delicate streak, despite her proclivity for violence. Medusa's fingers trailed over a bundle of ancient bones. If she had seen this place, Bakt would have screamed at the way these bones were haphazardly tossed into a pile. Chuckling at the thought, Medusa weaved through the bundles of preserved parts and the wire that attempted to bind them together. Peeking out from within the mountain of bones, Medusa found an enormous skull, carved into a mask with ram's horns curling from the top. Just like the rings, this mask let out a dim glow that laid bare the magic within.
Finally, Medusa grabbed something for the Coven Leader. A heavy double-bladed axe, its handle engraved with sigils the gorgon almost recognized. Circe was the one with the most physical strength. While the others' weapons needed to keep them light and quick, someone needed to play defense, and Circe was the best for the job. If things got to the point where they needed to fight up close, Circe would do well with a weapon that would end the battle quickly.
Satisfied, Medusa gathered the weapons and returned to the main hall of the Coven hideout.
Helena and Bakt hadn't moved from that room since the preparations began. The pair worked on their respective rituals on different sides of the main hall, surrounded by the flickering glow of burning ofuda and lit coals. Silently. Neither dared address each other.
Helena crouched low, dragging the tip of a charred bone across the floor, tracing the sharp, angular shapes of a hex meant to slow their enemy. Each stroke left behind a faint shimmer, as if the symbols themselves were alive, writhing just beneath the surface of reality. Her lips moved in a low murmur of her mother tongue, voice steady despite the tight coil of unease in her chest.
This wasn't just some common witch hunter, some fool who thought they could snuff out the Coven with pitchforks and prayers. No, this was something far worse. The kind of enemy who could turn the streets of Salem into a graveyard without breaking a sweat.
The thought made Helena press harder, deepening the groove in the floor. She wasn't about to let the same happen to them.
A whisper of sound in Bakt's own language drew her gaze. Bakt stared at the brazier she used for her rituals. The Necromancer's head tilted slowly, as if listening to something Helena couldn't hear. Her hands moved slowly over the elements for divination heating within the brazier. The shadows at the edges of the room seemed to tremble in response, but the bodies outside the hideout did not answer Bakt's call.
"The dead here are weak," Bakt murmured, almost absently. Her voice had that faraway quality that often cloaked the Necromancer when she stood at the edge of the chasm between here and the afterlife. Try as she might to use this creature's victims against them, the smoke had rendered them naught but ash and bone. Such flimsy bodies wouldn't make for good soldiers.
Medusa's arrival pulled both Helena and Bakt from their rituals. The gorgon's arms were full to bursting with weapons that she unceremoniously piled on the table in the main hall. The beast beloved by her Coven carefully sorted through the arsenal she had gathered until she felt Helena and Bakt's eyes boring into the back of her skull.
As if yanked from her task by invisible strings, Medusa abruptly grabbed the rings and the mask and dropped them in the hands of their new owners. She then grabbed the rest of the weapons she had gathered and scurried off as quickly as she came.
While Helena examined the rings she had been delivered, Bakt gazed with awe at her new mask.
It was a beautiful thing. The familiar rattle of bone with every movement was like music to her ears. The skull fit perfectly over her face, every crevice of it carved to perfection as if it were made just for her. As Bakt lowered the skull over her head, she basked in the glow of death over her eyes, and the power that Medusa's gift imbued into her veins.
Invigorated, Bakt returned to the task of trying to summon something useful from the mass death that surrounded the Coven hideout. The townsfolk had turned to dust, their bodies useless for raising, but some of the spirits that lingered here could make for useful ghouls. If only she could call to them--
"Mind if I join you?" Helena appeared inches from the brazier, her face practically glowing over the flames.
Bakt bristled. A touch of resentment from their first meeting still stirred within the pair, but there was no time for hesitation or squabbling now. The Necromancer gave a quick nod. Helena dropped an ofuda into Bakt's brazier. Mixed rituals filled the main hall with purple and green magic that, at first, clashed against each other as if fighting for control over the spirits of Salem's many lost witches.
In time, the two of them learned to adjust to each other's presence. No words were needed to cross the chasm between here and the afterlife-- Helena and Bakt spoke with magic alone. First keeping out of each other's way, then subtly moving to catch the gaps in each other's webs without grinding or clashing.
The shadows in the room twisted suddenly, stretching long across the walls. The air turned to ice.
Bakt exhaled softly, then reached up, her fingers ghosting over the horns of her mask as the power within it coursed through her veins. With slow, deliberate movements, the pair knelt on each side of the burning brazier. They pressed their palms flat against the warm stone floor. A deep, reverberating hum filled the space around them—not from their lips, but from the earth itself, as if something ancient was stirring within it.
Helena shivered despite herself. The hex she had drawn let out a soft glow, her magic comfortably merging with the spirits Bakt called home to their hideout.
Circe, all the while, wasted no time in slipping away.
She took the stairs two at a time, descending into the depths of her personal hoard. A dimly lit chamber in the depths of the cliffside hideout, filled with all manner of tomes, artefacts, and stolen relics. Circe once proclaimed she had no use for trinkets. In the year since her plan to summon a demon had failed, the Coven Leader had changed her tune, and amassed enough magic to wipe any opponent off the map.
The mind-control wand Circe had carried with her all this time was useless now. She knew what marched towards the gates of her Coven's hideout, no matter how she tried to bury it. She tried to tell herself it couldn't be that, she couldn't have drawn their attention. But the evidence gnawed at her. The Coven Leader's nervous giggling returned, echoing through the stone walls of her chamber. The specter tearing through Salem like a force of nature wouldn't be swayed by cheap parlor tricks. No, Circe needed something real. Something powerful.
Her mind raced, sifting through memories of every artefact she had hoarded over the years, every cursed object she had deemed too dangerous to part with. And then, like a door unlocking in her brain, she remembered.
The elven magic.
Circe spun towards the farthest corner of the room. Her fingers skimmed over shelves and cabinets as she passed, barely glancing at the tomes and enchanted trinkets she normally would have admired. The Coven Leader shoved aside a rusted dagger humming with forgotten hexes, ignored the jar of bottled lightning she had meant to test one day, and didn't even glance at the old grimoire she once wrote with her sisters as a child. Circe's only focus was on her task. She pushed past the hoard of half-forgotten treasures until she saw it—tucked away on a shelf, frost creeping along the edges of the walls that surrounded it after six years of rest.
A petrified branch encased in ice.
She reached out and grasped it. The cold bit into her palm immediately, sharp and numbing, but Circe didn't let go. A whisper of power only the North Pole could match ran through her fingertips.
Perfect.
With a tight grip on the branch, Circe turned and sprinted back up the stairs, her heart hammering with something that was almost excitement.
By the time Circe had emerged from her hoard, the rest of her Coven had gathered by the entrance of the hideout. They all huddled together, deep in discussion, voices overlapping in hurried whispers and sharp commands. Tension filled the room like thick, terrible smoke, suffocating every member of the Coven. Whatever was outside was moments from being inside, and every little sound from the other side of the hastily-made doors made even Circe nearly jump.
"Everyone!" Circe's commanding voice stopped the others in their tracks. She held out the frozen branch in the center of her Coven's huddle. "I need your help with this. Gather round and channel your energies with me into the ice. We need to melt it, and a normal fire will not do."
Nikki rifled through her many potion vials. After a moment's pause, she fished a series of tiny bottles with frost-colored liquid inside. Medusa passed Circe the axe and stood guard at the door, preparing her gaze of stone for the incoming invasion. The rest of the Coven drank Nikki's potions and converged their magic upon the elven branch.
Circe's power forced its way into the stone, while Helena's hexes covered the outside of the ice. The ghouls of Salem's many lost witches seeped up from the ground to grab hold of the branch through its frigid coffin. Kande's magic flowed from the enchanted needles in her hands, creating a blinding light that looked somewhat like Medusa's stone gaze.
The ice began to shimmer. The Coven Leader let out another nervous giggle and turned towards the door of the hideout.
"Keep focusing your magic into the ice!" Helena called, snapping Circe's attention back to the task at hand.
Slowly, slowly, the ice imprisoning the elven branch began to melt away. The wind outside picked up, promising to shroud the Coven hideout in blankets of thick snow. Inside the walls of the hideout, thin white clouds formed, covering even their inner sanctum with thin layers of frost.
The Coven pushed harder, focusing all their magic on the branch that seemed to resist their efforts with every cast. The ice encasing it melted even more, and the snowfall inside the hideout increased in its fervor. The Coven began to see the layers of snow at their feet swirling around them, carried off by the wind this stubborn wand was producing. Before long, this snow consumed them entirely, and the sorcerers found themselves at the center of a snowy tornado. Some wood started to emerge from the prison of snow encasing the elven branch. They were almost there. Just a little--
Knock. Knock.
A slow, deliberate sound. It echoed through the hideout like a death knell. All of the Coven whipped towards the door, ignoring their previous task. The whirlwind of snow around them came to a stop, and the room went deathly still.
Then came the foul smell of disease. A sickly, rotten stench flooded the air, thick and rancid, like a hundred bodies left to fester under a hot sun. It burned the inside of the Coven's noses, clung to their tongues. The taste of death filled the air, seeping into their every breath.
Circe's stomach twisted. The others had already turned toward the door. Weapons were drawn. Spells hung on the edge of casting.
The door creaked open.
A figure stepped inside. Medusa's stone gaze bounced off the cracked glass of their mask like it was nothing. Their bright blue cloak fluttered in the dying wind, pristine despite the snow they had trudged through and the filth that curled in the air. Their long beaked mask gleamed a golden glow in the dim light. Black feathers and long, sharp talons jutted out beneath their cape, stabbing the stone floors of the Coven hideout with a clack in each step. Smoke coiled from the lantern they carried, twisting in the air like claws grasping at whatever was nearby.
Their gaze-- their empty, endless gaze-- settled on the Coven Leader. "Circe."
Not a question, but a statement. A claim.
Circe stepped forward. The realization had settled long before they'd spoken, but now it was undeniable. She bared her teeth in something halfway between a grin and a snarl. "Pestilence."
The Horseman tilted their head slightly, a bemused look flashing in their eyes. "Such an honor, to finally be worthy of that title..." Pestilence mused. Their abyssal gaze scanned the room, passing each of the Coven before finally landing on Kande and Bakt. "You couldn't stop at just three, could you?"
Circe shifted her stance to put herself firmly between Pestilence and the newest members of the Coven. "I'll stop when I please. What's it to you?"
Pestilence exhaled, voice smooth and measured. "You have robbed us. You have robbed Death." Their fingers tightened slightly on the lantern's handle. "I am here to balance the scales."
Circe arched a brow. "How so?"
Pestilence took a slow, deliberate step forward. "Your people," they said, voice eerily calm, "lay dying in the streets. Their souls are the price you shall pay for the ones standing in this room. You and your ill-gotten Coven will join them..." A pause. "Unless you'd like to surrender them willingly? Your people are not all dead yet-- you might still save your home if you return what you have stolen."
Circe blinked slowly. Then she laughed, a sharp, bright, utterly mocking laugh. The Coven Leader laughed and laughed at this poor fool who thought they could threaten her by giving her everything she had ever wanted.
"Oh, you idiot." Circe shook her head, letting the laughter curl around her words like venom. "You think I cared about those people? You think I considered them mine?" She gestured towards the town outside, where Salem's dead still smoldered in Pestilence's fog of disease. "No, this wretched place isn't my home, not anymore. You did me a favor, birdbrain. I wanted that town dead, and you went ahead and did the dirty work for me." Circe gave a slight bow, retaining her mocking smirk. "So, thank you, Pestilence. You may leave now."
"Oh?" A pause. Pestilence fell silent for a moment, processing Circe's expression. They tilted their head, slowly, like it was being pulled by puppet strings. "Ahem."
Pestilence's lantern pulsed, the sickly glow seeming to warp the space around it. "Still. You have seen what I can do." Their voice was soft, almost pitying. "You have witnessed my work firsthand. I have no particular need for you, Circe-- but if you refuse me, then you will join this town in their fate." The Horseman stepped forward, eyes locked with the entire Coven now. "I will have their souls. All of them."
Circe's expression darkened, her face returning to that twisted snarl she wore when Pestilence arrived. The light of the moon swirled in the Coven Leader's hands as they made their way towards the axe at her back. "Not a chance in Hell. Get the fuck out, before I make you."
Pestilence exhaled, slow and patient. "Very well." Their voice barely shifted, but the air in the room shook. "Then I will have to punish you directly."
The satisfying crack of glass stopped Pestilence from advancing further. Red liquid boiled and burned the Horseman's mask, sending them reeling backwards.
The rest of the Coven wasted no time. Medusa lunged forward, her sword gleaming with golden light as she swung at Pestilence's exposed side.
The Horseman reacted fast. They twisted away from Medusa's blade before it could cut too deep. Their talons scraped against the frost-covered stone of the Coven hideout, towards the mountains of snow behind them. Their lantern burst with another wave of diseased smoke that Medusa blocked with her shield before it could reach her face.
Repeated slashes slowly drove the Horseman back, inches at a time. Pestilence's wounds healed as quickly as they formed. No matter. Medusa was used to battles like this. Slow, drawn out wars of attrition against a pursuer sent by the gods reminded the gorgon of Perseus. It reminded her of the depths Perseus had sunk to in the aim of collecting her head. Just as she had always been, Medusa was more concerned with survival than victory. The tight walls, the lingering smoke, the lack of space to maneuver-- all combined to make the Coven hideout a death trap if they stayed too long.
All Medusa had to do was push Pestilence out. But she couldn't do it alone.
Kande took the opening. A flick of her wrist sent poisoned needles flying. The moment the black poison embedded in them breached Pestilence's cloak, a sizzling hiss peeked out over the sounds of raging battle. Though the venomous barbs barely grazed the Horseman's skin beneath the layer of feathers and fabric, that was enough. The venom wouldn't slow Pestilence down much, but it irritated, distracted, gave Medusa another fraction of a second to press forward.
Pestilence staggered back. Their movements were a fraction less precise, a millisecond slower. Just enough to be noticeable. Just enough for the Coven to know that they were making progress. The Horseman's lantern flickered wildly, as if it had life, as if it could react to the distress of its wielder. But Pestilence was far from defeated.
Pestilence snarled, a guttural, inhuman sound. With an abrupt sweep of their arm, a new wave of that foul-smelling smoke erupted from their lantern, threatening to flood the room in an instant. The Coven tried to avoid breathing it in, but the curse of the gods was inescapable. They all recoiled, coughing as the sickness in the air clawed at their lungs. Medusa and Kande took the brunt of the impact, using Medusa's shield to keep Pestilence at bay while remaining close enough to push the Horseman further back.
Nikki darted to the side, another vial in hand, its contents swirling that familiar red. She hurled it without hesitation, and the glass shattered at Pestilence's feet. Acid ate into the stone, splashed at the Horseman and the foul smoke that surrounded them. It didn't hit. It didn't have to. The crack of glass, the reminder of the acid that slowly melted Pestilence's mask and bleached the fabric of their cloak, was enough to push them just a bit further back. To create space. To make the Horseman step where the Coven wanted them to.
Bakt slammed her hands to the floor. Her mask pulsed with eerie light that shifted between purple and green. The ghouls at her side surged from the shadows. They lunged at Pestilence, clawing furiously at the Horseman, their wails filling the air with an otherworldly keening. Pestilence barely reacted, tearing through the ghouls as if they were little more than mist, but it slowed them down. Medusa had another opening to slash at Pestilence and drive the Horseman back. That was all that mattered.
Pestilence snarled. A sweeping arc of their lantern forced Medusa to twist away at the last second. Kande ducked another strike, barely avoiding the sickly green fumes that followed. Nikki recoiled as Pestilence's gaze flicked toward her, already preparing another vial, but before the Horseman could lunge, Bakt clenched her fists, forcing the wraiths to reform, to attack again. Spectral hands clawed at Pestilence's limbs, earning a sharp, irritated hissed.
It wasn't hurting them, not enough to matter. But it was working. The entrance to the Coven hideout loomed just behind Pestilence now. The Coven just needed one last push.
Circe led the charge. The Coven Leader hefted the axe Medusa had given her. Circe swung with everything she had, pushed past the burning in her muscles until the blade struck true, plunging deep into Pestilence's shoulder.
The Coven struck as one. Helena threw one of her enchanted rings. The moment it grazed Pestilence's wrist, the magic activated, clamping down like an iron shackle. Medusa's blade cut low. Small and precise movements pushed Pestilence further and further. Kande's second round of needles followed. Nikki hurled another vial, its acid turning Pestilence's mask into a warped shell of itself. Bakt's ghouls lurched towards the Horseman all at once, clawing, pulling, dragging Pestilence backwards.
The entrance gaped open behind them. With a final, forceful shove, Pestilence was out.
The Coven burst forth from their hideout. An intense wave of smoke filled the room, blinding the Coven to all the world and filling their lungs with that foul sensation of disease. It burned against their skin, clung to their throats, threatened to pull them under like a rising tide of rot. All of the Coven, save for one, squeezed their eyes tight on instinct. Helena forced hers open and growled through her pain. The whites of Helena's eyes turned pitch black. The magic of her allies flickered to life before Helena's blackened eyes amidst the choking, unnatural fog. The Coven's stumbling movements burned bright in her vision. Helena's eyes locked onto the brilliant shine of Circe's magic, the flickering embers of Medusa's thin hold on spellcraft, the shifting lights of the remaining Coven members.
Helena rushed to Circe's side and grabbed her wrist. The Hex Master pulled her beloved close. Helena gazed into Circe's magic for a second too long before turning sharply and scanning through the cursed fog for the rest of the Coven. One by one, she found them. Bakt's steady, strained movements, pursuing the singular goal of moving forward at all costs. Medusa and Kande, clasping hands to stay together as their magic pulsed weakly through the haze. Nikki's bright swirls of splashing potions that she repeatedly downed to keep the smoke from eating away at her lungs.
Helena moved fast. She snatched Bakt by the shoulder and nodded towards the others. The Necromancer bristled, then gave a curt nod in return. No words were needed to cross the chasm between here and the edge of this accursed fog. With Helena leading the charge, the three of them reached the rest of their Coven, pulling them towards the only thing that mattered.
For a moment, Helena glanced at Pestilence's otherworldly power-- not magic, but something else. The force around the Coven pulsed, shifted, flickered in the air in ways that made Helena's skin crawl and her vision swim. The curse of the gods seemed to twist reality itself.
Helena gritted her teeth. She needed to focus. She led the Coven through the smoke, weaving through the haze as Pestilence's divine might loomed behind them. Every step was a battle against her own lungs, against the corrupting air that threatened to suffocate them all.
A burst of movement drew Helena's attention. Helena barely yanked Circe back in time to avoid a sweep of Pestilence's lantern. Its sickly glow just missed the Coven Leader. Helena shoved Nikki forward, guiding her away from another wave of smoke that curled unnaturally toward them, as if it were a living thing, seeking them out. Medusa ducked low and pulled Kande with her as a ripple of Pestilence's power shattered the cobblestone roads behind the pair.
The Coven kept moving, kept running, kept pushing towards the exit they couldn't see. Pestilence pressed closer, their divine energy clawing at the edges of Helena's vision and seeping into the rest of the Coven's lungs. They were so close.
With one final burst forward, the Coven broke free.
The moment they stumbled past the densest of the fog, the shift was impossible to ignore. Circe and Helena noticed it immediately-- the thick, suffocating smoke that had once consumed Salem had receded. Remnants of the sickly green haze lingered in the air, but it no longer smothered the entire town. It was a far cry from the thick haze that Circe and Helena had seen less than an hour ago, blanketing the streets of Salem so thickly they could barely see the field of corpses they had become.
Circe's gaze flickered across the emptied town. Helena glanced back towards the hideout. Their eyes landed on each other. They both realized it at the same time. Pestilence had withdrawn the smoke from most of the town, concentrating its divine might onto a single target. Them.
A grim realization, but not without advantage. The streets stretched ahead, wide and open. There were no more blind corners, no more suffocating walls of smoke pressing in from all sides. The Coven could breathe, for just a moment. The witches took the brief reprieve to move further into the streets. They slipped through the skeletal remains of Salem's buildings as if the town was still after them.
Nikki pressed against the stone of a crumbling alleyway, checking the remaining vials at her belt. Medusa rolled her shoulders until the tension from her arms loosened. Bakt adjusted the wrappings on her wrist and called her ghouls to her side. Helena gingerly pressed a hand to her ribs, testing a sore area that was certainly going to bruise. Kande crouched down and studied the terrain, occasionally muttering to herself while drawing a crude map in the dirt with one of her needles.
Circe stood a short distance away from the rest. The Coven Leader gripped her axe so tightly it hurt. Her gaze flickered between the Coven at her side, the town around her, and the dense cloud of fog still surrounding the Coven hideout. An inferno raged in her eyes, barely contained.
The rest of the Coven glanced at each other for a moment, before Nikki broke the silence. "Should we run?"
"Running's not an option. They'll just hunt us down," Helena sighed, rolling enchanted rings between her fingers as she scanned the many buildings still locked tight. "We won't even get our revenge on this accursed place."
"And I'm tired of running for my life," Medusa hissed. "The gods won't break us that easily."
"We were barely able to damage that thing!" Nikki glanced around nervously, bracing herself for Pestilence to pop out of the thin fog at any moment. "Do you... do you really think we can kill it?"
"If the Horseman decides this fight isn't worth the effort..." Bakt trailed off. Her voice was distant again, her attention split between the spirits and the Coven. "We might be able to drag this out, make them back off," Bakt continued, addressing the Coven directly this time.
Kande scoffed. "We're supposed to tire out a Horseman of the Apocalypse?"
"It's not ideal." Bakt tilted her head. "But it's better than getting wiped out.
Circe shifted. She couldn't look her Coven in the eyes. Something about this gnawed at the back of her mind. The thought of waging a battle of attrition against an immortal being felt deeply wrong. Pestilence was the one with the luxury of time. Just surviving, enduring, wouldn't be good enough. There had to be something else. There was another path forward, somewhere, but it was just out of reach. Circe gripped her axe tight enough to make her knuckles turn pale.
Helena gave Circe a gentle smile. "It's the best shot we have for now, my love."
Circe's face softened, but she said nothing. Was it? Was this really the best they could do?
A low, reverberating sound echoed through the streets of Salem. The foul smell of disease filled the air. The ground beneath the Coven darkened, rot seeping into the stones like there was life in them to drain. Pestilence emerged from the mist within an alleyway, moving with the brisk, unrelenting pace Circe and Helena had seen when floating above Salem from the broomstick. The lantern swung at their side, the glow inside pulsing like a heartbeat, releasing faint tendrils of noxious smoke.
The Coven drew their weapons, primed their spells. Circe had seen it, when she buried her axe in Pestilence's shoulder. The Horseman could be wounded, if only slightly. Despite Pestilence's regeneration, there was something there for the Coven to exploit.
"Focus everything on one spot!" Circe barked, racing forward with her axe at the ready.
Helena raised her hands, magic crackling at her fingertips as she traced a hex into the air. A veil of darkness consumed Pestilence's lantern, seeping into every crevice of the artefact. The worst of the poisonous fumes were choked out before they could spill into the air.
Nikki yanked a firebomb from her belt and hurled it with a grunt. The glass shattered against Pestilence's side. Orange flames roared to life, burning bright against the sickly green smoke that surrounded them. The molten liquid of the firebombs clung to Pestilence's cloak, their feathers, the skin beneath them all, fueling more flames that dug deep into the Horseman's flesh. Pestilence adjusted, just barely.
The spectral forms of Bakt's ghouls materialized from the shadows in the alleyway. Their forms flickered with eerie light as they latched onto Pestilence's limbs. Their claws slashed and grabbed and scratched, digging into Pestilence's talons to hold them in place. The spirits of Salem's many lost witches screamed their pain, a chorus of restless dead demanding retribution, recompense, revenge.
Kande followed a moment later. She dipped her needles in a vial of amber liquid that hissed on contact with the air, then flung the needles at the opening Nikki had created. The moment the needles struck Pestilence's cloak, they sizzled violently, burning through fabric and seeping into their bones.
Circe and Medusa wasted no time in exploiting the opening. Their blades tore at Pestilence with ruthless precision. Medusa's sword carved deep, her strength forcing Pestilence's form to buckle for the briefest second. Circe followed immediately, her axe biting into the same wound, widening it with every brutal swing. They worked in an unspoken rhythm-- cut, tear, strike-- hitting the exact same spot, again and again, relentlessly, refusing to let Pestilence heal before they had done real damage.
Pestilence jerked under the assault. Their movements became as sluggish as the divine ichor that spilled from their wound and seeped into the fabric of their coat. A sharp, wet sound escaped from the gash, followed by a hiss from Pestilence's half-melted mask. It sounded like pain, if something like a Horseman of the Apocalypse could feel pain.
It felt like progress, until the arms of Bakt's ghouls snapped in half, and the hex Helena had cast to keep the fog at bay faded.
The lantern in Pestilence's grasp burned brighter than ever. As Pestilence freed themself from the grasp of Bakt's ghouls, that lantern swung at Circe and Medusa. The divine force within Pestilence's weapon sent a pulse of sickly green light blasting outward with terrifying force. The Coven recoiled, nearly knocked off their feet as the Horseman lashed out at everything around them. Despite their panic, Pestilence's attacks were their strikes impossibly fast, impossibly strong. One misstep would mean death. The Coven had no choice but to stay light on their feet, dodging, weaving, keeping just out of reach.
Just a breath of hesitation. A second of lost momentum. The wound they had carved into Pestilence's form stitched itself back together, the dark ichor retreating as if it had never left. The fire along their cloak dimmed and died. The spirits gripping them dissipated into nothing.
No. No, no, no--!
"Fall back!" Helena grabbed her beloved's hand and pulled away from the fight. The rest of the Coven broke off, retreating into the streets, gasping for breath, scrambling for a way out of the jaws of death.
Circe's gaze flickered towards the gallows in the town square. Against the screams of Salem's many lost witches, she bolted towards them, and her Coven paused for a moment before they followed.
The gallows remained pristine, untouched by the curse of the gods and the violent spells that had been flung around them. The worn wood of the gallows thrummed with holy power. It was a terrible thing, a sound that made the Coven Leader's skin crawl with all the horrible memories attached to that foul god and his mission of genocide.
One such horrible memory rose to the surface. The gallows had been used to expel a demon... could they do the same to a Horseman?
Pestilence lingered in the distance, just as wary to approach the noose as the Coven had been. Circe's idea seemed to hold more water now. If only she could hold the Horseman long enough...
The frozen branch in Circe's bag sent a chill up Circe's spine. Perfect. They just needed to make their way through the rest of the ice.
"Everyone, get over here!" Circe called, holding out the branch towards the Coven that had gathered around her. "This thing needs more power!"
The Coven wasted no time. Magic surged from their hands, their souls, their very breath, pouring into the wand. Ribbons of power-- hexes, elemental forces, the borrowed souls of Salem's many lost witches.
Pestilence lurched forward at a breakneck pace, broken out of whatever trance had kept them at bay until now. The branch wouldn't melt fast enough. The Coven exchanged glances-- someone had to stall the Horseman.
"I'll go." Helena spoke before anyone else could.
"Absolutely not." More rage leaked from Circe's voice than she'd planned. "You will die."
"I'm the strongest one here." Helena puffed up her chest in a show of bravery. "I have the best chance of surviving this."
Circe's breath caught in her throat. The Hex Master's eyes said what her voice could not. Helena was willing to die for Circe. But she wouldn't-- couldn't-- say that out loud.
Instead, the rascal stole a kiss on Circe's cheek. "I'll be fine. I love you, Circe." Helena's smile didn't reach her watering eyes.
Circe's magic surged wildly in her hands. Her rage, her desperation, her fear-- all of it burned through her veins like wildfire. "I love you too."
The clacking of Helena's shoes faded into the night. Circe lunged after her beloved, but hands grabbed her arms before she could take more than a step. Medusa, Nikki, Kande-- all of them held their Coven Leader back, straining as she thrashed against their grip.
"Let me go!" Circe's magic crackled. Her fingers twitched toward the axe on her back.
"Not happening," Medusa growled. "She gave you an opening. Don't waste it."
"The faster we juice up this wand," Kande added, voice sharper than the needles she wielded, "the faster we can help your girlfriend. So get it together and focus."
Circe bared her teeth, half a second away from biting the nearest hand keeping her in place. The Coven Leader let out a furious, strangled sound, her whole body trembling with the force of what she wanted to do versus what she had to do. Her nails dug into her palms as she forced herself to turn back to the wand, pouring every ounce of power she had into it. "I'm going to kill you all," she snarled, voice laced with venom.
Bakt tilted her head, a knowing smile hidden beneath her mask. "I'm sure you will," the Necromancer chuckled.
Across the streets that had become their arena, Helena fought alone.
Circe tried not to watch. She failed. Every time Pestilence's talons slashed through the air, Circe braced for the hit. Every time Helena staggered, Circe felt the pain in her own ribs. Every strike Helena took, every hit she barely dodged, felt like a knife twisting inside Circe's ribs. The rational part of her knew Helena was strong. Knew she could hold her own. The rest of her-- the part still burning with the pain of her sisters' deaths-- unraveled at the seams.
Circe desperately wanted to move. She wanted to send someone else to help. She wanted to tear herself free, grab her axe, and rip Pestilence apart with her bare hands. Wanted to do something, anything but stand there and wait.
Anything other than watch another Coven die before her eyes.
Circe's hands shook with cold and rage. The Coven Leader hissed curses through gritted teeth.
Finally, finally, the ice shattered.
Helena dove out of the way as Pestilence lunged forward-- right into range of the Coven.
Circe didn't hesitate. "NOW!"
A blinding flash of light erupted from the elven wand, followed by a blast of air so cold it threatened to freeze the Coven's very bones. Frost raced across the cobbled streets of Salem, a wave of Northern winter engulfing all in its path. The Coven's eyes stung, their hands burned, their breath froze in their mouths. But they held on.
When vision returned to Circe's eyes, Pestilence stood frozen, encased in jagged ice up to the neck.
"That won't hold forever." The Coven Leader reached for her axe. "Let's move."
Nikki rushed to Helena's side nearly as fast as Circe herself. The Potion Master pulled a green vial from her bag and shoved it into Helena's hands. The Hex Master downed the potion as quickly as she could. Warmth spread through Helena's frigid chest. The worst of her wounds knitted together.
The rest of the Coven seized Pestilence's frozen form. None dared to use a touch of magic, lest they disturb the ice that kept the Horseman in place. With the strength of their bodies alone, the Coven dragged Pestilence towards the gallows. The closer they got, the more the air seemed to resist them, thick with the unnatural weight of holy power. As if Yahweh himself was rejecting what these witches were about to do.
Ice cracked under the Coven's feet as they climbed atop the pedestal where the gallows stood. Medusa looped the rope around Pestilence's throat, pulling it tight, while Nikki and Bakt secured the knots. With one final glance at each other, Circe and Helena pulled the lever as one.
The trapdoor fell beneath Pestilence's feet. A low, guttural groan rattled from deep within the Horseman's chest. The Coven braced themselves, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing.
That same terrible smoke spewed from Pestilence's lantern, thicker than ever at such a short distance.
Circe's vision swam. Helena's coughs rattled like bones. Medusa's snakes thrashed in pain. Nikki heaved, the contents of her stomach emptying onto the stone platform of the gallows. Kande swayed on her feet, clutching her head. Bakt's hands trembled as she fought to keep focus. One by one, they all felt it. The sickness creeping in, clawing at their lungs, seeping into their veins.
Circe's mind raced. Why wasn't it working? She knew well the divine power these wretched gallows held. She had seen it first hand. It had been used against her sisters before her very eyes. She had used it herself.
Realization struck Circe like lightning. The prayer.
The Coven Leader could still hear it in the back of her mind, in the disgusting voice of her sisters' killer as she was forced to turn to her worst nightmare for help. The words that had called down something far beyond Circe's understanding. Circe would not make that mistake again. She would never swear fealty to that foul god.
She would need a prayer all her own. Circe staggered forward, pressing her palm against the wood of the gallows that had caused her so much pain. Beneath her touch, Yahweh's weapon of mass death made Circe shiver with its divine power. Before her memories could claw at her soul, the Coven Leader spoke.
"Ye who have judged before, judge again."
"Ye who have taken life, take again."
"By this rope, by this wood, by the hands of the condemned,"
"Let this be the last breath they steal."
Let this be the last plague they spread."
"What was done cannot be undone, but what remains can yet be cleansed."
"Let the gods' debt be paid."
The gallows upon which the Coven stood began to glow a pale blue. A sharp crack rang through the air. Pestilence let out a scream that sounded more human than divine. The noose tightened around their neck. With a final, sickening snap, their neck broke.
The light in Pestilence's lantern flickered, then died out. Their body crumbled, the last remnants of their immortal form dissolving into dust.
The wind shifted. That thick, choking smoke that had suffocated Salem for hours thinned, twisting away until it had faded completely into the night. The rot in the air vanished. The weight pressing down upon the Coven's lungs lifted. The curse of the gods was gone.
A red-haired young man holding a baby in one arm dared to open his door. The man's breath rose in the crisp air of winter. A snowflake landed gently on the little one's nose, invoking a small giggle that spread infectiously to his father. For the first time in what felt like eternity, the air outside smelled clean. No rot, no sickness, no thick, suffocating miasma that clawed at his lungs even through the protection of his home. The young man stepped onto the threshold, hesitantly, like the world might collapse beneath his feet.
Confusion and awe flickered across his face. He scanned the streets of Salem, blinking rapidly as if to wake himself from a dream. This couldn't be real. This man had seen so many die in that fog-- so many bodies still lay in the streets, crumpled like trash. The nightmare couldn't have been over just like that... could it?
The young man's eyes landed on the gallows in the town square. On the magic still swirling around it. On the witches, the vile creatures who certainly sent this hellstorm Salem's way, sitting around the pedestal like they were catching their breath.
A scream shattered the quiet of a winter's night.
Chapter 8/30
