Witch's Path

It didn't take long. Right after the wail that sent tremors through the ground, the forest—once filled with the growls of wild beasts—fell eerily silent. Even the wind died down, as if the place had been plunged into the vacuum of space.

The magus, Alfred, Viscount of Hereth County, felt his blood turn cold. He was poisoned, a curse slowly rotting his flesh, and exhaustion weighed heavily on him. His legs could barely move after his encounter with the Thornbinder, which had disappeared after the witch who summoned it was either knocked out or killed by his earlier attack.

The witch, who had failed miserably in her curse, couldn't help but curse herself. She knew she was the cause of what was to come. Before ambushing Alfred, she had managed to obtain some of his blood to link the curse directly to him. But the magus's attack had mixed the blood with water, rendering it useless. How could she have known that his spell would create such a feedback loop, causing water to reform after the explosion? Her luck couldn't have been worse.

Now, she knew she was doomed. The curse she had intended for the man had gone berserk, latching onto another host instead. But what truly terrified her was the realization that the creature would target her first. The rectangular border of the ritual, still glowing on the ground, contained her own mana and was marked with her lifeforce energy—a beacon that would draw the Indigo straight to her.

Indigos unlike their brothers Wendigo don't have monstrous strength. Infact its easier to deal with an immortal Wendigo than an indigo for simple fact , nothing can stop them if they put their focus on you, not to mention they are extremely intelligent.

Seconds passed like hours, each moment heavy with dread. The magus and the witch locked eyes, realizing that if they wanted to survive, they would have to put their differences aside and work together. Reluctantly, they moved from their hiding spots and stood back to back, their senses heightened as they scanned their surroundings for any sign of movement.

They weren't looking for something obvious—they were searching for shadows. Indigos were deceptive and deadly, their powers making escape nearly impossible. They could manipulate shadows, effectively hiding within them and using them to teleport. As nocturnal creatures, they could see perfectly even in the dead of night. Their hypnotic gaze and telepathic abilities made it perilous to look directly into their eyes, as they could immobilize their prey and induce crippling fear.

This allowed them to drain their victims' life force—or "soul energy"—leaving them weakened or comatose. Often, they would take their victims to hidden lairs to feed on them later, sustaining themselves over time.

But what truly made Indigos horrifying was their intangibility. They could phase through solid objects like walls or trees, making them the perfect ambush predators. Unless the walls were inscribed with runes, turning them into manaward runic shields or wards, an Indigo could pass through unimpeded. They hunted stealthily in the shadows and disappeared without a trace. And now such a creature is coming for them.

Standing back to back, the pair cautiously moved step by step, trying to escape the forest and find safety. The wails of the Indigo grew closer, and the already freezing temperature seemed to drop even further, chilling them to the bone.

Alfred, now clutching a silver dagger with a black hilt, looked battered and worn. His white and black trousers, adorned with crimson and blue flame patterns, were torn and bloodstained. His light armor, dented from the earlier attacks by the roots, barely held together. His black boots were caked in mud, and his wounds seeped blood as he struggled to stay upright. His earlier calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a frantic desperation.

Facing the witches earlier, he had been confident that going all out would guarantee victory. But now, the situation was different. A fierce battle raged in his mind.

'I have to do something fast and escape. I can't die here, not when they're waiting for me at home', he thought, his heart racing with panic. 'Think, Alfred, think. You've come too far to die at the hands of a monster'.

His eyes hardened as he steeled himself. He wasn't proud of what he was about to do, but survival was his priority.

The witch, unaware of Alfred's thoughts, was in a similar state of panic. Her face betrayed her fear, and she had the same idea as the magus—though she was a fraction of a second slower, which cost her dearly.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her back. Her eyes widened in shock as she turned her head, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. In a subdued whisper, she gasped, "Y-you…"

"Even if you are my enemy, I hope you can forgive me," Alfred said, his voice heavy with shame but devoid of regret. "But dying now is not something I intend to do."

He felt ashamed for stabbing her in the back, but he couldn't afford to gamble with his life. He had two wives and six children—two of them only five years old. The thought of leaving them behind was unbearable.

"You bastard! Save your words for someone else!" the witch shouted, staggering back. She no longer cared about the approaching monster, knowing her death was inevitable.

Alfred sighed, bowed slightly as a sign of respect and apology for his cowardly act, and then turned to run toward the outskirts, seeking shelter and safety.

The witch glared at his retreating figure, her rage boiling over. "You think this is over? No, fuck no! You're not leaving this area alive!"

Her eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging in her sclera. Her teeth cracked and shattered from how hard she gritted them, and her face, now unveiled, revealed a visage that could enchant even the devil. Her skin was marred with blackened veins, her nose small and pointed, her lips grayish and thin. Though her eyes were red with blood, a white flame burned fiercely within her irises.

Blood began to seep from her eyes and nose as veins appeared on her temples. She knew she was dead anyway, so in her final moments, she decided to unleash one last act of vengeance—one that would bring misery to countless innocents. She didn't care; in fact, she relished the thought. To her, this act would be a badge of honor, a way to ensure her name would be remembered not for her words, but for her actions.

Staggering, the white flames in her eyes intensifying, she reached into a pouch hidden within her robes and pulled out four stones. The stones began to deform, taking on different shapes and forms. Runes, resembling words encircled by numerical symbols, glowed green on one of the stones.

Suddenly, a feminine voice emanated from the stone, breathless and barely coherent. "State your business… I'm b—AHHH, YES, MORE!—busy." In the background, the sound of a man choking on his own blood could be heard, his gurgles resembling those of a slaughtered animal.

"Madam, mission number 352 has failed. The target is escaping. Of the five operatives sent, I am the only one left, but not for long. An Indigo is after me. I will initiate the self-destruct sequence. The target is heading toward Solovan Town, just outside Solovan Forest, where we ambushed him. As my final act, I will sacrifice part of my vessel to control the Indigo and steer it toward the magus. I'll do my best to guide its actions. I'm sorry for disappointing you, ma'am."

The woman on the other end, Madam Zaphire, didn't flinch at the news of the mission's failure. In fact, she didn't care. She had always expected incompetence from her underlings. Her expression remained unchanged throughout the conversation, her tanned face flushed with pleasure having fun with what she assumed was merely a flesh-and-blood sack of meat, equipped with genitals.

She was riding his penis without restraint , Her breasts bounced wildly, glistening with sweat under the soft, ethereal glow of a crystallized lamp, their movement casting fleeting shadows across the room, her glossy brown eyes fixed on his pale face. She licked her lips, a grin forming as her left hand , twisted and played with her nipples and occasionally brushed aside her brown braids. her other hand balancing her body on the bed. 

Her left hand, tinged with black smoke, moved toward the man's neck. Muscles strained and contracted as her index fingernail grew longer, sharp and menacing, glinting with an unnatural edge.

Nail positioned near the jugular vein, with a slow, deliberate, and surgical motion, she slit his throat, blood oozing out in a steady stream. The man trembled, but before he could react, Zaphire rose and slammed back down onto him, the sound of bones breaking echoing through the room. 

As the man struggled, blood gushing from his neck, Zaphire's mouth watered, saliva dripping like a predator savoring its prey. She didn't slow down; her bouncing movement became more frantic, more chaotic, more desperate, more forced.

Her moans echoing as if there were no tomorrow.

"Yes, more! Give me more! It's been so long since I've felt this full inside. I want your essence—NOW! It feels so good… Aaaaaaah!" she groaned, her body craving more pleasure like a fire refusing to die out, burning brighter with every moment.

Her glossy eyes rolled back, Her moans became incoherent, a chaotic symphony of pleasure and desperation, as words dissolved into raw, unrestrained sounds. Veins bulged on her face, the dark red blood within them visible through her tanned beautiful skin, creating a stark, almost otherworldly contrast, Sweat dripped down her forehead, glistening in the dim light as it traced a path along her body, exhaustion and desperation hung heavy in the air, her strength teetering on the edge of collapse.

As both reached the end of their ropes, the man's body began to mummify, his organs turning to ash, his eyes losing their vitality. The blood that had painted the bed red dried unnaturally fast.

Madam Zaphire screamed in ecstasy at the top of her lungs as she climaxed, her body convulsing as she collapsed backward, barely conscious, her release splattering over the man's genitals, unlike his essence, not even a trace remained when they separated—as if it had vanished completely, consumed by her very insides like a ravenous beast.

"That was a good meal," she mumbled, high on pleasure, body trembling.

As for the man, his breathing ceased, his body now unrecognizable, a lifeless husk of what it once was.

Glancing to the side, she noticed the stone with glowing symbols. Remembering the mission, she sighed and said, "Do whatever you want. I'll head to the mission site and finish the job myself."

She ended the call and muttered, "I really need to find someone competent enough to handle these low-level missions instead of me." Sighing, she got up from the bed and looked at the corpse of what had once been a healthy man. Chuckling, she snapped her fingers.

From under the bed, a brown worm-like creature emerged—nothing more than a jaw, toothless and eyeless. Its mouth stretched wide, grotesquely unhinged, and in one swift motion, it swallowed the bed and the man whole.

Zaphire's eyes twitched in annoyance. "Another bed?! For fuck's sake, what am I supposed to do with this dumb Lambton Worm"