A Witch is similar to the Draoidh in that they seek knowledge and typically do so through benevolent means. They are seers, healers, and herbalists, but because of their cultivation, their rituals need to be performed ‘sky-clad’—nude. This makes them outcasts and misunderstood. That doesn’t mean all Witches are good because, like any practice, there are other sinister means.

~Cailleach, the Veiled Hag of Winter

Crow gasped, holding his side as blood spurt from the nasty spear wound. Unable to escape the humanoid beasts attacking him, he dove into a deep cave without checking to see if it was safe.

Once away from the twisted, bent, and sinister trees, those things couldn’t chase. Crow propped himself against the cave wall and grabbed supplies from his Shield to bind the wound. The scent of blood was dangerous in this place, and he had to cleanse it fast. Even now, he could feel tainted mana from the Witchwood forest trying to contaminate his wound.

The neat thing about the Witchwood forest was the Witch Way Passages. All the trees in this forest were twisted until the wood looked more like a nest of snakes. Because of that, they were bent and curled, unable to grow straight into the sky. There were places where the branches and roots grew densely, creating tunnels that became known as the Witch Way Passages.

Stepping into those sinister-looking tunnels took a little willpower, especially since reality, time, and space were broken inside them. There was one at the floor entrance with a sign staked in front of it. All it said was ‘Keystone,’ which was accurate. Not even an hour after arriving on this floor, they’d entered the centermost region, but that’s where Crow’s headache started.

The only way to leave the area surrounding the keystone was through a Witch Way Passage, and there were dozens—none of which were marked. There was a village, but the people were unfriendly toward strangers and refused to talk to outsiders. Only the innkeeper seemed friendly, but even he warned them to not hang around longer than necessary. That same day, Aine and Ahote left, saying they were returning to Oiche.

After that, Crow aimed for the ascension stairs. While he was curious about this floor, there was this pervasive feeling of danger. Because none of the locals would divulge any information, no matter how much he cajoled, he could only gamble on which passage to take. Crow decided to attempt a Witch Way Passage on the east side of the keystone, hoping the tunnels traversed a linear path.

Now he was here, bleeding heavily from a wound that would have killed a weaker cultivator. The man-shaped hooded beasts appeared at will and carried crude wooden spears. He made a mistake in underestimating their skill with those sharpened sticks and suspected they were Bodach Glas. The goblin-like Daemon’s not much smaller than a human with ash-colored skin—otherwise known as Death Goblins or Gray Men. These were slightly different because they didn’t wear the signature round-brimmed hats. The only thing that made Crow second guess this is because they didn’t seem to want to leave the forest. Bodach Glas weren’t Rootless, so they weren’t like Dryads which had a dependency on trees to sustain them.

He’d killed dozens of them, but he could never retrieve the bodies because they’d swarm him if he stopped moving. Arrows from his bow reaped a Gray Man every time he released. The disturbing part was that their numbers didn’t seem to dwindle. Crow wasn’t even sure why he pissed them off because he hadn’t done anything that should have activated a hunting party of this magnitude.

After cleaning up, he burned his blood-soaked clothes and put on a new set—and he had a lot of them. Crow bought so many clothes that those farming communities might have a shortage of men’s clothing for a few months.

Sitting up, Crow cultivated to speed up the healing process. A few hours later, he had mostly recovered, but that wasn’t why he stopped. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. The cave no longer felt like a safe haven, and he realized those creatures may not have stopped because of the trees.

The gold ring in his eyes lit up as he stared into the dark recesses of the cave. Thousands of white, arm-length grubs crawled out of the walls, floor, and ceiling. They were eating through stone like it was salad, which was fascinating and terrifying.

Crow sent a few Dark-Flame Fireballs into them, and their death screeches were like a sonic attack. He did not know what those things were, but at least they were weak to his heavenly flames. Rather than escape, Crow burned them all. No matter how he looked at it, those things couldn’t be good for anyone.

When he realized the floor was shaking, it was too late to escape. Those things had eroded the cave’s integrity and made the ground unstable. Crow’s attack was enough to start a chain reaction, and the entire cave collapsed, sending him hurtling down into the depths of the caverns below.

Unable to stop the fall, he wrapped himself in a vine sphere with him at the center. Every time he was hit by a falling rock or bumped the side of the wall, he was cushioned and suffered minimal damage. On the outside, he kept thickening up the vines but left small openings so he could see what was happening. On the inside, he used thinner vines as heavier cushioning.

Slam!

No matter how prepared he was, the sphere shattered when he finally hit the ground. The rocks falling from above took out chunks of the remaining parts.

Crow’s head suffered a blow, so he felt dizzy and unable to focus, but he was alive. Using what little mana he had left, he took the remaining parts of the vine sphere and created a cage around him while the stone falling above kept piling up around him.

Unable to resist, he fell unconscious.

***

“The key is present.”

“Huh?”

“The Python’s Tongue, it’s here. Find it.”

“Are you sure?” An elderly woman asked. She wore no clothes, and her sagging tits and other womanly parts were exposed to the elements. She was hairless from top to bottom. She only wore a pendant necklace that hung between her wrinkly breasts and a green-colored garter that drew the eye toward the old woman’s unshaven crotch.

“Witch! Put on some clothes. The sight of you sickens me,”

“Prude. A Witch’s power is inhibited by clothes because it interrupts the mystical energy flowing into my body. Want me to divine its location or not?”

The old woman sneered at the middle-aged gentleman before her. He wore expensive, purple robes, the color of Unhulde’s Hex Vodou branch. Her disdain toward them was already high, and the reality was they didn’t need those robes because their blue skin was enough to identify them. She was a Witch but never performed any dark rituals that required human sacrifice. Among the Unhulde, they had the most prestige because of their sight abilities. She was only considered a Hex Witch because of who she associated with.

That isn’t to say that there weren’t Hex Witches, but those evil beings weren’t that powerful in the lower realms. They relied too heavily on curses, and the tower’s Shield rendered those impotent. So their Hex magic wasn’t all that effective except for combat since the curse would wear off in a short amount of time. Some of the combat Witches were terrifying. Even the old crone had to admit their evolution was an interesting one.

“Orenda! Are you going to scry or not?” Kondo asked. His prominence among the Vodou was not minor, and if everything went well, the crone knew this man was the future leader of his branch. His initiative had all of Unhulde active recently, and all because of the Python’s Tongue, the key to the upper realms. No one knew how Kondo learned about this treasure, but she knew his ambition wasn’t small.

“Do not use my name!” Orenda admonished. A Witch hated nothing more than having their true name known. Even saying it out loud was taboo, and Kondo knew it.

Despite that, Orenda did as asked. Her hand drew strange symbols in the air as she spun around. When she reached her starting point, her eyes turned milky white, and those symbols revolved around her faster and faster. A curtain of light appeared, but the image that emerged was not the Python’s Tongue.

Caw-caw-caw!

Millions of blackbirds appeared, and they turned to look at the two watching the screen and laughed. Before Orenda could cancel her spell, those beings flew out from her spell and attacked the two until they were cowering in fear.

“What the hell, you bitch!?” Kondo shouted.

“Don’t blame that on me, you useless fool,” Orenda gasped out hoarsely after the millions of birds dissipated into smoke. “Even an idiot like you could see that was clearly an existence beyond our power.”

Caw-caw-caw! A three-headed black bird laughed and perched on a nearby chair while staring at them. The three heads cocked their heads in different directions, but the exposed eyes pointed toward Kondo.

*The Wild Hunt is coming for you.* The Sluagh said to Kondo and turned to stare at the old crone. *If you know what I am, leave. No souls hold vengeance toward you or your coven, but if you continue to meddle…*

“What the fuck are you?” Kondo said timidly, finally realizing this wasn’t something the old hag could have done.

“Watch your tone,” Orenda hissed. “You can’t afford to offend the Wild Hunt.”

Caw-caw-caw! The Sluagh laughed before turning into smoke and disappearing. However, the impact of its appearance caused two different reactions. After Kondo’s initial fear, he adopted his typical disdainful attitude.

Orenda had a healthy respect for the old legends and was already preparing to have her coven disappear from the Unhulde sect. No matter how enticing the Python’s Tongue was, she wasn’t about to cross a person the Sluagh protected. Kondo may not have understood why the Wild Hunt appeared, but she did.