(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Abandoned Church...
When the witch hunters heard Valac's mocking voice,
A few spun toward her—
Only to find nothing but shadows where she had stood.
The woman had vanished as if swallowed by the darkness.
"____"
"____"
"____"
Meanwhile, the hunter still trapped in Valac's illusion writhed in torment.
He struggled against the countless invisible hands restraining him, desperate to dig through the graves and free his screaming family.
His chest suddenly grew hot, and blood began to seep through his shirt.
"____"
With shaking hands, he pulled the fabric aside—
Only to see a deep stab wound blossoming across his chest.
In the blink of an eye,
The graveyard melted away.
He was back in the meeting hall, breath ragged, staring wide-eyed at his best friend—
The one holding the bloody blade that had pierced him.
Confusion twisted into horror.
Memories flashed in his mind, lingering doubts resurfacing:
His wife's late-night absences, the hushed whispers, the too-familiar laughter she shared with this very man.
'Could it be true?'
That final, devastating thought lingered as his knees buckled.
His body hit the floor with a heavy thud, lifeless,
Thud.
While Valac's laughter echoed faintly through the rafters—
Fufu~
Mocking, merciless, and unseen.
For a moment, silence choked the room.
"____"
"____"
"____"
Every hunter's eyes darted between the fallen man and his supposed "best friend,"
The one still clutching the knife, his hands trembling and face drained of color.
"You—what have you done!?"
One of them shouted, crossbow rising in fury.
The accused hunter stammered,
"I–I didn't—! I never—she—she made me—!"
His words broke into a sob,
Sob~ Sob~
But no one believed him.
Suspicion flickered in their eyes, years of buried jealousy, mistrust, and rivalry rising like poison.
A ripple of chaos spread.
One accused the knife-holder of betrayal,
Another claimed Valac was in his head,
While others demanded they kill him before he could turn on them too.
The group that had once stood united was fracturing,
Paranoia taking root in every soul.
And above their panic, faint laughter slid across the walls like smoke.
Valac's voice, dripping with malice, whispered from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Fufu~
"Tell me… who will you trust when your hands are already stained red?"
The hunters froze, weapons shifting, some pointing at Valac's unseen presence, others at each other.
The room was no longer a battlefield—
It was a coffin, and Valac was sealing the lid shut.
The hunter who had struck first staggered back,
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, his eyes wide with panic.
"It's her! The witch—she's in his head!"
He screamed, spittle flying from his lips as he raised his blade again.
That accusation was the spark.
Like dry tinder catching fire, the room erupted.
Blades slashed, fists flew, and steel scraped against steel.
The hunters—
Once comrades sworn to purge witches—
Turned on one another like rabid animals.
Blood sprayed across the wooden floorboards as knives found flesh,
Shrieks echoing until they blurred together into a single mad chorus.
One man tried to break free of the madness, shouting,
"Stop! Don't listen! It's her trick—!"
But before he could finish, two of his brothers-in-arms dragged him down,
Their blades rising and falling in a savage rhythm until his cries were swallowed by silence.
"_____"
The leader stood at the center, voice booming as he tried to pull order from the storm.
"Enough! Stand down! You're being—"
A sharp twang cut through his command.
His instincts flared,
And he twisted aside just as a crossbow bolt sliced past his cheek, embedding itself deep into the wooden beam behind him.
For a moment, his heart hammered in his ears.
He turned, eyes narrowing at the hunter who had fired—
Only to see the man already fumbling to reload, face twisted in confusion and terror.
And through it all, the air quivered with a chilling amusement.
Valac's laughter—
Soft, lilting, inhuman—
Slid through the chaos like a razor.
"Yesss… tear each other apart for me."
The leader's grip tightened on his weapon, his teeth bared.
He could fight witches.
He could fight curses.
But this—
This was worse.
His men were becoming the witch's puppets, and every second he hesitated, more of them fell.
The leader sucked in a ragged breath, forcing his panic down.
"____"
He raised his sword high and roared,
His voice cracking against the madness that engulfed the hall.
"SHOW YOURSELF, WITCH! WHERE ARE YOU?!"
His cry echoed through the blood-soaked chamber.
For the first time since the frenzy began, silence fell.
The clash of steel, the screams of rage—
All of it stopped.
"____"
"____"
"____"
The hunters froze where they stood, blades still dripping,
Eyes wide as if awakening from a nightmare.
Then it came.
A voice—
Chilling, ethereal, echoing from every shadow at once—
Slithered into their ears.
It wasn't loud, yet it drowned out their heartbeats, their thoughts, everything.
"Do you understand now?"
The voice whispered, cruel and cold.
"I am the reason you pray to your God for protection."
The air itself seemed to curdle, heavy with dread.
The remaining hunters, faces and hands smeared with their brothers' blood, trembled where they stood.
Their weapons clattered from nerveless fingers.
Not one of them dared to move, as if even the slightest motion would draw the witch's wrath.
The leader's throat tightened, sweat running cold down his spine.
"____"
He scanned the shadows,
But no matter where he looked—
Behind the broken furniture,
In the rafters above,
In the corners slick with blood—
He saw nothing.
Only that voice, pressing in from everywhere at once.
And in that moment,
He understood why even hardened men prayed.
A sudden thought struck the leader like a thunderbolt.
"____"
His eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat.
For a moment he just stood there, trembling,
Before he forced the words out.
"You… you're not a witch, are you?"
The hall fell even quieter, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.
No reply came.
"____"
Only the drip of blood from the ceiling, pattering on the corpses below.
His lips quivered as he tried again,
Voice breaking under the weight of his own fear.
"…Are you… a demon?"
The word hung in the air like a curse.
Every hunter stiffened.
Faces drained of color, hands shook uncontrollably,
And some stumbled backward as if the syllables themselves had struck them.
Then—
The stone statue in the corner, weathered and ancient, shuddered.
From its lifeless eyes, thick rivulets of blood began to flow, running down its face in grotesque streams.
The crimson drops splattered onto the floor, mixing with the gore already soaking the boards.
The hunters gasped as one, some gagging, others clutching their weapons tighter though their arms trembled like leaves in a storm.
The silence that followed was worse than any scream.
"____"
"____"
"____"
Seeing no reply,
The leader's nerves began to fray.
His voice cracked as he forced the question out,
As if speaking it might grant him mercy.
"W-why us? Why are we being hunted? We… we've never angered a demon, right?"
For a long, suffocating moment there was only silence.
"____"
Then a low laugh unfurled through the chamber—
Inhuman, echoing from every wall, twisting into their ears like a curse.
"You are wrong,"
The voice hissed, both mocking and wrathful.
"You angered my god. That is your sin… and tonight is your last day."
A pause.
Then, with a cruel sweetness:
"Happy death day."
The leader's blood ran cold.
He flinched when a cold hand suddenly rested on his shoulder.
Slowly—
Dreading what he already knew—
He turned.
The Nun stood before him, pale and monstrous,
Her veil dripping with shadows.
Her hollow eyes locked onto his.
Before he could scream,
She seized his face in both hands.
Her long fingers dug into his cheeks,
Nails piercing skin as she tilted her head.
Then—
crrrrk.
With a sickening creak, she twisted his head sharply to the side.
Bone snapped like dry wood.
His body convulsed, blood spilling from his mouth, nose, and even his ears as his eyes rolled back.
The hunters froze in horror as their leader collapsed, lifeless, at the Nun's feet.
"____"
"____"
"____"
The hunters stumbled back, weapons raised, but their trembling hands betrayed them.
The chamber stank of iron and smoke,
And the only sound was the faint drip-drip of blood from the lifeless body at Valac's feet.
Then she lifted her head.
Her eyes—
Black voids rimmed with sickly white veins—
Glowed faintly in the dark.
"You prayed for deliverance,"
She whispered, her voice echoing from every corner,
"and instead your prayers delivered me."
One hunter panicked and loosed an arrow.
It never reached her.
The shaft stopped mid-air, splintered into ash, and reformed into a dozen jagged spikes that shot back into his body.
He staggered, gagging on his own blood before crumpling.
Screams erupted.
Valac stepped forward without sound, the hem of her habit dragging across the blood-slick floor.
Her shadow stretched unnaturally, curling like talons across the walls, clutching at the fleeing hunters.
One man shrieked as the shadow pinned him;
When he tried to move, his arms bent backward at impossible angles.
Another hunter dropped his crossbow and dropped to his knees, sobbing.
"P-please! Mercy!"
Valac crouched before him, her face inches from his.
She smiled—
Cracked lips peeling back to reveal far too many teeth.
"Mercy?"
She repeated softly.
"Mercy is for the faithful."
She inhaled sharply.
The hunter's breath ripped from his lungs in a visible stream, drawn into her mouth until his chest caved in like a crushed wineskin.
His body fell forward, hollow, nothing left but a withered husk.
By now, the survivors were scrambling for the exits—
But the doors slammed shut on their own, locking with a thunderous boom.
The bleeding statue in the room twisted its head,
Creak~ Creak~
Its stone eyes following them as if mocking their despair.
Valac raised her bloodied hands high.
"None of you leave. Not alive."
The chamber descended into chaos.
Shadows lashed like whips, bone cracked, and the air filled with a chorus of choking, begging, and wet tearing sounds as the hunters were claimed one by one.
When silence finally fell,
Only the dripping blood and broken bodies remained.
"____"
Valac stood alone among the carnage, her figure still cloaked in the tattered nun's habit.
She turned her face skyward, smiling faintly,
As if offering the slaughter to the god she served.
Dartmoor...
Festival site...
Meanwhile, at Dartmoor, a brilliant flash of apparition shimmered across the moor,
And Leo stepped out with his companions at his side.
The festival was alive with color and noise—
Lanterns floating in the night sky, music spilling from enchanted instruments,
And the air heavy with roasted food and sweet butterbeer.
Mavis's eyes sparkled at the sight.
Barely able to contain her excitement, she clung to Leo's hand like a child eager for her first carnival.
"Leo, look!"
She tugged him forward, pointing toward a parade of bewitched streamers dancing like serpents above the crowd.
Her enthusiasm was infectious, pulling him along as laughter bubbled from her lips.
The Black sisters drifted off with Eileen and Kejoro,
Their chatter blending into the festival buzz as they explored the market stalls lined with glittering trinkets and exotic potions.
Hagoromo Gitsune, elegant as ever, walked beside Delphini.
The younger witch's eyes scanned the crowd with a mix of nervousness and longing.
They were here with a purpose:
To search for Delphini's parents, hoping for some sign or whisper amidst the festive chaos.
They seemed to have arrived before she pick them up.
And with Voldermote after her.
She was little panic about their well being.
Elsewhere,
Setsura held her daughter Tsurara close, guiding her through the lantern-lit streets.
While discussing about her daughter's love affair and how healthy their relationship is.
It was a rare moment for them—
A true mother-and-daughter outing after long separations due to each stayed in different world.
Setsura's gaze softened every time her daughter smiled at a performer or stopped to admire a booth of glowing charms.
While Wakana was having the same conversation with her son who was blushing by the awkwardness while discussing his love life with his mother.
Seeing his mother cheerfull and speaking more compared to her stay at nura mansion Rikuo felt it was the right decision her mother choose to move on from his father and find her own happiness.
'If only he was not a womenizer.'
Sigh~
He even heared a rumor that Sasami is going to the wizarding world to spend time with Leo.
And his mind drifted to the lame excuse Leo has gave him once.
"With great power comes great responsibility."
Like he was speaking about some scared thing.
They were not alone.
Monsters from Transylvania, led by none other than Count Dracula and his family, moved among the humans, blending seamlessly into the crowd.
From the shadows came yokai from Nurarihyon's world, their strange presence cloaked in the guise of ordinary festival-goers.
All of them wore enchanted amulets purchased from the Continental shop—artifacts laced with powerful illusion magic.
One of the famous product of witch sisters which has been a hit among both yokais and monsters.
To the mortal eye, they appeared as perfectly normal humans, their monstrous features hidden.
Even their weaknesses had been accounted for;
Clever props crafted and sold with the amulets mimicked harmless versions of sunlight wards, silver trinkets, and sacred charms, ensuring no slip would betray them.
For tonight,
At least, the monsters mingled freely with man, enjoying roasted meats, sugared fruits,
And the laughter of children without fear of being hunted.
The Dartmoor Festival had become a crossroads of worlds—
Witches, wizards, monsters, and yokai, all gathered under one sky of shimmering lights.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)I hope you guys are enjoying the story.
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review
And power stone!!!
It will Motivate Me.