Chapter LI

Opening

Author's Note: Italics = Flashback

This chapter contains depictions of graphic violence. Reader discretion is advised.

Speaking of graphic violence, I had several inspirations for the action scene in this and some following chapters. They include X-Men (90s cartoon), The Witcher, Frozen 2, ATLA, and Damen. (Barbara Hershey is marvelous in this show, a modern-day Cora. If you haven't watched it, I highly recommend it)

There was a significant delay in posting this chapter. Life got pretty wild there for a bit, but things are back in order.

An explosion, like a small canon, made Cora stop in her tracks. She looked away from the princess and the warrior.

"Cora Mills!"

A woman, half-naked and dripping wet, was screaming at her. She was a wolf.

The arrogant mongrel held a mechanical contraption, a firearm. It was inelegant, loud, and very annoying. It was also pointed at her.

The filthy wolf girl made the machine explode several times. Small projectiles, like tiny arrowheads, flew at her. Cora stopped them mid-air. They fell to the ground in front of her, useless.

The woman jumped down from the roof to the ground. Her filthy wolf reflexes made it look easy.

"Release them, Mills!" The woman, an overgrown girl, was brash, bold, and rude.

"Cora Mills, you are under arrest-"

The words finally registered and cemented in her mind.

"I beg your pardon?"

Cora was furious. She could feel rage clawing at her belly and chest, hot and acidic. "What did you call me?" She would kill her. She would skin the wolf. Like she should have-

Cora tilted her head. "You." She looked at the little wench and couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before. "I know all you dogs look alike, but you look especially like your she-bitch mother."

Cora's words hit home. They surprised and unbalanced the wolf-girl. The expression made her look even more like her mother.

The shock didn't stop her for mongrel scowled, squared her shoulders and growled at her. "You're a liar! You didn't know my mother."

Cora smiled. "I knew her. I didn't get the pleasure of killing her, though I always regretted that. Congratulations. Matricide is quite a feat." She smirked at the way the mongrel's eyes widened. "And they say I'm heartless."

Cora looked at the girl again. All she could see was Anita. That earned the girl an especially painful death.

Henny and Regina, fourteen and unacceptably rebellious, were out playing with their horses. It was easy to slip away. For an hour, for a day, even a fortnight. If she had her heart, it would bother her. It was too convenient to worry about at the moment, though.

The woods were dark, deep, and some would say dangerous. Cora was not afraid. She had business to attend to.

A large bare circle marked the clearing. Nothing grew there, not even crabgrass dared try. Years worth of magic had seeped into the soil and soured it. On the edge of the circle was an old gnarled oak tree. There were bits and pieces of old spells and rituals hanging from its limbs and carved in its trunk. There were locks of hair, candle drippings, stones, and small bundles of herbs. Amateur magic. Cora needed no such trappings.

She did not understand why the hunter chose this place. They could have easily met at a pub or a crossroads. Sunlight filtered through the trees and cast the clearing in shifting shadows. The peasants called it a cursed place. The hedge-witches and healers called it a place of power. For Cora, it was an inconvenience. She could be doing a hundred other useful things at the moment.

After what seemed like half the afternoon had passed a cloaked figure approached.

"Finally!" She snapped. "What part of high noon is difficult to understand?"

The hunter didn't answer. They walked into the clearing, so they met in the middle. The hunter tossed a burlap bag at her. It hit the hard-packed dirt with a wet and heavy thud.

"Careful!" She ground her molars together. "If you damage it, it will be useless to me!"

If she hadn't already decided to kill him, this disrespect would have sealed his fate.

"I don't think it will work for what you wanted, anyway." The hunter, a woman, spoke. She pushed back her hood, and it shocked Cora. The hunter had dark hair, a handsome, strong face, and intense green eyes. She would make a pretty corpse.

When she stepped out of the shadows, Cora recognized her. "You." It was Henry and Esmeralda's courier. The Gypsy's Wolf.

"Your hunter, what's left of him, is in there.'' She growled, "Do not threaten my pack again, Witch."

One. She needed one measly shifter spine. The kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest hated and hunted werewolves. It should have been easy.

The damned hunter had failed her in the worst way.

Ah well, if you wanted something done right-

Cora moved, muscle memory as fast as thought. She reached for the wolf's heart. Cora's hand stopped short. A cry of shock escaped her lips. It felt like she'd slammed her hand against a stone wall.

The wolf laughed in her face. "The magic here is old and powerful, Witch. More than you could ever be." She leaned in to mock her. Her green eyes flashed gold.

"Besides, you wouldn't want to hurt Regina's godmother, would you?"

Cora blinked in confusion, then laughed in the wolf's face. "You are a dumb mutt, aren't you?" They were inches apart. "I don't know what tripe that Gypsy told you, but Regina's godparents are far away in the Southern Kingdom, royal blood. Not half-bred monsters."

Anita didn't flinch. "Every time you hurt that girl, I know."

The Wolf interrupted her. "I know and I remember. One day I will pay you back all those wounds. I swear on the Moon Spirit." She pulled a small token out of her belt-pouch. It was a piece of mirror glass with Regina's image etched in it. A small lock of hair and white thread circled it. Regina's hair and a thread from her clothes. Gypsy magic.

Cora wanted to attack her, to rip her limb from limb, to wipe her from the face of the realm. Cora was no fool, though. She didn't dare risk a physical confrontation with a wolf. The damn circle cut off her magic too, dampened it somehow. Even if it didn't, Cora couldn't risk it. If this creature was sworn to be Regina's godmother then she was dangerous. Taking her wretched heart would break the deal Cora had struck with Esmeralda. It had taken her years to rid herself of that woman and she would not have her coming back now.

"You're pathetic." Cora refused to give up and flee. She sneered at the wolf woman. " A Gypsy whore's lapdog."

The wolf grabbed Cora by the throat and lifted her off of the ground. Her eyes were gold and the muscles in her arm bulged and flexed. Cora knew she was strong enough to snap her neck with a twitch. She met her eyes with a steady glare of her own. She would not cower in front of a mutt.

"I should-" The she wolf's teeth elongated as she spoke. The fury was triggering a partial shift. It revealed her for the half-breed abomination that she was. "-kill you for that word alone. How dare you?!"

Esmeralda's pet monster was as loyal as she was stupid.

Though she gasped for breath, Cora wouldn't let anyone else get the last word.

"I'll destroy you. Your pack. Your pups. I will end your whole filthy species. You wretched dog-"

"Anita. My name is Anita, Godmother of Regina. I mark you, Cora of the Mill. Anyone who scents you will know. You are corrupt, unwelcome and diseased. You will find no allies in these woods. Any woods. I swear my people against you. We will hunt you. We will kill you. That oath is bound to my very blood and bone. The Moon Spirit damns you. Damns you for the perversion you call magic. Damns you for what you do to your child. Damns you for the blood on your hands and hearts in your vault."

The next moments were swift, violent and a blur. Cora slammed into a tree outside of the circle. Anita had thrown her like a rag doll. She felt like bones had broken and muscles had torn, but she was alive. Alive and without her prize. All she'd gained that day was a bloody sack of meat and hatred.

The girl, Ruby, had the same cocky strut and an arrogant glint in her eye. Cora remembered now. This girl was as stupidly loyal to Snow White as her mother had been to Esmeralda.

"You." The wolf girl was furious. She balled her hands into fists. Fists, how adorable. She lunged into an attack. She was a simple-minded mutt.

Cora disappeared in a cloud of smoke and reappeared two feet to the left. The wolf girl sailed past her, stumbling like an oaf. Cora waved her hand through the air and sent the idiot through a shop's front window. It was too easy.

"Oh, Lady-" The wolf crawled out of the shattered window with gold eyes and a feral smirk. "You are in for it now!" She ran, changing as she moved. What little clothing she wore shredded as her body contorted grotesquely.

That was all the warning Cora received before a large hairy beast tackled her. She fell on the stone-hewn road on her hands and face. Teeth sank into her shoulder and ripped cloth, skin, and flesh. It hurt, and Cora felt a cold stab of fear where her heart should sit.

Anita's words, years old, echoed in her mind.

"I will pay you back all those wounds. I swear my people against you. We will hunt you, will kill you. That oath is bound to my very blood and bone."

No. Anita was dead, rotten, her bones were dust. This was not a spirit-fueled curse playing out. This was an overgrown pup who thought she was a hero. Cora had no time for heroes.

She forced her magic into the stone road. It exploded around them and the mutt flew up and away from her. She bounced on the ground and rolled a few times. She didn't stay down long. She was bloody, fast, and furious, but still a dumb animal. All brawn and no brains.

The wolf was up and it lunged again. Cora threw her at one of the town buildings. The wolf broke through the brick and timbers. The beast still got up. It shook itself out of its stupor. Glass tinkled as it fell from its fur. It was a dumb beast, and it rushed back for more. It was limping now. She had hurt it.

"The warrior is worth her weight in gold. The Half-Man will make a decent spy. Even the princess could prove useful. You-" Her lip curled up. "-are both useless and offensive."

The beast attacked again and Cora froze it mid-leap. Her magic held the wolf in place with ease. It was too easy. Too boring. She could do better. Cora twisted her wrist and relished the sweet burn of magic.

The black stone road bubbled, hissed and melted into a thick black liquid that smelled like tar. Viscous tentacles rose and wrapped around the wolf and held it tight.

The beast burnt and it twisted and howled. It tried to escape the pain. There was no escape.

Cora would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy its pathetic whines. She walked around the dog, taking in her newest form of torture. She clenched her fist, and the wolf shuddered and howled in agony. It was delightful. She tilted her head and admired her handiwork for a moment more.

"Mongrel!" She clenched her fist again. "I should have wiped out your filthy bloodline years ago." She clenched her fist again and watched the beast fight and flail in the air. "Well," Cora smirked. "Better late than never."

She let the dog drop to the ground. It fell into the pool of black liquid road ooze. It twitched and tried to stand up. Its legs buckled, and it fell onto its side. The wolf-girl tried to shift. The bones cracked, and the limbs contorted. Her muzzle shortened and broadened out, her features stuck between wolf and woman.

"Get up."

It wasn't fun if she didn't fight back.

"At least Anita would have put up a decent fight."

Cora held out her hand, and a familiar cane appeared in her palm. It was a piece of artwork, exquisite ebony and swirling silver. Exactly the weapon she needed.

"No wonder-" Cora walked towards the beast. The cane clicked on the road with every step. "-she abandoned you." She leaned down to look at the beast. She used the silver head of the cane to pull the girl's malformed head up. "No one wants a runt." The silver made the wolf's almost-cheek bubble and blister. "Anita was right, you know. You're weak. Useless. A disgusting monster." She smacked the girl's face hard. "I pity you. Which is why I will give you a chance." Cora grinned. "Run."

The beast tried to get up. Its half-transformed legs could only scuttle backward. It was heaving, moon yellow eyes wide, working on instinct alone. Pathetic.

She watched as the wolf kept moving back. Cora focused her magic on and into the cane. It lengthened and reshaped. The silver handle became a spearhead, razor-sharp and barbed for maximum damage. These were the spears that her soldiers had used in Wonderland. She'd seen exactly how effective they were.

Cora felt a frisson of excitement go up her spine. Bloodlust. The potent fuel for her magic. She never failed to enjoy the little boost it gave her. It was a little zing in her blood, a spark of joy.

She sent the spear flying, fast and true. It sliced through the wolf's hide and into her chest. It screamed. It was music to her ears.

Blood spurted and stained her fur and the road. Her paw-hands scrabbled at the spear and tried and failed to pull it out. The silver would leach into her bloodstream and if the wound didn't kill her, the poison would. Too bad it would take so long.

No. No, it wouldn't. Cora snapped a finger, and the spearhead became molten inside of the girl's body. She screamed again, an inhuman howl that echoed all around the little town.

"Red!" Another voice screamed out. "Oh my God! Red!"

"Cora."

She looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. It was Esmeralda. Esmeralda always put her nose where it did not belong. She always did. Her companion, an old wolf, waddle-ran over to the girl.

Esmeralda didn't take another step, but she raised her arm, ready to cast a spell.

Cora conjured a fireball in her hand. This day had been coming for decades. She would kill that damn Gypsy.

Killian Jones had spent plenty of time in plenty of back alleys. Didn't matter the town or realm, they were all the same. They were dim, cramped and smelled of rubbish and mildew. He hated them.

He was waiting for Cora's signal. She hadn't told him what that would be, only that he'd know it when he saw it.

Hook sat on the heavy cage and when its smelly cargo made noise, and he knocked the bars with the heel of his boot. He was glad that Cora had teleported them from the ship. Ogres were damn heavy creatures. Even miniaturized ones. One of the little buggers let out a roar. Hook thumped the cage again.

His family had been Navy through and through. It went back generations, or so he'd been told. How many were legitimate sailors and how many were privateers remained up for debate. Still, even sailors knew about ogres. They were monsters. The wars to stop them had killed as many as they had saved. Men, women, children. Soldiers and civilians alike. They had all died horrible deaths.

Milah had drunk barrels of ale to keep the ogre nightmares away. Nightmares about her husband's cowardice and how she had nearly starved to death because of it. Nightmares about her son fighting and dying. Nightmares about her brothers, long dead conscripted soldiers. Nightmares about ogres attacking the ship. She'd hated her husband, but she hated ogres even more.

If the old wives' tales were true and Milah was waiting for him, then she would kill him again for this. These ogres would destroy Storybrooke, stomp it into a fine powder. They would eat flesh, drink blood and wipe their filth everywhere. It would be as easy for them as teasing apart the Crocodile's shop had been for him.

He tossed the small leather satchel up in the air and caught it then did it again and again. After a few centuries, throwing and catching with one hand was easy. A phantom pain shot through the stump under his hook.

He kicked the cage hard and wished it would make the pain stop. There wasn't enough rum in any world to stop that. So he kicked the cage again. "Dumb beasts."

Hook sighed and leaned against the rough brick of the building beside him. He looked at the sky and counted. Milah had taught him that little trick. When the winds died, and the ship went still. She would count. The clouds, the stars, the waves lapping on the side of the ship.

She hadn't known her letters, but her father had taught her numbers. He'd been a tax collector for some fat old lord. So she'd learned to count other people's coins. Those were good memories. Before her brothers died. Before the lord had executed her father for taking a few extra coins to get them through the winter. Before her husband's cowardice had ruined her life.

So now Hook counted too. He counted the beats of his heart. The memories of Milah. The days since she died (87,614). He counted and waited.

It didn't take long.

The sky lit up with a light so intense that it put lightning to shame. He covered his eyes with his arm and cursed Cora's theatrics. Some bloody sign. He stood up and pulled the canvas away. The five squat creatures all startled and fought the bars and each other. Whatever was in reach. They were all blind, but they could hear and smell without the magical cloth covering them. He grimaced. The cloth had been covering the worst of the smell too.

They were pale, dirty mongrels. They wore rotten furs and tattered leathers. Some had stringy hair and others were bald. They all had deep set gray eyes-sightless and lifeless. Their teeth and claws were mottled black and brown, filthy but strong and sharp. They were muscle, sinew and killer instinct. He didn't bother to open the cage. He opened the leather satchel and threw it into the cage. The monsters would find the mushrooms quickly enough. Then the cage wouldn't matter.

Hook walked away. He didn't want or need to see the monsters grow. He had other business to attend to. Cora's grand plan had to have all the twists and turns of a bard's tale. Just like a bard's tale, he had his part to play. He was, as always, the dashing pirate rogue. There to steal away maidens and take gold. Close enough, he supposed.

He made his way along Storybrooke's back-alleys and side-streets. He had taken several midnight strolls and knew exactly how to get to the diner. The empty lantern hooked to his belt thudded rhythmically against his thigh. He didn't need it for light. It held no candle, nor oil and wick. No. No, this was a prison. Forged from powerful magics that he didn't even try to understand. He had stolen it a long time ago from a twisted wizard's tower. He didn't remember the wizard's name or even what realm it had been in.

Hook vividly remembered its last prisoner. The fairy had been beautiful, like every story he'd heard as a lad. Miss Bell, as he'd called her, was one of the kindest creature he'd ever known. He'd been drawn to her almost obsessively.

She'd had white hair, paler than snow, even after hours on deck she'd stayed pale like the moon. She couldn't grant his wishes or even her own. She couldn't even fly, because something or someone had taken her wings. The marks on her back had been raw ulcers where gossamer wings should have been. They'd been, as far as he could figure, the least of her pains. She'd never spoken a word, only blinked wide hazel eyes. He'd told her everything, about Milah, about the Crocodile, about his very long life. She'd wept for him. Streams of silent tears.

He'd left her in Neverland. Left. That wasn't the right word, and he knew it. Why lie to himself now? He'd traded her to Pan for a way out. He'd given that sweet and sad lass to an immortal fiend for one last magical bean to get back to the Enchanted Forest. He'd sacrificed her on the altar of his revenge. A fairy, a brother, a boy, crewmen, his soul. He'd sacrificed everything for vengeance. Vengeance he'd yet to taste.

He shook his head to clear it. He wasn't a saint, a fairy, or even an innocent lad. He was a pirate. If he tortured himself over every misdeed, he'd never rest. No, he needed to focus on the matter at hand or hook as it were.

The backdoor of Granny's was unlocked and propped open. One of her cooks was an old salt and had spent time on privateer ships. They weren't mates, but he didn't mind sharing food and drink. Hook had sampled most of the menu through the backdoor. It was better than the slop he'd learned to stomach over the years.

Hook let himself in. The diner was quiet, the fight outside had everyone scared stiff. Better for him that way. He had one job, and he meant to do it. A little more blood for his revenge.

"Oiy! Who are you!"

Before he could answer a frying pan flew at his head. He stopped it with his hook. The clang of metal on metal made him grit his teeth. He twisted and pulled the pan. It flew across the kitchen with another loud clang. A lass in a red and white uniform glared at him. She scrambled for a new weapon to smack him with. Hook recognized her. He'd seen her flitting in and out of the diner. She had a fine figure and comely face. He'd watched her walk home through his telescope more than once. She was a nice lass and it would be a shame to bruise her pretty face. Cora had told him no witnesses, though.

"Captain Killian Jones, and I'm sorry about this, Luv."

He hit her hand in the temple with his hook. She crumpled, and he caught her before she hit the ground. He couldn't leave her and he wouldn't kill her. So he had to take her with him. He hefted her and balanced her over his shoulder. "Heavier than you look." The girl didn't answer him.

"Hey!"

A lanky man stood at the door to the dining room. He pushed his spectacles up onto his nose.

"What are you doing with Andreza?"

Hook looked him over. Dumpy suit, red hair, do-gooder attitude. His target had come to him.

"It isn't her you should worry about, Mate."

He reached into his coat and found the little vial Cora had given him. The glass shattered at the redhead's feet. Yellow smoke swallowed the man, and when it cleared, there was only a pile of ugly clothes. Hook kicked the clothes with his boot and a small chirp sounded off. The man had become a cricket-bug. Magic was much faster and cleaner than a sword.

Hook squatted down, careful to not drop the lass, and scooped up the bug. He tossed it into the lantern and closed the door to seal it inside. He didn't know why Cora wanted this man in particular, but it didn't matter. It was his life or this bug.

It all had to lead to something. It had to be another step closer to his revenge. He had to keep that, keep Milah, in mind. If it didn't count towards his endgame, towards Milah, then it was another sin. Hook scowled. It had to take him back to Milah, or he was no better than the ogres in the cage.

Somewhere in the building a baby cried, and a woman shushed it. Hook heard groans and fearful whispers. He could hear more outside, blasts and screams. This, all the chaos, for a bug. Pillage, plunder, and burn it all down. A pirate's life. It was all a pirate's life for him.

Pirate. Not a monster. If he kept telling himself that, it would be true. If he kept telling himself that it was for Milah then it wasn't his fault.

If he drank enough rum, he could convince himself that Milah would approve.

Cora was a monster. Rumplestiltskin was a monster. Killian Jones was just a pirate. A pirate, not a monster. If he made enough excuses and rationalizations, then that would still be true.

It was faint at first, like a kink in her back. It was annoying but easy to ignore. Then it was like a blast. Her magic felt like it was being shoved back into her.

Eugenia's head jolted up almost simultaneously. Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. "Did you feel something-" She bristled and shuddered. Were she in wolf form her hackles would be up. She scowled. "-magical?"

Esmeralda closed her eyes. Something had thrown Storybrooke's magical balance off-very off. Worse, something had destroyed the protective wards she'd cast. Every sense and instinct she had screamed danger. "Something is wrong." Her stomach turned sour with worry. The muscles in her back and shoulders knotted with tension.

"Granny!"

Mikel, much older and taller than the teenager she remembered, rushed over to them. He had filled out, matured, become a father. He had a little girl balanced on his hip. Adoption.

Esmeralda smiled at the precocious tot. The girl had a mischievous spark in her eyes, and it reminded her of Regina at that age. She was sure Mikel and his husband had their hands full.

At the moment, Mikel had one of the technology phones in his free hand.

He smiled at her and nodded his head in deference, "My Lady."

She rolled her eyes. He called her that honorific because of her relationship with Henry. He had always called Henry an Old Man, but never dared call her anything but Lady. Esmeralda suspected it was because he preferred her to Cora.

He held the phone out to them. "You need to see this."

There was a moving picture on the small glass rectangle. If she didn't know better, she would say it was magic. The small picture showed Cora Mills attacking Mulan, Aurora and-"

"My Red!" Eugenia's face blanched white. She grabbed onto Esmeralda's arm to keep herself standing.

The shock made Esmeralda's entire body go numb for a moment. She dropped the fabric sample she'd been examining. That moment passed. Then a seething rage took over. She grabbed the other woman's hand, squeezed and focused on getting to Diner as quickly as possible. Their travel was magical and instantaneous.

When they reappeared on the street, it was a war zone.

The quiet town had descended into chaos. Esmeralda looked around and tried to take in the destruction. Cora was as powerful as an earthquake and caused even more collateral damage. A flash of panic went through her. She was to meet Regina, Emma, and Henry for milkshakes after school. They weren't here yet. Thank the Spirits.

"Red!"

There was so much going on, blood and screaming, pain and fear. Mulan was wrapped up in metal bindings. Ruby was laying in a pool of blood. Young Aurora was crying. There were people cowering in the buildings, hiding and hoping to be spared.

"Cora."

Spirits help her, the last bit of her control frayed and snapped. Cora had gone too far. First Henry's child, and now Anita's. Her girls. Her clan. No more. She could hear her blood roaring in her ears. Her magic surged through her, crackling and booming, powered by caustic fury.

"Go." Esmeralda hissed at Eugenia. If anyone could help Ruby, it would be her. The woman sprinted with close to wolf speed to the girl.

She could feel magic and rage pounding inside her chest. It was screaming to be released, used. Wicked desires and bloodlust tainted her thoughts. She had long harbored hatred for Cora. Esmeralda had spent years dreaming of revenge. The time for the balanced path was over. Today Esmeralda would murder Cora and she would enjoy it.

"You dare attack this town?" Her Henry's town. Esmeralda glared at Cora and wished she'd ended her years ago. "Hurt these people?'' Regina's people.

She didn't answer with words. Cora turned, her arms already raised to cast a spell. A wall of fire, high and hot, ripped through the streets. It surrounded her and was moving in fast.

Esmeralda's adrenaline spiked. A full-body shudder along with a greasy wave of nausea almost overcame her. Fear and loathing, the shadow of agony. No. She didn't have time for fear. She couldn't hesitate, she had to act.

The water spraying from broken pipes into the road was all she needed.

She called it to her and let it flow. Her fear and righteous fury gave it power, but her love gave it form. A horse, strong and fast, burst through the wall of fire. The water-horse quenched the fire and created a cloud of steam and fog.

She moved quickly. Every twitch of her fingers and footfall had a purpose. Her magic rushed through her and she focused on what she wanted to do, on who she wanted to hurt.

There were no good or evil people, only good and evil acts. Magic was emotion and intent, and this was not an act that The Blessed Light or the Beloved Dark would condone.

The shattered glass and water droplets rose, and the winds bowed to her commands. They twisted, spun and grew. A cyclone, razor-sharp and deadly, ripped through the fog at Cora. It moved with her deadly intent.

Esmeralda did not have an ounce of mercy left in her.

She knew the instant that the twister hit the witch. Cora didn't scream out, but a renewed burst of fire scorched through the remaining fog. Esmeralda saw it coming and twisted to the side. It missed her, but only by inches. She could feel the heat. It singed her hair, skirts, and cloak.

The biggest part of the fire twisted into the cyclone and destroyed it.

Cora strutted forward through the destruction. She was only slightly rumpled. There was a single cut on her cheek. She wiped the blood and flicked it away with a single finger.

Cora's eyes swirled darkness and bloodlust.

"First blood."

She understood and accepted the stakes of their battle. Her lips stretched into a faux smile. "Impressive for a filthy gypsy."

That word made a new rush of rage go through her. Esmeralda ground her teeth together.

"Oh. I forgot you don't like that word." Her smile grew wider, like a shark. "Oops."

The twisted fake apology was almost worse than the word, almost. Esmeralda saw red and moved without thought. Bile and fury scorched her gut, blistering her throat and bittering in her mouth. She twisted her left arm and pulled a lamp-post from the ground. She hurled it at Cora, like a spear. The same way she had hurt Little Red.

Her rage showed her intent and Cora stopped the projectile mid-air. It vibrated and then the metal and glass exploded. Shrapnel blew back at her. A chunk of twisted metal stabbed into her shoulder. Glass peppered her skin. Another chunk of metal tore through her skirt and bit into her leg. It tore through flesh and ground against her bone. Blood poured out and stained her clothes.

The pain did not distract her. The pain sharpened her focus. So when two large hunks of metal (Regina called them cars) flew at her from either side, she was ready. Her magic flared out, answering her most basic instincts.

Esmeralda cut through the metal with two large crackling white scimitars. They were magical constructs: sharper, longer, and stronger than any actual sword.

Pieces of car flew away from her. They smashed into other cars, buildings, and the ground. The impact destroyed stone, wood, and glass. It shook the entire street.

Esmeralda summoned another volley of wind. It sliced and buffeted Cora, knocking her back.

The ground continued to rumble. The stone under her feet liquified into hot tar. It shifted and rose, trying to grab her. She reacted fast, reflex over strategy.

She became like the wind, untouchable. Esmeralda walked through the black lava pool. Bubbling ooze tentacles reached out to choke her. Hands, sculpted from the tar, tried to strike her. Everything slid right through her form, doing no damage at all.

Esmeralda reached into her cloak and found a few gold and silver coins. She charged them with her magic. The moment she became tangible again threw them at Cora.

Cora pulled the tar up into a shield to protect herself against the might of her magic missiles.

"More parlor tricks, Gypsy?"

Cora chose her caustic words with care. She wanted to further enrage her, to make her sloppy.

Esmeralda smiled. She smiled because Cora's words were whispers compared to Henry's. She could hear her beloved Henry. Her love, his spirit, was with her. He calmed her, reminded her that he chose her. That he loved her. That she was here to protect Regina, to make sure that their darling little one was safe. He reminded her that nothing Cora said mattered. Esmeralda's smile widened, and a wave of calm chased away her anger.

"No tricks." Esmeralda walked forward. Her magic flowed, and she felt power flowing into her. One step split into two, then three. Steps became forms. Her magic selves split off to flank Cora.

"'Is it harder here?" Esmeralda spoke in a strong and sure voice. "To use your blood-soaked magic? Everything-even the air itself resists you."

Her copies spoke too. Their voices made the words resonate and echo.

"That is Henry. His heart is in this town. His spirit. His love. He rejects you, and will fight you every step."

Cora laughed, empty of joy but full of bitterness.

"Still? Henry is dead." Cora's eyes sparkled and her magic crackled, popping in the air. "Not that he was good for anything alive."

Esmeralda raised her arms, as did her clones, and pulled Storybrooke's power to her. She could feel Henry. His gentleness, his care, his love for her. He strengthened her, supported her, filled her with confidence and power.

"He is dead, which means your bond of marriage is long over. Our bond is eternal. Our love is alive. It stretches from the beginning and till the end, for eternity. He is with me. This land, his land, knows me. It gives its power over to me. He is Storybrooke, and I am one with him. Storybrooke yields to me, obeys me, loves me.

High above them, dark clouds overtook the afternoon sun. Thunder rumbled, and the day grew dark.

"You cannot defeat me, Witch. You spent your time corrupting yourself. I spent my time learning about magic that you have never heard about. The Spirits are my witness. You will die for your crimes."

Lightning raced down from the sky. Esmeralda held out her caught it. It was pure energy, wild and crackling. She redirected it at Cora. It was a powerful attack, deadly. It was an attack designed to murder.

Cora readied her own attack, ominous and blood red. It was not fire, but energy pulled from the spilled blood and destruction she had wrought. She threw her hands out to direct it at Esmeralda. Magic against magic. Power against power. Death against death.

"Mother!" A swirl of violet smoke and then Regina appeared. "What are you doing!"

It terrified Esmeralda. Even Cora, hollow where her heart should be, looked horrified. Regina was right between them, now the target of two deadly attacks. There was no stopping the spells. There was no escape. Regina would be hit. She would not survive.

"Regina!" Voices screamed from all directions. Esmeralda couldn't scream, her voice was locked in her throat. Storybrooke's energy, Henry, snapped and cracked. Thousands of silent screams shook the air.

An explosion of white light, blinding and violent, blinded her. It brought everything to an abrupt halt. Silence. No one moved. No one breathed. Storybrooke stopped.