In this world that had been transformed into my reality lurked monsters and nightmares that took human forms but even among those beasts there were even more fearsome and mysterious entities. They are called witches.
They had lost their humanity, even if their form says otherwise, soulless beings with an existential void that, instead of condemning them, gives them a fearsome gift: their hearts become receptacles of a primordial, volatile and corrupt energy that the ancients could not classify as mana or Măĝî. The supreme pontiff who led the crusades called that energy Flux, and that name was marked in the records of the church, engraved with awe and respect.
Unlike our magicians, they don't need chants or complex runic circles; like miracles, the Flux responds to them like a reflex responds to the body: immediate, visceral. It's an extension of their being, a stream of savage power that flows from their will.
