Irene smiled to herself. That was cutting it close. If those bigoted Hunters had waited another minute or two, she would have had to change her plans. It was not that she could not assault the fortress they had erected to bar her path, it was more a case of she did not want to. Not when she could lure them all out here in the open.

“Admit it, my dear,” her companion’s voice dripped with satisfaction as it cracked inside her head. “You are glad we stopped our little act. If we had continued any further, you might have actually revealed that you do have a heart.” She could feel the thing’s smile and it annoyed her.

So, Ingo Nox had changed the topic on purpose, just to get some reaction from her. Why did she agree to this idiotic plan in the first place? There was no reason for her and her companion to pretend that they were sharing some great secrets. All that was said, were things both of them knew from the moment she awoke for the first time all those centuries ago. Yet, she had allowed it to convince her, that this was in case someone was listening. At first, Irene thought that the demon meant Margo, and she had to admit that it was tempting to place several nasty curses on the woman if she tried something so stupid. Nothing lethal or major, though, a little mixture of uncontrolled bladder, upset stomach and a persistent itch. Just enough to drive her in panic and to let her know that she had fucked up.

Instead, it was those thirteen arrogant idiots who were listening in and that strange abomination of a spirit, Irene had felt. At first, they were scattered all over the area, but the spirit brought them together one by one to the top of the Castle before all of them used some very powerful spells to jump through the fabric of reality to where she stood. There was only one thing that Irene could not understand. Did they honestly think she could not sense them? After the effort they went through to set up a barrier around the Frozen Keep just to keep her away, this seemed like a novice’s mistake.

And here they were, the fabled Thirteen in all their glory and in the middle of their heroic group were two men. One of them, Irene recognised as the boy she killed in the swamp outside of Esthergrad, not far from where they were standing right now. She thought she had dealt with any future problems the pretty blonde boy was going to cause. Apparently, she had been wrong. However, now that he was close enough, Irene could recognise that he was nothing but an empty husk puppeteered by a hideous amalgamation of different spirits. Quite the grotesque sight, if she was honest. Ironic too, considering how obsessed with tradition and perfection their kind was. The other man, she did not know.

“I can’t believe he is alive,” her companion sneered while retreating a few steps. “What a curious boy, to have survived for so long after stealing Uther’s coin from you.”

“Really?” Irene winced as she reached out to peer into the man’s mind, finding nothing at all.

This was both unexpected and very disturbing. The man was an anathema to both spirits and demons, his very presences disrupting the connection she had with her companion. To the average witch, he would be a deadly opponent, rendering them stunned and confused. However, to Irene, he was an irritating obstacle.

“Irene Navina,” the leader of the Thirteen stepped forward. “Or should I say, Alice the Fist Witch?”

Alice the Witch Hunte, as she preferred to be addressed, was the embodiment of what it meant to be a Witch Hunter. A poleaxe in hand, a steel breastplate on her chest and a regal presence and a long silver hair, contrasting to her bright jade-coloured eyes. She almost looked like a copy of Irene, if she bothered to appear as a ruler. Still, the woman is a deadly fighter, and a skilled commander, who embraced the fanatical teachings of the Order and followed the laws to their letter. So, much wasted potential in that woman. However, that did not mean she could be taken lightly. Individually, Irene was stronger than each of them, but she had doubts about facing them as a group.

“Oh, please!” Her companion exclaimed. “You will kill them all, without a second thought.” She felt its hunger as it laughed inside her head. “Admit it, you don’t want to get hurt, just to spite me.”

Irene ignored the remark, mostly because it was true. If it comes to a serious fight, she would win by the simple fact that she could recover from any wound they delivered. Although durable and strong, Witch Hunters were not immortal and Irene should know. After all, she created them for the sole purpose of destroying the arrogance of the witches.

“And out of spite, don’t forget that,” her companion chimed in, interrupting her thoughts again. “It’s one of your most appealing qualities.”

“I would prefer if you don’t,” Irene answered the question, flashing the Thirteen her sweetest smile. “But if you insist, I shall address you with your true name, Rafaella of House Ost.”

This removed the judgmental scowl from the woman’s face, replacing it with one born of anger. However, Irene was not finished and continued speaking in her usual bored tone, which they were all too familiar with.

“What I find interesting, is how you know of that name? It’s almost like as if someone was talking a little too much, about things they should have kept quiet,” she looked at the abomination of a spirit, wishing that her gaze would be enough to kill it.

“We do not care about what you wish!” The gathered woman roared as one, silenced a moment later by a gesture from their leader.

“You are guilty of witchcraft,” Rafaella stated flatly. “Do not make this any harder and accept your death with dignity.”

“Not how I planned for this reunion to go,” Irene sighed and shook her head. “I was hoping to convince you all to join me…”

“None here will listen to the words of a witch!” The shout came from the back of the small crowd. Irene did not recognise the person’s voice at first, but thankfully Rafaella turned her head to stare daggers at Beatrix.

“Listen here, children,” Irene hissed, gathering power at the tip of her fingers. “I don’t have a quarrel with you, yet. That’s why I’m giving you this one chance, back the fuck away. The choice to become my enemies is yours to make.”

That cooled their heads, well not all, at least a third of them were as hot-blooded as Beatrix. And there was also Ire, the only one of the gathered Witch Hunters, Irene truly disliked. However, the morbid woman was the only one who was slowly backing away, more interested in the unconscious girl than picking a fight. Which made sense, after all, she was the only one who had dared to challenge Irene Navina to an honour duel. In a way Ire’s honest hostility throughout the years was refreshing. She never made complicated plans and never took part in the cloak and dagger game the others liked to play. Perhaps it was because of this, she made her offer.

“Ire, darling, you want this child? You can take her and walk away, I give you my word, I will not come after you if you do so.” Irene could see the one-eyed woman was torn.

“Don’t listen to her poisoned words!” Beatrix and Rafaella screamed at the same time. This resulted in another exchange of murderous glares before the leader of the Thirteen spoke. “Nate, we continue as planned…”

“I’ll stop you right there,” Irene interrupted, not sure what they were trying to achieve with this stupidity. No, if they really placed their hopes for victory on the shoulders of that poor boy, there some really dark years awaiting the Witch Hunters. “Nate, is it? Nice to finally learn your name. Now, be a sweety and answer my question. Do you have the coin you stole from me?”

“Ignore her.” This time it was the abomination of a spirit that spoke.

“I lost it.” The man answered, looking directly at her. “For it matters, I am sorry for stealing it.”

“That’s ok,” Irene smiled kindly, as the clouds above them darkened. “However, I advise you to do as you did all those years ago and make yourself lost.”

“I’ll have to decline, madame, but I gave my word and it is all I have.” Irene burst into laughter, clutching at her sides trying not to fall on the ground.

“What’s so funny demon plaything?” Beatrix demanded as she and those who followed her stepped forward.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “That thing over there is a spirit abomination and you all are Witch Hunters, created to fight and resist demons.” The mirth evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. “Yet, you hide behind a fragile human, burdening him to go against me.”

“This is going to be interesting,” her companion licked its fangs and stood up from the unconscious girl.

“I created you to be the protects of those fragile creatures, because Margo’s gang of lunatics went too far. But I see, you have grown as arrogant as them. So be it, I will fix this mistake.”

Irene raised her left hand to the side with the palm facing the Witch Hunters and smiled at the man. Nate was the only one who had the proper state of mind to realise that the fight had begun. In a way she felt sorry for him, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, mistakes needed to be punished. At least she would make it quick, he deserved that much. Irene worded a soundless sorry and Nate’s lifeless body collapsed in the muddy soil of the swamp, his still-beating heart resting in her outstretched arm.

“His death is your fault.” She whispered as the Witch Hunters turned to look at the dead man with stunned terror. It was clear that they knew she was strong, but someone had obviously failed to inform them how vast the gap was between Alice the First Witch and those pale imitations they were so used to fighting. Even the abomination looked stunned and confused. It should have been expected, after all, only a handful of their kind had a clear idea how powerful Irene was.

She allowed the moment to stretch further, giving Zan and the other time to return with Arthur’s sword. It was not so much that she needed the weapon, but it reminded her of her former self-assigned bodyguard and she honestly missed his company. At the same time, Arthur von Krass had earned the right to stay by her side, after surviving the painful process of becoming a vampire, he had a primordial spirit of hate, borne of people’s collective emotions. If only he was here with her, Irene would have enjoyed seeing how he would deal with this flock of agitated birds. No. she needed the blade to fulfil an old promise. Irene would carve Arthur’s name on Margo’s heart.

Her attention returned to the gathered Witch Hunters, seeing their shock slowly fade away. Most were looking as if they were having second thoughts about challenging her. However, it was too late for that, Irene gave them a chance and they refused it. Unfortunate, but Irene would have to start rebuilding the Witch Hunters from nothing. Well, not nothing, by the looks of it, Ire was the only one to have some common sense. The morbid woman was slowly trying to move away from what was to become a battlefield.

“Please entertain them, while I deal with the abomination,” Irene told her companion, unleashing the power she gathered at the spirit thing.

“It will be my pleasure,” Ingo Nox answered with a smile and lunged at the Witch Hunters. “I have some small animals to torment!”

Two of the Thirteen died before the others realised the demon was amongst them. The blade in its hand decapitating one and splitting the other’s stomach. Satisfied that this got the others attention, Irene focused on the abomination wearing the youth’s body. It was an ugly thing, deformed and screaming in pain. However, it was not something she could deal with in a single blow.

The spirit directed immense energies trying to erase her from existence. But that only revealed that it had never fought for real. All its actions were those of someone who understood the power of magic while having no idea how to utilise its full potential. On top of that, the abomination thought that using the pure spells of the spirits to catch her off-guard. Irene scoffed at the inelegant attack and erected a simple, yet potent, barrier to protect herself.

Her response was swift, with a quiet word she demanded that the mud around the thing turn to sand. Trying to strike directly at it was pointless, something the abomination should have realised beforehand as well. Since it clearly hadn’t. Irene was going to educate it. In the blink of an eye, the spirit thing was buried to its waist in the sandpit. This was enough to distract it for a moment, giving the Witch a moment to attack it again, before focusing on her defences.

“Melt,” she demanded of the sand, burning it into hard rock. Protected as the thing was from magical attacks, be they from spirit or demon, its shell was that of a mortal.

Irene clicked her tongue in disappointment as the hideous wound she had inflicted began to heal. Why couldn’t it be an obedient abomination and die? She was about to unleash another attack when the thing disappeared only to reappear a few steps away from her slashing wildly with a dagger. A good choice, but futile. It only imitated how some of the most basic demons fought when given control of their host’s body. Irene took a step back and slapped the blade away with the back of her right hand, wincing at the cut it inflicted.

The Witch focused on the blood of the boy’s heart on her left hand, commanding it to obey her, she transformed it into shards of ice. With a thought, she sent the improvised weapons flying into the abomination’s neck. It made little effort to protect itself, trusting a little too much in its ability to regenerate from any wound Irene might inflict. If only that was her plan. No, her actions might appear simple, but they were far from such.

“Arkwar Luur, taste my life!” Irene bellowed and mixed some of her own blood in the second strike. “Let your children feast until they have had their fill!”

A second later and the abomination toppled to the ground, clutching its neck and writhing in pain. Even its impressive physiology would struggle against the ravenous appetite of the Devourer’s worms. However, she would leave nothing to chance.

“NO!”

“NO!”

A duo of voices echoed in unison. The first Irene recognised as that of Rafaella, a moment later the leader of the Witch Hunters speared her with the tip of the poleaxe. In doing so, she revealed the owner of the second voice, as the woman’s eyes shone with the light of the moon.

“You shall not claim my child!” Rafaella screamed with the voice of the Mother of Life.

“How, nice of you to grace me with your presence, Selenthia,” Irene spat blood as she jumped away, pressing at her wounded flank. She smiled at the indecision of the Great Spirit the moment she mentioned its name.

Sparing a moment, Irene looked at her companion to make sure that no one else was going to interfere. As expected, the demon was having fun, despite several tools of murder sticking from its body. It moved between the most powerful Witch Hunters with the grace of a dancer. Some of its opponents bore wounds, showing that the fight was not as one-sided as it might look at first. This angered Irene a little because it made her look weak in comparison. Perhaps being safe and saving her strength for the fight with Margo was not such a good idea.

So be it. If one of the strongest spirits was taking the field, the Witch had no other option but to teach its kind that this was not their world. This realm belonged to the humans, no matter how many horrors and monsters both the servants of Ludwig and those of the inferno created to fight their excuse for a war. No. Irene had to calm herself and think rationally. If Selenthia was really here, she would not need an avatar. The Spirit King’s daughter could obliterate this entire area by simply stepping into this world. Irene had to be sure who it was she was facing that dared to mask itself as the Mother of Life.

“By the Fist Contract, you will show yourself to me!” She commanded, imbuing her voice with as much power as she could reasonably spare.

“Your words have no power over me, child of corruption!” The thing spoke through Rafaella’s mouth.

“And you are playing a dangerous game, Caretaker,” Irene smiled and stood to her full height.

“How?”

“Few can pretend to be the Mother of Life without consequence,” she looked to the world through her eyes. Not the eyes of the Witch Hunter Irene, but through the eyes of Alice Tetradon.

The world around her drained of colour and the shadows brightened, revealing the cowering lesser demons and spirits within. Those were of no consequence and could be ignored, instead, she marvelled at the form of the creature hidden within Rafaella’s soul. A snake made of the light of Creation with a portion of Selenthia’s power nesting in its mighty form.

“Fewer still, can try to ignore the binding power of the First Contract I made with your kind.” The Witch smiled as the pages of that agreement formed from the breath she exhaled slowly. She was about to continue when the tip of a blade emerged between her breasts.

Dropping to her knees Irene looked over her shoulder to see a husk of a man looming over her. A demonic puppet with several witches floating above it, spewing curses and hexes at Ingo Nox. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, witches coming to the rescue of their sworn enemy just to kill her. Irene knew exactly who was behind this plan even if she could no see Margo from her position. The husk’s face twisted in what the demon thought to be a cruel smile as it prepared to deliver the killing blow. However, its moment of triumph was short-lived as Zan’s clawed fist tore its head from its shoulders.

“Took you long enough,” Irene forced the words out, fighting the immense pain rocking her body. She might be immortal, but there was no escaping the torment her body of flesh felt. “Don’t stare like an idiot and bring me my sword, boy!” She hissed at the stunned Nataniel.

Although she could not blame the man, now was not the time to be scared by the truth. Zan Tetradon, Wolf-Killer, the hero of Scarlet Pass, saviour of Stavrota and the greatest werewolf to walk the earth in the last five centuries, roared his challenge as he shed the last remanets of his human form. Like a whirlwind of death, he tore into the oblivious witches, fuelled by his hatred for their kind. Blood gathered around him like a cloud as he maimed and killed without restrain for the first time in decades.

Pushed by the young witch Amberly and Zan’s roar, Nathaniel rushed towards Irene and silently placed the cursed great sword in her hands. She nodded and smiled as the enraged primordial spirit within it engulfed her mind in a cage of rage. Oh, how she missed its constant temptations to bring ruin to this world. Irene grabbed the man’s hand and whispered before he could run away.

“Take the girl and keep her safe, only Ire is allowed near her,” she pushed him away and focused on healing the deadly wound in her chest. Irene allowed herself a moment to confirm that the man was going to obey her.

He was an interesting young man. Scared, shaken and unyielding, he picked up Calypso and trotted towards the imaginary safety of the nearby trees, while Amberly protected him from the occasional curse and hex directed his way. Along with Zan, those two would keep Margo’s pawns occupied, while Irene dealt with the bigger threats.

Unsteadily she got up to her feet and her face twisted in anger. Standing between Rafaella and the abomination of a spirit was the one responsible for all this. Even Irene could have not imagined that something like this would have happened because of her former student’s betrayal. It was a curious thought, but irrelevant one. At least Margo had the decency to save her the trouble from digging her dead body from her underground hideout.

“I can see you in there Qvar Hes,” Irene chuckled and spit out more blood. “What is it, Margo? Too scared to face me alone you need to hide behind the serpents and the fragment of Asmodai Val’s power? Come on girl! Even whores are supposed to have some standard, yet you are the only one who spreads her legs to anyone who asks.”

Both the Raven and the Leader of the Thirteen looked at each other. Or rather Qvar Hes and the Caretaker did, while they were in control of their bodies. So, they were the ones behind all of this. At least that would explain the stupidity of their actions. Neither Margo nor Rafaella would challenge Irene directly, they were smarter than this. But those two snakes thought themselves superior and all-powerful just because they could move freely between the realms.

“I’m done playing games,” Irene stated releasing the entity within her great sword. Its essence a sweet nectar to her wounded body and with it came a memory long forgotten.

“Are you sure of this, mistress?” Arthur’s voice echoed in her head.

“Do you fear you might kill me?” She spoke aloud the words she had said to her friend all those centuries ago.

“No, mistress. I don’t think there is anyone alive who can do that, but unlike me, you feel pain. I don’t think my style of fighting is suited for you.” He was right, still, he taught her how to use a sword and many other things. Including how to take full advantage of her unique condition. Arthur killed her six times that night and taught her how to avoid death after each strike.

Ever since Margo had killed her and desecrated her body, Irene had forgotten how to fight. She only imitated the shadows of blurred memories.

“Thank you, Arthur. I will not forget my promise,” she whispered and gently kissed the blade of her great sword. With reckless abandon, Irene jumped at the snakes.

The poleaxe caught her in the stomach and Margo’s fire hex burned the left side of her head, still, the First Witch laughed like a madman. They should have never allowed her to get this close. With a scream that shook the closest trees, Irene commanded the skies to release their fury on her enemies. A devastating lightning storm took shape above them and pillars of deadly light struck at the ground all around her. Each time a bolt of lightning kissed the earth, it turned marshy the soil into burning glass. Beatrix was the first victim of the elemental onslaught. Missing a leg, she could not escape in time and in the blink of an eye she was a charred corpse.

“Yes!” Ingo Nox joined in Irene insane laughter. “Let the world burn!” The Seed of Chaos sucked greedily from the energies stored in Arthur’s great sword. A thick black smoke flowed from its back, fallowing her companion like a cape, as it hurled itself at the few Witch Hunters yet to taste its wrath.

Ignoring the demon’s savage screams, Irene hurled a series of hexes at Margo and grabbed the haft of the poleaxe. The finely engraved wood rotted in moments under her touch. Leave your life in someone else’s hands and they are bound to let you down. That was a simple truth. Raffaella was a potent fighter and would have never allowed this to happen. However, the snakes did not know how to fight with their meat suits, a common mistake for any demon or spirit that took control of its host for the first time. That was why both witches and Witch Hunters took years if not decades to learn to work together with their contracted entity.

In their infinite stupidity, Qvar Hes and the Caretaker were allowing the power granted to them by their respective masters to bleed away. However, Irene would not let it go to waste. With an ease born through countless years of experience, she tapped into the potent streams of magic and fuelled her own spells.

“Tell me, Qvar Hes,” Irene growled as she sacrificed her left wrist to another of Margo’s curses, “do you know why I never bothered with anything but the basics?”

“Because you are blinded by your superiority!” The serpent hissed at her, as it prepared its next attack. One that would never come.

“No,” the First Witch smiled, mixing her own blood in the ritual she had been preparing since the moment the Caretaker revealed itself. “It’s because it took me centuries to master their full potential.”

“It matters not, monster,” the Caretaker interrupted trying to remove her with Rafaella’s gladius by stabbing her between the shoulders. “Once we sever the links between this realm and ours, you will be powerless.

“Amberly, repeat after me, as laud as you can,” Irene whispered in the mind of the young witch. Her talent of tongues was the key to what she was about to do. The snakes would understand the ancient language, spoken in the old days, and their hosts would need to understand those words in the modern era’s tongue.

“Qvarhes, Gofalwr, Selenthia, Asmodai Val, yn ôl pŵer y cytundeb gwaed, rwy’n enwi eich bod yn delio torrwr! Ilwgwaed yw fy nhyst ac rwy'n eich gwahardd o'r byd hwn ac yn gwahardd mynediad i chi!”

“Qvar Hes, Caretaker, Selenthia, Asmodai Val, by the power of the blood agreement, I name you deal breaker! The Ilwgwaed is my witness and I banish you from this world and forbid you entrance!” Amberly shouted at the top of her voice.

No sooner had the last syllable left her voice and the relic Nathaniel kept hidden on a strap around his neck answered the call. The coin burned bright green, getting brighter and brighter, while the two serpents tried to fight and remain connected to the mortal world. Without such a connection, their existence would have no meaning. Unlike their masters who would be badly wounded, Qvar Hes and the Caretaker would be trapped for eternity in the space between realms. The snakes thought they were safe since the one made of light never had a name, too bad they never realised that the moment it acknowledged Irene’s use of its title as a name, bound it to the First Contract and its sacred rules.

However, her actions had consequences. Invoking this ritual, took tremendous amounts of power. Far greater than what Irene could provide even with the amount she stole from the fragments of Selenthia and Asmodai Val it was not enough. She was going to die. The First Witch could feel her insides slowly turn into dust. She had only a handful of seconds to finish this. In one fluid motion, she spun around and decapitated the frozen Rafaella before plunging her great sword in Margo’s heart.

Her companion materialised in front of her, a cruel smile spread on its face. “You have violated your contract for the last time.”

“Screw the contract,” Irene forced herself to laugh, as her body dissolved into fine sand. One more thing left to do, a final middle finger to Ludwig and the infernal lords. “Ingo Nox, I bestow Arthur’s sword to you. As long as it remains in your hands, you shall be anchored to this world…”

Irene clenched her teeth, as her eyes rotted away and unimaginable pain consumed her body. Not yet, she screamed inside her head. Only a few more seconds.

“Mark the… top rune with your… cursed blood… and the ritual… will be done…”

“Letum Mors was a fool to turn his back on a woman such as yourself. But know that no matter what, I shall always love you….” The demon’s words were gone as only a small part of her mind was left intact.

“I’ll wait for your return as long as I have to. Don’t think you can escape my punishment that easy.” It purred inside her last remaining thoughts. “What is your last wish?”

A single thought remained of Alice Tetradon. A thought shared by Irene Navina.

“The Witch Hunters are a broken tool. Kill them all.”