Barkskin—a 2nd-level spell, much like Mage Armor, was a protective enchantment.
It served as a shield for wielders of nature magic—druids and rangers alike. The difference lay in its higher mana consumption and shorter duration—merely an hour—yet its defensive potency far surpassed Mage Armor!
But alas, in this moment, the spell that had cost Nidalee three spell slots offered no comfort. With Ruth nearly upon her, she barely managed to leap aside—
Slash—!
"Gah—!"
She avoided a fatal blow, yet Ruth's nails sliced effortlessly through the magically reinforced skin at her hip, carving into flesh!
Blood gushed instantly. The agony of torn muscle forced a grunt from Nidalee's throat, and she realized with stark clarity: the gap in their strength was insurmountable.
I must flee!
"Roar—!"
In a flash, her body contorted, reverting to leopard form before she spun and bolted into the darkness!
Ruth took two steps forward, poised to pursue and finish the hunt—when a man's voice halted her: "Let her go."
The speaker was none other than Charles. Now, he and Sephera had finally reached the battlefield.
His reasoning was simple: Nidalee, as a leopard, was swift, and these mountains were her domain. Chase her, and they'd risk scattering—or worse, stumbling into traps or an ambush. More complications were the last thing they needed.
As for letting a foe escape to seek vengeance later?
Preposterous. The Rubble District and South Harbor District lay worlds apart. Charles doubted she'd cross that distance for retaliation.
Ruth stilled, turning to bow her head as Charles approached. "Master, I've secured the Holy Sword Fragment."
Charles exhaled, eyeing Nidalee's retreating figure. Instead of asking about the Holy Sword Fragment, he pulled Ruth into an embrace. "Are you hurt?"
She nestled against his chest, her cheek pressed to him. "I'm unharmed, Master. Nidalee couldn't wound me—nor take the Holy Sword Fragment."
Sephera promptly clung to Charles's arm, vying for attention. Noticing the cuts on Ruth's skin and clothes, Charles frowned. "Good. This druid… she attacked first?"
Ruth nodded, recounting the skirmish. Charles's jaw tightened. "That wretched woman…"
Though Ruth bore no injuries, he'd already marked Nidalee—and her accursed Mountaineer tribe—for retribution.
Then Sephera interjected: "And the necromancer?"
En route, Charles had shared his battle's details, so now, she naturally sought updates on the enemy.
Ruth stiffened, whirling to find only a smeared trail of blood where the dark elf had lain. Their primary target had vanished.
Gritting her teeth, Ruth hissed, "I'll hunt him down. With a broken leg, he can't have gone far. A few steps, and I'll end him!"
Her tone dripped venom as she released Charles and strode forward—only to halt. The blood trail had vanished entirely.
Clearly, during her clash with Nidalee, the necromancer had teleported away, leaving no trace to follow.
Bitter frustration twisted Ruth's face. "Both… slipped through my fingers…"
Charles drew her back into his arms, murmuring, "It matters not. We've little reason to return to the Rubble District after tonight."
"The Mountaineer tribe, the Underdark passages—none of it concerns us in South Harbor. These trivialities pale next to our victory. The Holy Sword Fragment is what truly matters."
His words soothed her slightly. Patting her back, he added, "Come. Let's return to the monastery and deal with Theresa."
"Ah, but first…"
He turned toward the woods, where zombies limped forth, drawn by the scent of blood. A smirk curled his lips.
"Let's purify these undead."
Fifty Purification Points per zombie—what a tantalizing prize.
...
The next morning, within the monastery.
Hattie had just risen from bed and was preparing to begin her daily duties when she spotted Theresa standing in the garden, draped in an opulent white nun's robe trimmed with golden edges, seemingly waiting for her. "Hattie, come here."
With no choice, Hattie approached and stood beside her. "Eldest Sister, you wished to see me?"
"Indeed." Theresa extended an arm, pulling Hattie close until their bodies pressed together.
This was Theresa's customary tactic. If the witches were truly loyal to her, such intimate posture would strengthen their bond. But if any harbored treachery, their reflexive resistance would immediately reveal them—while simultaneously demonstrating how futile it was to oppose Theresa's overwhelming magical power!
Just as now, when the slightly guilty Hattie attempted to subtly pull away, she was shocked to find herself completely immobilized, forced to remain pressed against Theresa's side.
Maintaining this tight embrace, Theresa chuckled softly. "Let's... deepen our connection. Ah, I know you're busy, and I'm helping you too. Tell me, are you satisfied with that woman Malena I found for you?"
Hattie nodded eagerly. "Very satisfied. Her aesthetic sense is truly remarkable. I foresee our garment sales will flourish."
"Eldest Sister's discernment in people is something we could never hope to match!"
As Hattie offered this flattery, Theresa's lips curled slightly. "Good. Since I've pleased you, now it's your turn to please me."
"Otherwise... this Eldest Sister might become quite displeased at being taken advantage of."
Instantly, Hattie's body stiffened again.
Pleasing her?
What... does she want me to do?
Her heart trembled. She was no longer the cruel, merciless witch of old. If Theresa demanded some heinous deed...
Yet to protect Master and maintain their facade, she might have no choice but to comply.
Fortunately, Theresa's request wasn't anything of that nature.
Unfortunately, what she asked was far more perilous.
"Hattie…" Theresa blinked, her long lashes catching the sunlight. "Have you and the others been keeping something from me lately?"
Instantly, Hattie felt her heart clench. Yet she forced an awkward smile. "Huh? What does the Eldest Sister mean?"
Theresa looked down at her—her figure taller, allowing a commanding gaze. "The truth, now."
Hattie lowered her head, her mind racing for an excuse while stalling. "Well… since we started earning coin, we formed a company to expand the monastery. But we know little of commerce, so we didn't trouble you with the details—"
Theresa pressed a fingertip to Hattie's lips, silencing her. Hattie's heart pounded, near bursting—
"Not that." Theresa's voice softened. "I meant… this."
She formed a circle with her left thumb and forefinger, then thrust her right index finger through it. "You've done this, haven't you?"
Hattie's face flushed crimson, shock melting into feigned shame. "Y-You… noticed?"
Thank the gods, she thought, relieved. She only just realized I've been with the Master. I thought she'd seen through us like Ruth and Sephera—that she simply didn't care.
Who knew the High Nun could be so slow?
Her eyes flicked upward. Theresa, struggling to appear composed, wore a charming blush.
Then Theresa smiled, masking her fluster with confidence. "Of course I noticed. Did you think such a thing could escape me?" A pause. "Was it a human? Or another race?"
Hattie nodded meekly. "A human."
Instantly, Theresa's expression grew subtly complex. "Since when have you all developed such… interests? I can scarcely believe this is something you would do."
Hattie averted her gaze, deftly weaving her excuse. "Because… it truly is delightful. We feared you, Eldest Sister, would scorn us for it… That's why we dared not speak of it to you…"
Recalling how all six witches had concealed this from her—even Sephera—Theresa let out a soft sigh. "How could I scorn you? It's just… just…"
The image of a filthy, lowly human rutting atop her sisters' bare, delicate forms twisted her expression. "…It's simply difficult to fathom what manner of pleasure could drive you to willingly… submit to a human…"
"Oh, merciful heavens…"
She lowered her head slightly, pressing a hand to her brow as if still unable to accept it.
Hattie fell silent, already crafting fresh lies in her mind.
"Who started it?" Theresa lifted her gaze once more.
"I did." Hattie hung her head, feigning shame with practiced ease while frantically spinning her next deception.
"Did desire simply seize you? Or did you play with fire and burn yourself?"
"Well… We captured a human, intending to suck his soul dry as usual. But for some reason, from that day onward, I found his body… unnaturally pure. Unlike any other. And he exuded a deep, irresistible charisma."
"So I… pushed him onto the bed."
"And then you lay with him?"
"Yes."
"And then you shared your… experience with the others, so they sought out humans of their own?"
"No. They happened upon the human I'd taken, and the same strange allure gripped them. So I… let nature take its course."
"Wait—so all six of you have been with the same human?"
Theresa's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Yes. Only him." Hattie nodded earnestly.
"I assumed each of you would summon different… pets."
"Oh, no. The others are too vile. Only he was pure enough for us to… make do."
"With just one, surely you'd struggle to share?"
"Ah, no. We usually take him together."
"By the gods…"
Theresa's face twisted as her mind conjured the depraved scene. "All six of you at once? That's… Even Sophia didn't object?"
Sophia, the eldest witch, had witnessed humanity's vilest depths. If anyone would scorn such filth, it was her. How could she debase herself—
Hattie shook her head rapidly. "Sophia didn't refuse. Though she was the last to join the revels…"
"Wait. If you were first, who was second?"
"Ruth. After the Night of the Witches, she was wracked with guilt over her mistakes. When she came to me, I… shared my secret with her."
"No wonder my foresight showed such visions. You'd already grown so… intimate."
"You could say that, yes."
"And Sephera? When did she join?"
"She was… third."
"So soon? When?"
"After you left. She discovered what Ruth and I were doing and mocked me. Then she took the human from me, citing monastery security…"
Hattie strained to recall Sephera's exact words, stitching together a plausible tale. "I thought I'd lost my plaything forever. Yet somehow, Sephera too fell under his spell…"
"After that, the three of us grew… quite close."
Theresa could vividly picture it. "That does sound like Sephera."
After a pause, she added wryly, "Had I questioned her first, she'd have claimed you and Ruth ambushed her—forced her into the man's arms."
Hattie recalled the actual events and nodded earnestly: "Oh absolutely, she'd spin it exactly that way for you, Eldest sister."
Theresa forced a smile—then another, each more strained than the last—until her expression finally collapsed. "What in the Nine Hells was Sophia thinking? Did anyone bother asking her? Did she show any signs of objection?" Her voice sharpened. "Sephera's antics I can fathom, but Sophia? Since when does she tolerate such... debauchery?"
Though Theresa now wielded power surpassing even Sophia's prime—surpassing, in fact, the combined might of Sophia and every other witch—she still regarded the eldest and most erudite sorceress with profound reverence.
For Theresa knew the bitter truth: witches were aberrations, unintended lifeforms born from flaws in the Material Plane's fabric, twisted further by seeping Chaos Energy.
From birth, they endured endless Agony, hunger, and curses. The gods offered no salvation—wouldn't even acknowledge their existence. To do so would admit imperfection in their grand design, that the glorious Material Realm harbored... flaws.
Thus reviled by all, witches could only save themselves.
Theresa clung to this purpose. While lacking any altruistic delusions of "saving all witchkind," her own survival demanded understanding their nature—to escape the flaws' torment, to withstand the Night of the Witches' uncontrollable frenzy.
And Sophia, having survived more Witches' Nights than any other, remained the fount of wisdom.
Which made her apparent descent into... depravity all the more horrifying.
It felt like discovering your stern, tradition-bound schoolmaster—the one who lectured endlessly on propriety—secretly penned lurid fantasy romances under a pseudonym. The cognitive dissonance left Theresa nauseated.
Hattie nearly blurted "Because she's been Purified!" but swallowed the words. She had no right explaining for her superior. Instead, she deflected: "Perhaps... you should summon her? Ask directly?"
"...Very well. In fact, gather everyone." Theresa's expression darkened. She needed answers—Sophia's survival strategies were vital. What if this... behavior was somehow part of enduring the Night?
A Sending spell later, the coven assembled. Ekta and Andny arrived first, bewildered.
"Come." Theresa beckoned. Behind her, golden magic swirled into translucent butterfly-wing hands that draped over the junior witches' shoulders—a gesture meant as camaraderie, though the trembling duo more resembled plucked chicks.
Theresa repeated her intimidation tactics until the pair shook like leaves, only saved from contradiction by Hattie's frantic eyebrow signals.
Finally, Sophia glided in, serene as always. "You summoned me, Eldest Sister?"
Theresa opened her mouth—then flushed crimson and jabbed Hattie. "You explain!"
As Hattie summarized events (with excessive blinking toward Sophia), Ekta and Andny practically folded into their own chests with shame. Sophia, however, remained the picture of calm: "This is perfectly natural. Had my memories not been restored, I might've objected too."
Seeing Theresa's skepticism, Sophia continued smoothly: "Consider dragons—the Material Plane's supreme beings. Do they not couple freely with lesser species?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Why, the Common Tongue word 'orgy' originates from silver dragons' shapeshifted revels among humans. The entire Silver Kin lineage of the Sein Empire traces to such... festivities."
Theresa couldn't refute the historical accuracy.
Sophia pressed on, the very image of worldly wisdom: "Humans bed lizardfolk. Elves allow goblin captures. Pleasure knows no hierarchy of species." She tsked. "Eldest sister, you're centuries my junior. Must you be so... provincial?"
That last barb stung. Theresa's chest heaved—the idea of some lowborn human mounting her still revolted. Yet...
Sophia's unflappable gaze. Hattie's resolve. The witches' frantic nodding. Even Ruth and Sephera's participation...
Surely not all my sisters could be corrupted simultaneously?
A cold fear struck: What if they exclude me? And when the next Night came...
"...Fine," Theresa conceded through gritted teeth. "I... accept this outcome."
The witches' tension eased—until Theresa added, "Then… might I also join your revels? The kind the silver dragons so adore, the wild gatherings you speak of?"
"With that… The one even a witch would not find disgusting."
The garden's air turned to ice. The witches' faces stiffened, their relief shattered by this unforeseen demand.
Noticing the shift, Theresa's confusion resurged. "What? Am I unwelcome?"
Unwelcome?
By the abyss, of course you are!
No one knows the peril you pose to the Master better than we!
Every witch snarled inwardly, yet in perfect unison, they clapped and beamed. "Oh, yes! Absolutely welcome!"
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