A loud slam followed by several thumping footsteps roused Forsynthia from her slumber. She had dosed off while reading in her hand carved Dorinthian rocker, her book fallen to her lap. She blinked a few times, and then the sounds hit her ears again. Who would dare to barge into her bedchamber this late at night?

The door to her room flew open and her chief maid in waiting came thrashing forward, her breath heavy and face streaked with sweat.

“My lady!” Minerva cried out. “We’re under attack!”

Much of the fog of sleep faded from Forsynthia’s head at her maid’s words.

“Calm down,” Forsynthia said.

You are safe. Everything is going to be okay.

She sent a small tendril of her power into the maid’s mind to calm her nerves.

“My lady…”

“Come, sit.” Forsynthia gestured to the sofa opposite her own chair, and the woman took the offered seat. “Tell me what has happened.”

Relay only the pertinent details.

“Men have breached the palace, my lady,” Minerva said, her voice and tone even now, “and—”

“The palace? Surely you are mistaken.”

The woman’s hysterics were trying Forsynthia’s patience.

“No. I have seen the invaders with my own eyes, my lady. They are within the halls. Some of your sisters were engaged with them.”

Forsynthia huffed out a sharp puff of air. All this disturbance for a couple of skilled cat burglars that managed to bypass the front gate? Besides, they were already being dealt with.

“Very well, Minerva,” she said, “I suppose I will have to speak with the queen and we will determine what to do with these ‘invaders’ if they are not already dead.”

“No,” Minerva said again.

“Excuse me? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“The queen is dead, my lady.”

She said the words as though she were talking about what she had eaten for breakfast that morning. Perhaps Forsynthia had pushed too hard on the girl’s mind. Although the lack of concern could also be due to the fact that it was obviously false. Even if these so-called invaders had managed to reach the innermost sanctum of their seat of power and breach the queen’s bedchamber, the thought of some random assailant killing Calanthe was laughable.

Explain yourself.

Forsynthia didn’t bother uttering the command out loud. Her power always got things done quicker and easier.

“I was on my way back here with a fresh set of bedding and—”

To the point.

“—the queen’s chambermaid nearly ran me over! She was bloodied, screaming, and sobbing, clinging to my skirts. ‘They killed her!’ she was yelling.”

Was someone playing a trick on her? Not for the first time had she wished she possessed Senna’s power so she could pull the truth directly out of these ridiculous servants’ minds.

“And so you believed this ranting?”

“Well, not at first, no. After a moment’s rest she got to telling me what happened. She went into the queen’s chamber to change out the water like she did every night, when she saw a man standing over the queen’s bed. She cried out, but it was too late. His blade had already fallen. And then the man told her to get as far from the palace as possible if she wanted to live.”

Forsynthia scoffed.

“This mysterious assassin just let her go?”

Her maid shrugged.

“Like I said, I didn’t believe it either. But then, not a second after she finished telling me her story, a half dozen warriors covered head to toe in dark plate armor rounded the corner. They took one look at us, and then just passed by without a word. I’ve seen stranger things in these halls, so I didn’t think much of it.”

The longer her maid went on, the less confident Forsynthia felt that this was some kind of prank. Calanthe did like to annoy her whenever possible, but age had mellowed her out over the years. Forsynthia sensed the maid’s tale was not at an end.

“But…” she said.

“But then Lady Liana strolled into the corridor in her night shift wondering what all the noise was about. She glanced at us, and then the men. Before I knew it half the hall was bathed in blue-white witch-fire. A moment later and it was gone. Three of those warriors had swords through her chest.”

Okay. Now Forsynthia knew the truth of it. The story had gone too far. She had been caught up in it for a moment, but her maid had made a crucial mistake. There was only one thing in the world that Liana couldn’t burn, and it wasn’t a small coterie of knights.

She eyed Minerva, wondering who had put her up to this. Definitely not Liana with a story like that. Or Calanthe for that matter. Maybe one of the newer Dragonflies that hadn’t truly witnessed what Liana could do. In truth, it had actually been her overwhelming destructive power that had led to the surrender of the vast majority of their enemies during the conquest. Well, that or Calanthe simply getting rid of their leaders one-by-one until there had been no one left. Once the first few had fallen, the fighting had largely ended. Past that had been Forsynthia’s turn. A simple suggestion planted into the heads of many a foolish king had been all it had taken. After all, it was far more beneficial to bow than to resist.

So no, it couldn’t be Liana or Calanthe, but then who—

Forsynthia’s train of thought paused when she saw a hulking, armored figure appear in her open doorway. The dim light of her room lit only by two fading candlelights bounced off of his dark metal platemail. Huh. Someone was really committing to this act. Well, she could have some fun with it, too.

“Step away from the witch, and you will not be harmed,” the man in armor said, his voice even and monotone.

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

“Harmed? But I am safe.”

The man drew his sword, tilting his helmeted head at the maid.

“No, but you will be soon,” he said, and stepped forward, his blade leveled at Forsynthia.

“Come now,” Forsynthia said, “what will you do to me, o’ great warrior? Have you come to run me through?”

She reached into her core for a spark of her power and sent it forth into the man’s mind. There were a million little games she could play with the hapless fool, but just as she decided on what to do with him, she realized something was wrong. There was no connection to the man that she could send her command across. Her power had simply slid off of him. No. That wasn’t quite right. It had been absorbed into the warrior with no effect.

Curious. She had seen her sisters’ magic taken in by the alaricite trinkets before, but never any mental powers. She reassessed the advancing man with a more discerning gaze. Though his armor held the unique dark gleam of the precious metal, such a thing was obviously impossible. It took the Council months to scrounge up enough of the stuff to forge a single piece of jewelry to enchant. Even then, wearing it would not prevent her power.

Was this Calanthe, then? Had she found some trick to block Forsynthia? That had to be it. And now she was taunting her with it. She tried to influence him again, and just as before, his mind drank in her power without purchase.

Another moment and he was within striking distance. He pulled back his sword, and it was not until the last moment that Forsynthia understood he truly meant to stab her. She dove from her chair to the ground with a shout, and then rolled to stare back up at her assailant.

“He’s one of them,” came her maid’s even, calm voice from behind the armored warrior and he rounded on Forsynthia.

She didn’t bother reaching for her power this time. Something was definitely not right about this whole situation. Instead, she opened her mouth and uttered two words.

“Come, Varinox.”

In an instant, a dark gray cloud of thick smoke burst into existence between Forsynthia and the armored intruder. Immediately, she felt the pull of his immense strength begin to rapidly drain the wellspring of energy in her heart. A reddish brown claw emerged from the obscuring fog and took hold of the warrior’s arm.

Where the two made contact, another plume of black smoke rose into the air accompanied by a sizzling, crackling noise. Forsynthia knew what that meant, but still her mind could not accept the impossible. It was not until the man’s arm swung in an arc, severing Varniox’s hand cleanly, did she begin to process it.

Still laid out upon the floor, she scrambled back as the rest of Varinox materialized from Qix’nerod. His gargantuan body dwarfed the three humans in the room. He wore no clothing, and though roughly humanoid in shape save for hyper-extended knee joints and too many limbs, his body was nothing but corded muscle. His hands and feet ended in razor-like talons, and the rest of his reddish skin was pocked with protruding spikes of various lengths.

The demon’s scream of pain and fury rocked the large bedchamber as all of its six arms pointed at the warrior. Bolts of midnight lightning arced across the small distance between them and slammed into the man, but he did not so much as flinch.

The force of Varinox’s destructive power did send the assailant flying into the far wall of the chamber however, and his armor bore the marks of heavy burns all throughout. Still, the man got right back to his feet despite the smoking hole in his chest plate.

Forsynthia watched, her jaw dropped in disbelief. He should have been disintegrated by an attack of such magnitude. Yet here he stood, facing off against a prince of Qix’nerod, only a few burns where the brunt of the assault had landed. It could only mean one thing. His armor had been forged of alaricite.

Once again she tried to touch his mind with the amplified power of Varinox beside her. Yet still he was nothing more than an all encompassing void to her. She shifted her attention to her maid who was still casually lounging on the sofa, watching the encounter. If there were many of these men within the palace, Forsynthia feared for her sisters’ safety.

“Kill him, Varinox,” she said, and the demon sprang into motion.

At nearly eight feet tall of tougher-than-iron bulk and who knew how many pounds, Varinox descended upon the human warrior like a giant crushing a toddler. Smoke filled the room as they clashed, and the man actually did manage to get at least one strike in before being overwhelmed, but Varinox was a titan even among the Qix’rymith. He rended, tore, and pounded the helpless man until there was little left but a bloodied, twisted lump of armor.

After it was all done, she finally stood from her place on the floor and walked over to the corpse, past her maid.

“It really is alaricite, isn’t it?” she asked.

“An alloy of some kind,” Varinox’s voice echoed through the room like two boulders grinding together, “Not pure, or things would have been more troublesome.”

“Where did they find so much?” At the same time she realized why her power had also been blocked. They must have been ingesting the metal. It flowed in their blood. She could only guess at the consequences of such an action.

“We will find out,” Varinox said, “more come.”

Right. She didn’t have time to stand around contemplating the gear of a dead man. It seemed that everything that Minerva had said so far was true. Which meant…Calanthe. Her heart broke at the potential loss of her sister, but she still would not fully believe it until she saw it for herself. For now, she needed to regain control of the palace.

She strode from the room with Varinox at her heels, leaving her maid in the room. These intruders were clearly here to fight the Council, and the woman would likely be alright. As soon as she stepped out into the white marble halls of the inner palace, a scream came to her from the left. She ran down to where the corridor ended at a corner turning right, and froze at the scene before her.

The pearlescent stone surfaces were painted crimson. Two sisters—though not Council members—lie butchered on the floor. A third—the newest and youngest member of the Council—stood with her Qix’rymith against ten of the alaricite-clad warriors. Camellia was trembling at the sight of her demon fighting a losing battle, her silver hair gleaming in the flickering firelight of the torches set in sconces on the walls. Helpless to aid her Bond, she was firing out spears of frigid icicles from her fingertips that melted into nothingness at contact with the warrior's armor. Forsynthia’s first instinct was to join in the fight, but quickly thought better of it.

Varinox had already drained nearly half of her strength being manifested only this long. She didn’t want to admit it, but by all accounts, this was a losing battle. Maybe if both witches and demons were at full strength, and Forsynthia possessed some kind of outwardly useful power, they would stand a chance.

But that was far from the case, now. Camellia’s demon was being shredded apart from all sides. She also noticed the warriors here had a darker tint to their armor, which could only mean a higher concentration of alaricite.

“Camellia!” Forsynthia called out, and the younger which wheeled on her with her hands raised into fists.

“Oh,” Camellia said, “oh!” She lowered her stance. “Synthia! Thank the power that you’re here! These men, we need to—”

“Run,” Forsynthia said.

“What?”

“We can’t fight this many. You must know by now what they are. Our powers are ineffectual. Xymitor will not last long.”

“Yes, but—”

Survive.

Forsynthia’s power may not work on the invaders, but it could still influence the mind of another witch. Especially with Varinox nearby, it became more of an absolute need than a longing suggestion. She had even gotten people to do things that were anathema to their core values with the demon’s aid.

Camellia turned on her heel and ran, leaving her demon to fall at the blades of the warriors. Forsynthia followed her back down the hallway she had come from, but they only got maybe a dozen steps before Camellia tripped, collapsing to the ground amongst wails of agony. Xymitor had been killed, and the backlash of power had struck her worse than any awakening day.

Forsynthia had only ever seen the phenomenon twice before. Once, when two Council members had fought to the death over a consort of all things, and another when Calanthe had been forced to execute Lillian. In neither case did either witch really ever recover. Granted, their lives had been short following the ordeal, but now was not a situation in which there was a surplus of time to spare.

She reached down and tugged up at Camellia’s arm, pulling her up on wobbly knees.

“We need to keep going.”

“I…I can’t. Just—”

Forsynthia slapped the younger witch, just as she heard the clatter of metal footsteps round the corner. At the sound of her pursuers, the compulsion to survive overtook the pain and she began to stagger forward. But it was much too slow.

“Varinox—”

Forsynthia didn’t need to say the rest, as he had already scooped up Camellia—Forsynthia too for that matter—and began barreling down the hall. He cradled each witch with two of his three arms per side, and his grip felt like being crushed beneath a mountain.

“C-Camellia,” Forsynthia croaked out, struggling to breathe, but not wanting to complain with how fast they were traveling, “can you erect a barrier to slow them?”

“I…I don’t,” she sucked in air, “I’ll try.”

A few moments later, a sheet of thick, solid ice blocked the corridor from floor to ceiling behind them. But an instant later, dark swords were cutting through the ice like it was no harder than warm butter. She thought it might give them some pause, but then a man in particularly dark armor simply walked through the barricade, the ice evaporating around him.

“We need to find Willow!” Forsynthia shouted. “She can fly us out of here and we can regroup with the rest of the council!”

“Where is the queen?” Camellia asked, and Forsynthia had no answer for her, staying silent.

When they rounded the next corner, another scene of carnage was laid out before them, except so much worse. Every inch of the stone had been splattered crimson, and the armored men were milling about, entering rooms and dragging bodies out into the hall. Forsynthia counted over seventy percent of the Council dead. The very witch she had just suggested they find was among them, her head separated from her body, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling.

Worse than anything though, rested at the center of it all. A massive hulk of pure ebony steel stood over a single, petite body. The frame of this invader nearly matched Varinox in size. At his side he held an equally dark greatsword that drank in light like the night itself.

But none of that really stole Forsynthia’s attention. It was the figure he lorded over. The truth of it finally hit her. Calanthe was dead. The pain deep in her chest was nearly unbearable. Her cheeks wetted with overflowing tears.

Though they had certainly had their differences over the years—many of which had forced Forsynthia to very carefully exert her power over Calanthe—they had been sisters. In truth. It was their sisterhood that the concept of all witches being bonded as sisters had came from. There was not a soul closer to Forsynthia in the world. And now she was gone.

Forsynthia writhed in Varinox’s grip, wanted nothing more than to go and strangle the bastard who had done this with her bare hands, but the demon stood transfixed, his vise-like grip firm.

“Brother?” Varinox asked.

Ah. Her grief and rage had almost caused her to not notice that the most terrifying of these invaders was no man, but one of the Qix’rymith. It only took a moment to confirm. Instead of the void of a mind that all of the others possessed, this one was far, far different.

Trying to use her power on the Qix’rymith felt like trying to twirl a stick in the sea and direct the waves. Their minds were twisted by their homeland in a way that no one, save Calanthe, had really ever tried to understand. Many members of the Council still feared their Bonds, and even Forsynthia herself did not exactly like Varinox. He was more like a tool to be taken out when needed.

The massive invading demon turned to them and disappeared from sight. She had seen this enough times to understand he had retreated to Qix’nerod, but his nearly instant resurgence into their world caused her to gasp in shock.

Varinox didn’t seem to be ready for it either. He raised a single hand to block the stab that came, but it made little difference, if at all. The black blade pierced through hand and chest alike, issuing forth a burning, choking cloud of dusky vapor. The arms gripping her heated to the point of burning, and then loosened, eventually fading away entirely, depositing Forsynthia to the stone floor unceremoniously.

She didn’t even feel the jolt of being dropped, seeing as her entire self had suddenly caught fire. Or at least that was what it felt like. Every nerve in her being had set alight, pain coursing through more than just her physical body. The store of power in her heart exploded, sending shock waves through her consciousness that threatened her sanity.

After what felt like an eternity of torture, a metal boot crunched down inches from her tear-stained face, crushing a small sphere as dark as the sabaton that smashed it.

Varinox’s core. She had just now realized what had happened. Her last hope had been eliminated. There was nothing left to do but wait for death.

“Kill that one,” a deep, yet smooth voice said.

Forsynthia’s gaze met Camellia’s past the hostile demon’s legs only a moment before the sword came down, piercing the base of her neck. Forsynthia watched in mute horror as the life faded from the last of her sisters’ eyes.

“The other will be a trophy of our victory. A warning to any others who dare threaten our dominion.”

A pair of hands lifted her by the armpits, and Forsynthia did nothing to resist. Even if she had the strength, her will had left her. Why was she chosen to be the one who had to live through this? As they dragged her through more bloodstained halls, she could only blame one person for what had happened. If only Senna hadn’t gone insane from using her power so often, they could have seen this coming. They could have prevented all of it.