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The air around the Rune Coven shimmered like glass under pressure—fragile, beautiful, and deadly. The sky was an endless bruise of violet and storm-gray, torn occasionally by veins of silver light. The faint hum of runic wards trembled through the forest, forming invisible threads that wove together in sacred geometry.
It was not a place one crossed without invitation.
But Velia had never needed an invitation.
She stood at the edge of the forest's twilight, her serpentine eyes reflecting the sigil-bound trees that marked the Coven's territory. Her long, obsidian cloak rippled as the wind rose, revealing a gown made of scales so fine they glimmered like liquid night. Around her, a dozen rogue witches chanted softly under their breath, their hands moving in tight, practiced circles, weaving a veil of concealment that swallowed even the sound of breath.
Behind her, Gavriel emerged from the fog—tall, broad-shouldered, his black armor glinting faintly beneath a mantle of shadow. His skin bore faint cracks that glowed with ember light, remnants of the infernal energy bound within him. His eyes—red as spilled blood—moved restlessly, scanning the perimeter.
"The wards here are older than anything we've faced," he said, voice low and rough. "Even your witches are trembling. This isn't a place one can intrude not except you have a death wish."
Velia smiled faintly, the kind of smile that made lesser beings step back. "Then they'd better learn not to tremble in my presence. And we will succeed in raising our god of it's the last thing we do."
Her voice carried a quiet authority that bit sharper than steel.
She turned slightly, her gaze finding the rogue witches clustered together. "If any one of you falters," she said, her tone calm but venom-laced, "I'll have your hearts carved out before the Coven can even sense your screams. Do I make myself clear?"
They nodded quickly, heads bowed, the air thick with fear and obedience.
Satisfied, she shifted her attention back toward the shadowed forest that guarded the Rune Coven.
But before she took another step, she stilled—her eyes narrowing slightly as if remembering something. "The Citadel," she murmured. "It will be vulnerable now."
Gavriel's gaze flicked to her. "The Demon King is not there, a perfect opportunity."
"Yes indeed." Velia replied, her tone almost playful. "The king left to lick his wounds and tend to his little phoenix wife." The way she said phoenix dripped with mockery and envy. "That means his fortress is unguarded by his will—and his people will be soft from the chaos of the storm."
Among them stepped a vampire whose presence drew attention like a blade's gleam. His face was hard, his left cheek slashed by an old scar that refused to heal even through centuries of regeneration. His eyes, pale gray and utterly cold, met hers with deadly reverence.
Amon.
"My queen, I'd like to go too. I have some unfinished business with the Hellfire Citadel. King Hades destroyed my father in a petty war, I'd like my revenge on his kingdom and everything he holds dear." he said, bowing slightly.
Velia's lips curved. "You'll lead half the army to the Hellfire Citadel. Hades is gone, and the barriers will be weak. Tear through their gates, feed on the guards if you wish—make them bleed, make them remember me."
Amon's scar twitched as he smirked faintly. "And if the King returns?"
Velia's eyes glowed emerald-bright in the dark. "Then die screaming his name. But until then—make sure his people scream mine."
He inclined his head, then turned, motioning for the rogues to follow. Within moments, the shadows swallowed them whole, leaving behind only the faint echo of boots vanishing into the mist.
When silence returned, Velia inhaled deeply—the scent of dark earth and coming thunder filling her lungs. "Now," she said softly, "let's visit the witches."
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The Rune Coven's border was alive.
Each tree was carved with sigils that pulsed faintly in rhythm with the moon. The air smelled of rain and ancient parchment. Magic coiled through the roots like living veins, whispering to anyone foolish enough to approach.
The rogue witches held hands now, their voices weaving a cloaking chant so intricate it made the world around them shimmer faintly out of sync. The light bent, the air thickened, and one by one their bodies blurred into shadow.
Velia, Gavriel, and the remaining rogues stepped forward—each step slower than the last as the energy of the barrier pressed against them like a living thing. It pushed back, curious and suspicious.
"Careful," murmured Gavriel, his voice little more than smoke. "The runes are awake."
"Let them wake," Velia whispered. "They'll find nothing."
Her serpentine pupils thinned as she drew power from her inner well—a dark, liquid energy that swirled in her veins like black fire. It pulsed outward, reinforcing the witches' concealment with her own serpentine magic. The wards of the Coven hissed faintly, sensing corruption but unable to pinpoint its source.
And then—
The world shuddered.
Far within the Coven, in a shrine of pale stone and moonlight, Alyssa stirred from meditation. Her body was still, but her mind stretched outward like silk threads unraveling into the night. She felt it—something foreign, whispering just beyond her border. A disturbance, faint but foul.
Her eyes snapped open, glowing white. "An intruder," she breathed.
Rising from the stone dais, she gathered her cloak and stepped out into the storm-washed air. The wind carried whispers from the trees, warnings in the language of leaves. Alyssa moved swiftly through the forest and debris caused by that terrible storm, her bare feet leaving no imprint on the glowing runes beneath her.
To the intruders, she appeared like a ghost—ethereal, radiant, dangerous.
Velia watched her from behind the veil of magic, an amused curve forming on her lips. "Beautiful," she murmured. "The seer of the Rune Coven. The last of her line."
Gavriel's crimson gaze narrowed. "She's looking right at us."
"But she can't see us," Velia said. "Not yet."
Alyssa stopped a few paces away from the edge of their concealed group. The forest fell silent around her—no wind, no breath, only the low hum of runes reacting to her presence. She closed her eyes again, extending her senses, trying to feel the disturbance that prickled along her skin.
But the rogue witches held the veil steady, their faces slick with sweat, their hands trembling as the magic strained against Alyssa's probing.
Velia's voice sliced through their fear, quiet but sharp. "Do not falter," she said without turning. "Or I'll feed your souls to the Serpent."
That single threat reignited their will. They strengthened the chant, their whispers turning frantic and guttural, speaking in the forbidden tongue of shadows.
Alyssa's eyes snapped open.
"Something is here," she said softly. "Show yourself."
No one moved.
Then, with a decisive motion, she reached into her cloak and drew out a slender stele, carved from bone and crystal.
Her voice became melody and wrath combined as she began to draw in the air, runes flaring bright with each stroke. Ancient symbols burned silver and gold, spiraling into a pattern that pulsed with raw energy.
Velia's smirk faded slightly. "Ah. A rune summoner."
When Alyssa completed the final mark, she whispered a word in the old witch tongue—
"Fulmenor."
Lightning screamed from the sky.
It struck the ground only meters from where Velia stood, tearing through the mist like a blade through silk. The rogue witches screamed as their barrier wavered violently, arcs of electric power lashing through the cloaking veil. The forest exploded in white light and sound.
"Hold it!" Velia hissed, her magic surging outward like black serpents. "Hold the veil!"
But Alyssa wasn't done. Her stele moved again, faster this time, her eyes burning brighter. The air filled with glowing symbols, circling her like orbiting stars. Each rune vibrated, calling forth another bolt of divine lightning that struck in rapid succession.
The rogue witches cried out, blood dripping from their noses, their strength failing. The veil flickered—just once—and Alyssa caught the faintest outline of something moving.
"There!" she whispered fiercely, eyes narrowing.
Gavriel snarled low, his infernal aura beginning to flare. "She's too close. Let me end her—"
Velia stopped him with a single raised hand. "No. Not yet."
She turned to the faltering witches, her voice rising like a hiss. "Do not break. Do not fall. If the veil shatters, I will personally flay your souls."
The witches, shaking and near collapse, clung to the magic like drowning creatures to driftwood. The lightning struck again—brighter, harder—but somehow, barely, the veil held.
And then—
Silence.
Alyssa lowered her stele slowly, her brows furrowed. The air was still thick with power, but the signatures had faded. She could feel something—but nothing solid, nothing she could trace.
Her heart beat faster. Something was wrong, but her magic couldn't see what.
She stood there for a long moment, her silver eyes scanning the forest one last time before she turned away, her cloak fluttering behind her like mist.
Velia didn't move until the last shimmer of her aura disappeared beyond the trees.
Only then did she exhale slowly, the tension melting into a low, satisfied chuckle. "Clever girl," she murmured. "But not clever enough."
The rogue witches collapsed, gasping and shaking, the last threads of their magic sputtering out.
Gavriel turned to Velia, his voice low. "You risked all of us."
She looked at him, a cruel glint in her serpent-green eyes. "Power is not taken by those who fear risk."
Then she stepped forward, across the invisible border, her foot landing on the runic soil of the Rune Coven. The ground pulsed once, faintly red, as if recognizing her trespass.
Velia smiled darkly. "We're in."
Behind her, Gavriel and the remaining rogues followed, shadows moving like a silent tide. The forest seemed to hold its breath, every branch and root whispering of the storm to come.
As the last of them vanished into the Coven's heart, a cold wind stirred the runes carved in the trees, making them flicker faintly—like warning lights that no one had noticed yet.