Nao’s hands shook, as she held her rifle up, watching monsters swarming the walls of Aleron. The Witchborne appeared to have no weakness, the only way to get rid of them is to keep hitting them until they are no more.

Nao held a certain pride, becoming a double practitioner at both body and Energy at her age was an undeniable achievement, yet she had always been a few steps behind many. Jorish, Anise, and Dyce, the ones who joined them half a year ago, before climbing the ranks rapidly.

She didn’t hold a grudge, she saw what they could do, and respected and awed them. However, she felt… weak. Her abilities made her a danger, a hunter in the battlefield, yet she lacked something simple. She lacked power.

The Witchborne swarmed them harder, Nao barely interrupting them as she fired, injuring many, but killing none. She felt frustrated at her inability, but she knew that she had begun walking a path. To ride a tiger is one thing, but to dismount… is another.

Nao looked at the sky, darkening as it gave a chill that penetrated into her very bones. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but her senses and instincts told her one thing, it was not good.

Suddenly, the wave of Witchborne stopped. Nao held off a sigh of relief, as loud hooves were heard from the distance. Nao moved Energy into her eyes, magnifying her vision and surroundings, as blood drained from her face, turning pale as she shook.

Each Witchborne needed a practitioner to deal with, or five to ten talented soldiers, where at least one or two might fall. They dealt with waves of a few Witchborne, but what she was on the horizon… was despair. Hundreds of Witchborne rushing, a sea of destruction, a wave of death.

At that moment, a loud horn sounded in the skies. Nao turned around instinctively, as hope sprung back into her eyes.

- - - - -

Jorish ran, making sure to keep up with the group as they rushed forward into the dying land. He waited as a deadly silence reigned, none daring to speak to break its walls.

He looked around, noting their group. In the front was Jorish, running in the lead. Following him were Cail, the Sword Saint, and Reinold, the free blade. He looked at the side, noticing Dyce and his missing eye, as well as Anise.

Jorish felt his muscles tensing, the spear in his hand his only comfort, the touch of rough wood giving him peace and confidence, to fight. No matter what.

The wall of silence broke, as Traves spoke. “We aren’t ready yet, but with Malik’s fight with the Witch, she must have fallen back to her lair here to recover, I can taste the death in the air.”

Cail looked at Traves. “Not all our reinforcements are here, most importantly, he isn’t here yet.”

Jorish grunted, nodding. “Indeed, but every second, every moment, is priceless. We cannot afford to delay.”

Everyone nodded, as she kept moving forward relentlessly. Jorish looked at the skies, getting darker and darker, yet he knew it was noon, they were deep in the Witch’s lair, he grimaced, feeling the power going to his body lessen, but he didn’t have a choice, he had to help with whatever he could.

Suddenly, Traves stopped. He gestured at everyone to stop, as his eyes burned crimson for a moment. He spoke quietly, as he stood ahead of a tight cave entrance. “She is here. Behind this point she awaits us, let us end her darkness once and for all.”

Reinold nodded, as he, Cail, and the Sword Saint started entering the cave. Jorish stood outside the door, turning his back to the entrance as he held his weapon, planning to stop whatever decided to dare to disturb the battle inside.

After a few minutes, he could hear something rushing from the horizon. He saw as tens, hundreds even of Witchborne approached them from the distance. He looked to the side, watching Anise and Dyce, as a smile appeared on all their faces.

He held his spear, spun it around before slamming its back to the floor. He stood, Anise and Dyce by his side before he spoke.

“Ah, just like old times. Let’s bring… Justice.”

- - - - -

Traves stepped, moved slowly but surely. His group moved through the cave entrance, careful to close off any leakage of Energy; with the Witch pre-occupied by healing her injuries and recovering her power, her senses will be weaker, but she would definitely sense any leakage of Energy, for it was her nature, to devour Energy.

He didn’t think they would succeed in ambushing her, but every moment before she figures out what is going on, is another moment they are prepared, and she is not. Traves held the Voyage, his trusty sword, and companion, his fingers tracing its edge slowly. Finally, it slowed down, touching the flickering green tip. World’s End… There, I stood, hopeless, yet it gave me hope. Now, it gives us all hope. Our only hope.

Traves looked back, there were missing one member, as well as some support, which he wasn’t sure he was getting anyway, but with all that happened, it would be enough, after Malik’s…

Malik.

Traves’ body trembled, relaxing as he felt a hand, squeezing his shoulder. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Cail, he understood him well, too well. Even after so long, even after witnessing many deaths, watching almost everyone he knew and loved die, either by the cruelty of the world or as the sands of time claimed them, it never lost its sting, the pain never subdued.

But now is not the time. Traves knew, getting his focus back at the topic in hand. He knew, even with the Witch’s weakness, they weren’t enough. It was true, they were a single Monarch, and three Candidates. No, not just three candidates. If there were any Candidates who could do that, it would be them.

As they walked, they kept alert, not knowing how deep the cave was, being unable to use Cail’s abilities was a handicap for sure. Traves kept walking slowly, the touch of silver on his face giving him calm and confidence, filling him with controlled fury, his blade promising to finish the job, that his master once started.

Turning a corner, Traves stepped forward as usual, as time froze, at the end of the path stood the Witch, appearing uninjured yet deep in meditation. She stood hundreds of meters away, impossible to ambush. The moment Traves crossed that corner, he could see the Witch beginning to react.

Yet, less than a moment later, Traves crossed that distance, demonic flames burned in the sockets of his mask, his blade stroke bloody red, dashing towards the Witch’s neck, finally grinding against the invisible shield that just appeared in time, a line of red streaked on the Witch’s neck, telling of how close she treaded to Traves’ blade. A moment later, the cave quaked as the space where Traves stood exploded, a moment too late as Traves switched back to his wind core, dash into safety. He fell back, uninjured externally, yet he coughed blood, his earlier extrusion taking much from him.

Suddenly, a web of darkness spread all around the cave, as Traves felt his speed, power, and his very life drain for a moment before a blue glow overpowered the dark aura. He didn’t need to turn or ask, as the flow of information rushed into his head. They didn’t need to look, for they could see. They didn’t need to speak, for they could understand. And they did not need to fear the Witch’s aura, for when the Artifactor releases his Energy, none other can outpower it.

Traves stood, feeling everyone’s determination, plans, and thoughts, prepared to fight the Witch.