She smirked, her eyes dancing, though she didn’t get up from her chair. Her dress, her skin, and the house were filthy. A rotting queen on a putrid throne.
Micah followed Brin in, eyes downcast like always. He poured a drink for Effa in a dirty glass, placed it in her hand, and then turned around to leave.
He paused at the door. “We would have done anything for her. Do you understand?”
“I’m beginning to,” said Brin. Alert! [Call Sound through Glass] leveled up! 6 -> 7
Brin made a mental command that he didn't want any more skill up notifications until he asked for them. Hopefully the System would respect it; he couldn't afford to get distracted right now.
Micah nodded and left the room. He didn't shut the door behind him, giving Brin a completely unimpeded view of what was going on through the doorway.
Effa picked up her glass and swirled it a bit, then looked up at Brin and gave him a measuring look. She said, “After all these years, I can’t get him to stop saying that.”
He shrugged. “That’s the problem with familiars. They’ve got just a little pinch of autonomy. I bet that’s by design, you know. [Witches] trend towards megalomania. They need someone who can question them, who can push back against some of their worst ideas and prevent some of the self-sabotage.”
Effa nodded. “But if a familiar hates you, then he’ll resist every little thing you do for the rest of your life. He’ll obey orders, direct orders worded very carefully, most of the time. But nothing can get him to stop saying… that thing he says. I should have released him years ago, but you know, I have such a hard time throwing anything away.”
Brin laughed. Her house was more disgusting than he’d ever seen it. Clearly no one had come in to clean since the last time he and Hogg had visited, and the filth had piled up. At least he couldn’t really smell anything at present, which was a mercy.
She had all the hallmarks of a hoarder; at least that’s what they’d call her in his old life. He’d only learned a little bit about hoarders back then, but he’d heard that it was caused by some kind of trauma. Some terrible action or event that they couldn’t get over, leaving them unable to move forward and scrambling to hold on to any reminder of the past. An event like the death of a daughter?
She gestured with the glass at the piles of detritus. “Well, are you going to clean?”
Brin chuckled. “In a minute. There’s a couple things I want to know first.”
The smart thing to do would be to run her through immediately. She was more vulnerable now than she might ever be again, and giving her time to talk meant giving her time to summon some kind of rescue. That was Brin’s problem; he was too curious, and if he didn’t ask now, he might never get another chance.
Effa nodded. “Me too. How did you figure it out?”
“You’re a [Seamstress], which means that you could be the one making clothes for the undead. The way your daughter died gave you more than enough pain for getting an evil Class. You were one of the first people I suspected, but I could never really believe it was you.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Hogg. If you were the [Witch], there’s no way that Hogg would miss it. At least that’s what I thought. Still, I should’ve looked into it closer. You gave me plenty of clues, like the time you got a job working in the public house. That’s the perfect place to gather small crimes against hospitality to make people vulnerable to hexes. The adventurers especially didn’t interact with many other people. The best clue was when Hela got hexed. The rest of them made sense, high level people, town elders, leaders... but Hela? She’s not particularly dangerous. My guess is you just don’t like her. Nobody likes their boss. I should've figured it out at the time, but I had a lot going. Then there was the giant undead. We stumbled right on top of it because it was protected from Zilly's extra senses somehow. We assumed he had enchanted clothing, but now I think it was the dirt he was buried under. That could be Micah's work as an [Earthmover]. The thing that really nailed it home is my trip to the public house. Or I should say, the trip I never took. I wasn't there. You put that memory in Elvira's head, probably some attempt to undermine the town's defense? When I had a location, the rest wasn't hard to put together.”
Brin [Inspected] her. Effa Peck Level 31 Seamstress
Even now, it didn’t say [Witch]. That wasn’t tracking; the rest of the [Witches’] messages had updated after he’d figured it out. So that’s how it was. Well, he prepared for this, too.
“You’re not the [Witch]. You’re really what you look like. You’re Effa Peck the [Seamstress].” Brin shook his head. “Your daughter Siphani is the [Witch].”
Effa crooked an eyebrow, not speaking.
Brin continued. “How did you fool Hogg all this time?”
Effa sighed and set the glass down. Brin frowned. Was she really not going to drink it? She glanced at the window, no doubt thinking about whether or not she had to answer. “Would you like to play a game of questions? I’ll tell you, but then you answer one of mine.”
“Fine,” said Brin.
“I suppose you deserve to know. The Wyrd has many ways, ways for bedazzling the mind and entrapping the spirit. For Hogg, she only needed to change one thing, one tiny little detail on his oh-so-exhaustive [Inspect]. She only needed to remove the word ‘Undead’. Oh, and the fact that we’re her familiars. Living people can’t be familiars, you know. Siphani didn’t need to fool his [Inspect] because he never saw her.”
“Then how—“
Effa brought up a hand to shush him. She wasn’t near enough to touch him, but he stepped back anyway. “No, no, now I get a question. Why are you not dead? Specifically, why have you not succumbed to the very powerful hex that was thrown at you? It’s as if you’re completely immune to the Wyrd and I’d like to know why.”
Brin thought about it. If he refused to answer she’d probably clam up as well. He knew they were both just trading information under the assumption that it wouldn’t matter because the other party would be dead soon. On the other hand, she was asking for something that might help her kill him, while he was just trying to assuage his curiosity.
He decided to go for it. “I had a protective spell put on me by some friends of mine.”
Effa sat up straight, hunger in her eyes. “Who was it?”
“Not so fast. I think I deserve another question,” said Brin.
“Oh, very well. I suppose I can tell you—“
“No, I’d like to be very specific with my question.” He thought for a moment. “You said that Siphani fooled Hogg’s [Inspect] by staying away from it. She’s hiding. But she’s here. That’s real human waste in that chamber pot, from a living person. She’s probably been hiding under the floor or something—that’s not the question.”
Effa chuckled. “I don’t mind telling you that my heart beat a little faster every time Hogg mopped a certain loose floorboard.”
“I think I already know that you’re a student of Arcaena, or a student of one of her apprentices. The thing about how she kills all the other [Witches] she finds is a farce. She recruits heavily from the neighboring kingdoms.”
Effa raised an eyebrow. “Is that your question?”
“No,” said Brin. “Ok, I’ve got it. The night that Hogg killed Siphani, or thought he did. I mean, this is Hogg we’re talking about! There’s no way he wouldn’t have someone check his memories for any Wyrd-ness. How did she fool him?”
“Well, you’re quite right, she couldn’t. It was me who died that night. Siphani was a new [Witch] back then and just come into her power, but altering the appearance is one of the first things a [Witch] is able to do. She gave me her face and I ran off into the woods for her. Then everything else is exactly how Hogg remembers it. He pursued me, threatened me, forced me to swear an Oath. I swore to never use any [Witch] powers for evil, and of course I kept that promise until my death. I drowned myself. All exactly as he remembers.” Effa said it all with a wide, triumphant grin.
Something about this was not right. This was not the way a person tells the story of her own death. Even if Effa had been proud of killing herself to save her daughter, Brin couldn’t believe she’d tell the story like that.
“What utter nonsense.”
Effa’s eye twitched. “Believe it or not; I don’t care. I told you what happened. Now, my question is—“
“Hogg got a kill notification for a level 1 [Child]. There’s no way he would miss it if you were a level 31 [Seamstress]. How did you change the notification?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps the eyes of Arcaena were on us? Or perhaps my daughter is more talented than I ever realized.”
Brin shook his head. “No. How can you say that? She betrayed you! She ruined your family! She killed you!”
For a moment, Effa’s features twisted. It looked like her face was at war with itself. Then they resolved into benign calmness that was almost believable. “Who are the [Witches] of Hammon’s Bog?”
“No. I’ll put myself in danger, but I won’t betray people who’ve trusted me. Choose another question or this conversation is done.”
Effa hissed in frustration. Then she abruptly smiled as if she’d just thought of a funny joke. “Fine then. My question: Why in the name of the three Fundamentals did you think that I would actually drink this?”
She picked up the glass and poured out the contents. Brin winced as his very expensive potion of Turn Undead mixed with the rat droppings and rancid food on the floor.
“Well?”
“I figured Siphani ordered you to eat and drink anything that anyone gave you, to keep up appearances. She seems like the lazy type, so I didn’t think she’d want to have to order you each time.”
“Ridiculous. You think a [Witch] wouldn’t be wary of needlessly partaking in hospitality?”
“Hey, I answered a question, so that means it’s my turn,” Brin said. “Where’s Siphani?”
Effa drummed her fingers twice against the armrest of her chair, and then she stood, and as she did the gravity in the room seemed to double.
He wasn’t sure what it was, but Brin felt his pulse pounding in his ears, all his instincts telling him that this was the time to run. He felt his skin crawl in fearful anticipation.
She grabbed both sides of her own face, and pulled. The skin tore away in a straight line, as if on a seam, and kept going down. No blood spilled; her body had been built to split like this. Hair, clothes, skin, it all tore in half in a straight line, revealing a porcelain-white figure underneath.
Brin used [Inspect] before she’d completely erupted from the zombified skin of her mother. She must’ve had a high enough [Hide Status] to block it, but she’d left some things visible. Siphani Peck Level 45 Witch Alert! You have uncovered the identity of every Witch in Hammon’s Bog. Through your efforts, you have earned a new Skill. Know What’s Wyrd - You can sense the Wyrd. Increased resistance to the Wyrd and Wyrd-related abilities.
Brin’s mind barely had time to register the notification; he was too stuck on the image of Siphani Peck erupting out of the zombified corpse of her mother. Effa hadn’t been a whole zombie, just a costume, and she fell limply to the ground. Siphani daintily stepped out of the mess. Her nude frame was ghastly and thinner than should be possible. Her ribs stuck out prominently and her hips looked like a shrink-wrapped skeleton. Her arms were round and noodly, almost as thin as Myra’s ropes. It seemed impossible that her thin legs held her whole weight. Only her head was plump, it was like the ball on top of a lollipop, perfectly round, with thin uneven hair.
She’d clearly altered herself with the Wyrd. She’d monsterified herself as much as Clementine had done, only Siphani’s body hadn’t been a rush job. It had clearly been the product of passion. The perfect vision of beauty, from a deranged, psychopathic anorexic.
Despite her emaciated appearance, something in Brin’s instincts said she was strong. Not just magically strong, but physically. Maybe it was [Battle Sense], but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t think he could beat her.
She proved it when one gangly arm formed a fist and then quicker than he could blink, drove it straight through his head.
The action completely unsummoned Brin’s mirror image. Because no, even he wasn’t stupid enough to enter a [Witch’s] den alone.
That’s why he’d needed Micah to open the door for him and bring in the second potion of Turn Undead, because his real body was in a house across the street. He'd been watching through the door that was left open. The hardest part had been sound. Mirror Image projected his voice, echoing anything he said, but it didn't hear for him. He'd needed to fool around with [Call Sound through Glass] until he found a way to sort of feel sound through the magic he placed on glass--in this case the potion bottle. It wasn't perfect, but between that and straining his ears at the door of the house across the street, he'd been able to follow the conversation.
That was also why Brin had expected Effa to drink the second potion of Turn Undead: because Micah had drunk his without a second thought.
“Go nuts, buddy! I’m done with her!” Brin called.
Micah’s calm demeanor completely fled. His face sank in a hateful grimace, and he pounded towards the house with heavy steps. He’d spent the time of their conversation wrapping himself in a layer of dirt, the armor and weapon of an [Earthmover].
With one earth-gauntleted fist, Micah swung his fist into the wall of her house, shattering the old rotten wood.
“We would’ve done anything for you!” he howled.
He swung again, breaking down more of the wall. “We took you in! Fed you! Clothed you! Effa wore RAGS so that you could wear pretty new dresses every week!”
He punched again, and this time the entire wall came down.
Siphani serenely stepped out of the rubble, her pale form shining in the moonlight.
Micah slammed the ground with both hands in wild anger. Even as Brin watched, he grew, becoming more monstrous, more undead. Without the power of a [Witch] to hold it in check, his undead nature ran wild. His skin took a greenish cast, his teeth grew longer, and he drooled with a hunger that could no longer be repressed. “We gave you EVERYTHING! We brought meals to your room so that you wouldn’t have to see when there was nothing left for us!”
“All of this is what a daughter is due from their parents. You shouldn’t have taken me in if you were too poor to provide for me,” Siphani said simply.
Micah screamed, losing coherence. He charged her. One of her thin ropey arms swung out and smacked him, slamming him to the ground. He began to stand, but she kicked him, flinging him to a building to the side. That action set off traps on the boardwalk. Spikes flew from the boards, impaling him in a dozen places.
He stood, shakily, but no less furious. “You… stole… YOU KILLED MY WIFE!” He charged again, seeming to grow stronger every second, despite his wounds. This time he weathered Siphani’s strikes and rocked her with a wide haymaker, flinging her back into their ruined house.
Brin had expected that bringing in Micah would end things. After all, [Witches] were personally weak and relied on their familiars. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
He used the brief delay to start summoning another mirror image, following along with his memory of casting it the first time from his [Memories in Glass]. He wished he’d thought to keep practicing it; making the casting time even a few seconds faster could mean the difference between life and death.
The slugmatch between Siphani and her undead father went on, and Micah came off worse for it. Siphani’s ivory skin was unhurt, only slightly blemished by splatters of Micah’s blood and his armor of dirt.
Finished, Brin put the mirror image in front of him, and charged at Siphani. As smart as it might be to run away and get backup, if there was a chance he could end this war now, he needed to take it.
Siphani swiped straight through his mirror image, dispelling it, leaving herself open. Coming in right behind it, Brin thrust out with his spear. She snaked away at the last second, but Brin still gouged a long line through her side.
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She screamed and caught him in the gut with a backhand that knocked the air from his lungs.
Micah knocked her off her feet with a punch and she rolled away, slithered several yards like a snake, and then took off running.
“Stop her!” Brin shouted, but it was already too late. Siphani was monstrously fast.
Only, strangely, she wasn’t heading toward her army and safety. She was running towards the town square, where Kevim had said that everyone had grouped up for the final stand.
Even in a world with Classes, being outnumbered still mattered. Brin and his friends had proven that against the giant. There was no way she should be able to face the entire town alone. That should be suicide… unless it wasn’t.
Brin ran after her. He started the chant for mirror image again, and when it was cast, sent it a dozen yards ahead of him, then followed.
He felt something. A wrongness in the air, underground, and even inside of him. That was… that was the Wyrd. His new Skill, [Know What’s Wyrd] was showing all the things that [Witches] had used their magic on, and it was everywhere.
This was the perfect Skill for this exact moment, but he didn’t have time to teach himself how to use a new Skill. He’d turn the corner towards the town center any minute now, and he didn’t know what he’d find there. He needed to figure out what this Skill could tell him now.
He used [Directed Meditation], and focused on the new sense that [Know What’s Wyrd] had given him. Starting with himself, he felt a churning sort of blackness, he could feel how it protected him, and he felt strings of it trailing off into the distance. Even now, he felt Siphani’s magic bearing down on him, trying to poison his skin and seed maggots in his blood, and he felt that magic being siphoned off through the threads, towards the town’s other [Witches].
It was fascinating and terrifying, and in other times he’d like nothing more than to sit down and study it, picking it apart to see how it worked. He didn’t have time for that now. What else could it do? He felt Siphani, even though she’d turned the corner and was dashing towards the city center. He also felt something underground, lines tracing the entire town. At first he thought they might be tunnels, but they weren’t big enough for that. They were thin, like strings, but they went everywhere.
There were intersecting points, places where the power was stronger, and then lines connecting them. He also felt…
There were undead down there. Siphani had buried pockets of undead all across the city.
“Up! Get up and defend me!” Siphani called, not stopping in her flight.
Three undead burst from under the dirt and closed on Brin’s mirror image. He tried to dodge, but the three undead easily struck his mirror image and dispelled it. Then they turned to him. Could he beat three on his own? He’d have to.
He heard heavy footsteps, and then a large figure ran past him. It was disgusting, an undead, but it wasn’t after him. The undead was so transformed from how he’d looked just a minute ago, that Brin didn’t recognize him at first. Micah. His wounds had been sewn shut, and he was covered in gore, loose skin, and wore a woman’s dress. Micah was wearing Effa.
She’d drunken the potion off the floor, then wrapped herself around her husband to join him in revenge.
Micah clubbed the undead with primal fury, his movements brutal and overwhelming, like a gorilla. He shattered the three soldiers and then stomped towards Siphani.
Brin followed behind. Hopefully Micah would kill Siphani before he got there, because she was starting to see through his mirror images and he didn’t have much else up his sleeve. He only had his magic, and the rest of the potions he’d taken from Hogg. A few mana potions, and one potion with flame on the label.
Siphani screamed orders as she ran, and by the time Brin turned the corner towards the town center, she’d grown a small force of two dozen undead.
Past her, everyone that was left in Hammon’s Bog was grouped up in the town center, more than a thousand people. A ring of defenders stood on the outside, spears out and shields high, though the shields all bore scratches and dings. Even Ademsi 2000 was there, although he wore heavy robes to disguise himself. In front of the defenders they’d erected spiked barricades. Behind them stood all the non-combatants. Children, the elderly, and everyone who had a Class unsuited for any kind of combat. He saw Bruna and Ademir among them, both gritting their teeth in frustration. Though looking at it now, all the adults, even the most elderly among them, were carrying weapons and dressed for combat.
They saw Siphani standing a hundred paces away, halfway down the street between them and Brin, and many were already nocking their arrows.
She smiled more widely than a human mouth should go when she saw him turn the corner, a sadistic smile. She looked back at the town.
“And now, for the moment you’ve been waiting for, you fools!” Her voice boomed over the town. Brin was certain every person in Hammon’s Bog would’ve been able to hear her, even if they hadn’t all been right here. “This is it. This is your one and only chance to surrender. Arcaena has need of you, and not as corpses, though that would suit me just as well. No, a great nation like Arcaena has very few who are born of such low ambition that they will take a Common Class. Surrender, and Arcaena will welcome you as the necessary servants that you are.”
Something was wrong. Siphani only had a few dozen undead. What made her think she was in a position to demand the surrender of a thousand armed people? He was missing something, but he bet it had something to do with the strange formation underground.
“Micah, Effa, hold on,” Brin said, and to his surprise, they did. Micah growled and pawed at the dirt with his foot, but he stopped running.
Brin looked at his spear, shrugged, and used [Summon Glass] to turn the spearhead into a perfect American-style spade. He found one of the places where the lines seemed to intersect the strongest, and started digging.
Marksi chirped from where he’d been hiding nearby, perhaps sensing his moment to help had arrived. He went to the spot Brin had been digging, and then slithered into the soil like a worm. Marksi could smell magic, so he knew exactly what Brin was looking for, but Brin wasn’t so sure the little guy would be able to do anything about it. He’d been counting on [Know What’s Wyrd] to disrupt whatever this formation was once he’d dug far enough down to reach it.
A moment later, Marksi dug his way back up. He held a fingernail-sized ruby in his hands, showing it to Brin with pride. The gem vibrated with power, more full of the Wyrd than Micah or even Siphani. It was beautiful and evil, and he bet it was actually a monster core, enchanted with [Witch] magic to power a ritual. He had no idea what to do with it. But as he watched, he realized that the lines of Wyrd were moving in to intersect with the gemstone. All he had to do to disrupt this formation would be to move that gem!
Marksi brought the gem up to his mouth, and swallowed it in one bite. The lines of Wyrd on this entire half of the formation winked out.
“Oh, no that can’t be good. Spit it out!” said Brin. Marksi was already starting to look sleepy. Brin picked Marksi up and put him in the hood of his jacket. He needed to find someone who knew how to make a skink throw up. Sure, Marksi got stronger from eating monster cores, but there was no way Brin wanted this one in his little friend.
Meanwhile, the town had come to a decision. They loosed arrows on Siphani, slaying several of her undead, and the line of defenders began to march forward.
“Fools, you’ve dug your own graves. What? Do you think I lived here all these years and did nothing? I’ve laid traps of my own.”
She shouted words of Wyrd, and all at once the town turned red. The formation lit up with red light from underground.
Sparks of scarlet lightning blasted from the ground around Brin, shocking him, tracing up and down his body, but doing nothing. That was because he was protected—no one else was that lucky.
He saw the red lightning hit the people of Hammon’s Bog, but they withstood it. The defenders continued to step forward. With [Know What’s Wyrd], Brin could feel the intent behind it. Siphani expected the formation to kill every living soul except for her, instead it barely weakened them. He thanked Solia that he’d thought to disrupt it when he did.
She shouted more words of Wyrd, and the intent of the spell focused, this time only hitting the front line of defenders.
The strongest of Hammon’s Bog fell to the ground as one, a chorus of screams filling the night. Four or five defenders stayed on their feet, propping themselves up on shields or spears. Most collapsed to the ground. He saw Ademir and Bruna grimacing in pain, both of them taking his dose.
Brin gasped in mock pain, and then staggered back behind a building, already starting the chant for mirror image.
Siphani brought more undead up from underground. She’d been preparing this contingency for quite some time, no doubt with Neptune’s help. More sprouted up until fifty undead stood with her.
Now that the town’s defenders were trapped in her curse, that was fifty too many.
“One last chance to surrender! But this time with a condition! In your temple there lay ten people, ten who have been afflicted with my curse. You will go into the temple and bring them out and deliver them to me,” Siphani ordered.
The door to the temple opened, and Ellion the priest stepped out. “No,” he said simply. There was no judgment from the heavens, no pillar of fire, but Siphani slammed against the ground as if she’d been stepped on by an invisible giant. She stood again shakily.
“The gods will not be mocked. You will not violate the sanctity of their temple, not even by proxy. I wish I were not compelled to warn you. I wish I could let you try and see you bear the consequences. Nevertheless, I was made to warn you, and so I have. Good day.” He didn’t raise his voice, but even from across the town square his voice was crystal clear.
Siphani grimaced in outrage, but schooled her expression. She made a mocking curtsy, mimicking spreading out the dress she wasn’t wearing. “I bow to the will of the gods.”
“Do you mock me?”
She sank down to her knees, this time looking appropriately cowed. “No. No, I am a servant to the gods. I will make an appropriate sacrifice for my error.”
Ellion glared at her, then turned and walked back inside his temple. Brin felt his new hope dwindle. Ellion wasn’t going to save them. He’d delivered his warning, and that was all he intended to do. Siphani stayed on her knees, head facing the floor until he was back inside. Then she stood, with an angry smile.
“I’m afraid I have no reason to spare you now,” she said.
The undead charged. The defenders were still stunned, and there was no one left except noncombatants.
Brin sent his mirror image ahead of them, charging at Siphani to give them an edge, but she ignored him and his mirror image ran straight through her. “How many times did you think I’d fall for that? Advance, you warriors of Arcaena!”
“Go, Micah! Stop her!” Brin yelled. He clutched his spear and charged as well, but an undead moved to block his path. They wouldn’t get there in time.
The old [Farmer] from the town council stepped forward, and he wasn’t alone. The old and infirm, the nice old ladies and the bowed old men separated themselves from out of the ranks of the others. Many of their families grabbed at them to pull them back, but they shook away and stepped forward.
For a split second, Ademir squared his shoulders and stepped forward, spear in hand. Even while shrugging his portion of the curse aimed at Brin, he looked strong and able. But Ademir wasn’t a fighter, and he seemed to remember that at the same time Brin did. His shoulders sagged, and he stepped back.
The elderly hefted weapons, some barely holding on, some needing canes to keep their feet. They stepped forwards.
The last charge of the elders moved through the ranks of the paralyzed defenders and hit the undead with a deafening crash. Age had robbed them of the utility of their attributes, but nothing stopped their Skills. For one dazzling moment, they broke through the enemy, crushing them with staves, cutting them apart with scythes, slicing them in half with scissors.
Then the moment was over. The Skills were spent, and the remaining undead were unstoppable. Now all the elderly could do was serve as speed bumps.
Brin could barely pay attention to his own fight, so focused was he on the image of the nice old woman who’d given him a sausage roll having her legs chopped off at the knees by a grinning undead soldier.
Siphani’s parents weren’t distracted by anything. They bowled straight through the undead, nothing slowing them. She formed claws on her fingers and slashed out at them, her thin arms striking like whips.
“WE DID EVERYTHING FOR YOU!” they screamed in unison.
Micah and Effa tackled her. All three of them went to the ground, and became a bloody mess, ripping, tearing, and biting at each other.
Brin threw his potion, the one with the flame on the label, hoping to hit all three of them together.
He expected fire, but he’d somehow forgotten that this was Hogg’s potion, made for threats on his level. Nothing prepared Brin for its intensity.
Flame burst out in a concussive blast, eliminating swathes of undead and catching Effa, Micah, and Siphani aflame. All three of them screamed. They writhed on the floor, the alchemical flame burning them away. Brin watched in horrid fascination as they turned black and shrunk, still screaming and squirming in pain. [Battle Fury] poured strength into him, more than he'd expected. He'd either killed them, or this counted as many, many wounds.
The magical effect of the flame died down, but the flames burned on. Effa and Micah went still, but Siphani shifted and writhed. You have defeated: Effa Peck (31) You have defeated: Micah Peck (33)
Siphani's skin, now black and charred sloughed off of her, and she stood, all red exposed muscle.
Brin started the chant for his spell again. This time, on a hunch, he put the magic into [Summon Glass] instead of [Call Light from Glass]. The sound portions he kept the same.
Siphani finished off her parents first. She pulled the head off of Micah’s corpse, and then used her clawed fingers to slash Effa to pieces. She took a step towards Brin. She looked to be smiling, now that she’d lost the skin of her face.
“It hurts. IT HURTS!” She moaned as she stumbled away from her dead parents, really dead now. “I can’t believe you made me kill them.”
Through [Know What’s Wyrd], he felt her pull on the power of her formation, changing it somehow. “You’re hiding somewhere, but I can still see you; I can see you through the slights made against me. You’ve resisted my curses so far, but can your protectors resist this?”
She removed the power of the formation from the defenders, freeing them for a short moment, and pushed all of its destructive wrath into Brin. For an instant, he felt a warning from [Survivor of Travin’s Bog], telling him that this was an attack that could kill him. Then the pain hit.
Even though the lion’s share of the energy was siphoned away into the three remaining [Witches], the power was still enough to wrap Brin’s body in agony. He was struck with exhaustion, and felt his skin cracking, spiderwebs of wounds breaking out underneath his armor.
It’s too much! We cannot bear it! We must break the spell and free ourselves! He felt the words rather than heard them, Balbi was speaking in his mind, through the bond they’d made with their protective spell.
Bruna’s voice came next. We took up this burden. We will carry it.
No. Ademir’s voice was firm.
The magic of the Wyrd shifted as Ademir carried out a complicated working, pulling on the magic and twisting it to his ends. The emotions of Bruna and Balbi were clear through the bond–horror at what he was doing. They tried to stop him, pulling against his working, but he was too strong. He completed his alteration to the spell and the magic slammed into place.
No. I will carry it alone.
The energy attacking Brin slipped away. The portion of the curse hitting Balbi and Bruna erased itself. All of the hateful energy coalesced on Ademir, destroying him utterly. He screamed, and then even that much was too much for him.
The magic from Siphani’s formation was so toxic and full of hate, that Brin was afraid to see what it would do to him. The effect was more dignified than what he’d seen happen to others cursed by [Witches], but no less deadly. Ademir turned to dust, starting with his fingers and toes, and then up to his body until nothing remained.
Ademsi howled in fury and anguish. He ran to Ademir’s remains and collapsed on the ground sobbing. At least... at least Ademir's familiar would live on.
The rest of the defenders had recovered and began to move. Siphani switched the target of her formation back to them, freezing them in place for the second time.
He finished his chant. An entire third of his newly expanded mana pool drained away, and a perfect copy of Brin rose up from in front of him.
It was a perfect glass sculpture. It looked exactly like him, down to the fabric of his clothes and the splatters of mud on his leather armor.
Siphani didn’t fall for it. She walked straight past the statue and whipped at him with a clawed hand. He brought his spear up to defend, but she shattered the Bog Standard haft and then whipped out to scrape her nails against his armor. They bit deep, cutting into the muscle of his chest. He hissed and scrambled back, pushing mana into [Call Light] to do the only other trick he knew. He made bright, blinding light appear in the head of his broken spear.
She stepped back, shielding her eyes. “Enough!”
She stretched one bleeding red arm back, far further than it should be able to stretch, and pulled a potion from Effa’s burnt remains. She threw it on the ground, shattering it.
Pure, clean light erupted from the bottle. Not blinding or painful like Brin’s light, but calming and revealing. The Eveladis. She’d used an Eveladis on him to dispel any illusions.
He scrambled back, groaning. The blinding light winked away, and he couldn’t feel his illusion magic anymore; it was like he’d lost the light and sound Skills. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes!” she said. She watched his glass sculpture expectantly, but when the light of the Eveladis crossed it, nothing happened. It stood there, perfectly intact and lifelike. “What?”
She reached over and tapped it. “Glass?” She struck, shattering it, and doing even more damage to her skinless arms. She shrieked in pain.
Brin pushed every single iota of mana he had left in his body into the sculpture, doing the first trick he’d ever learned with [Shape Glass].
The glass expanded wildly, ballooning out, losing its color to burnt blackness. He couldn’t stop the expansion, but he could guide its direction. He wrapped it around her, hugging her tight. She strained against it, and he could already feel it starting to crack, but he had just enough time.
He closed the distance, and stabbed her in the chest with his knife.
Just like that, it was over. Except she didn't die right away. That was the problem with stabbing someone. She knew she was dying, and he knew it, too, but she wasn't dead yet. He stabbed her again, and again. Whatever she'd done to her body made her resilient. Resilient enough to cling to life, but not enough to resist. He kept stabbing, starting to panic, starting to hyperventilate, because how could she still not be dead? He didn't want to look at the terrible damage, but obviously he couldn't look away. He felt the steady, soothing anger of the [Scarred One] steady his hands and help him do what needed to be done.
Finally, finally, he got the notification. Alert! You have defeated: Level 45 Witch Level up! Level 27 -> 31 +20 Strength +4 Dexterity, +8 Vitality, +8 Magic, +12 Mental Control, +4 Will, +8 free attributes. You may choose 2 new Class Skills. You have 3 free general Skills. Congratulations! You have gained a new title. Savior of Hammon’s Bog. Gain 20% to all attributes while in Hammon’s Bog.
Brin jumped to his feet, trying to get some distance between himself and what he'd just done. Knives were too close. Too personal. The vision of her face followed him, sticking in his mind. He'd been told that when you die, your life flashed before your eyes. Actually, he'd experienced that. What he hadn't been told, was that the person killing you could see it, too. Brin had watched Siphani's life pass over her features, but in reverse. First, the monster she'd become, the spiteful woman that had tried to cover her small sins with unforgivable transgressions. Then she'd gone back to a scared little girl. When she'd finally died, it was with an odd look of calm.
He spat the taste of blood out of his mouth, and started walking, trying to distract himself. He looked over the town. The red light died down, and he felt the presence of the Wyrd clear out, starting near him and then expanding around in a ring, her death cleansing the area. The red electricity torturing the townsfolk dispersed, and he saw them moaning and getting to their feet.
He approached, and the sight of them sent a spike of anger up his back. He knew this was the [Scarred One's] feelings, but he couldn't help it. No one looked in his direction. He didn’t exactly expect them to start cheering his name, but weren’t they ignoring him a little too much? They’d seen him save the town, hadn’t they? They didn’t look happy to see him. They didn’t look happy at all. The defenders, recovering from Siphani’s torture formation, were picking up their weapons, their faces set in grim determination.
Anger turned to sudden awareness and then dread. He turned around. A woman in a bright pink gown, with bright red lipstick, blue eyeshadow, and two circles of blush on her cheeks stood in the center of the street. A gigantic stuffed bunny stood to her left, colored baby-blue. To her right stood a man-sized stuffed bunny, a sickly green. An army of the undead followed along behind her.
She tossed something towards them and it landed with a splat. A human head. Elvira the [Trapper’s] head.
“This was your last great defender, yes? Dear me, but I do hate to take matters into my own hands like this. I’d much have preferred if my apprentice had succeeded here. What a remarkable failure. She couldn’t even subdue one small little village! And to think I had such high hopes for her. Well, I suppose you’re all very proud of yourself, but I’ll tell you now that this simply will not do. It will not do at all. Aberthol, come here. Now. I’m taking you home.”
Brin knew immediately who she was from Hogg’s story. Awnadil. It was over.
The light of the Eveladis continued to expand, illuminating the undead army in perfect detail and nailing home how unmistakably screwed they all were. It went over rooftops, washing over the white walls of the temple. At least the people in there would survive the night. Dare he hope that Hogg would recover from Siphani’s curse and come save the day? But when he’d personally been hexed, killing the [Witch] hadn’t healed him. It had only stopped the spread. The doors to the temple didn’t open. The light moved on, over the public house and Perris’ shop, down the streets.
Lightning struck, a bar of black light that Brin wouldn’t have believed, only it hit in an area already covered by the Eveladis. It blasted up a plume of black smoke, which was quickly carried away by the breeze, revealing another woman. A blonde woman dressed in red.
Lumina laughed. “Looks like I got here just in time. Unbelievable! He was right. I can’t believe you’re actually here. Ha! If we’d known this is all it took to drag you out of hiding, we would have done it ages ago, oh [Great Witch] Awnadil.”