The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted base camp, as Prince Arthur Pendragon the Third, known to most as the "Knight of Diamonds", strode confidently through the grand double doors of the Matterhorn Branch Office. His entrance was nothing short of regal, with his presence commanding attention even in the dimly lit repurposed lobby.
His golden-blond hair, meticulously styled, caught what little light remained, and his armor— a masterpiece of white platinum— gleamed with an ethereal shine. The plate was immaculate, reflecting the sunset's fading glow from behind him, as though it held its own light within. In his hand, Arthur gripped the hilt of Excalibur: the legendary sword radiating a soft, pulsing aura of power— the air around it shimmering slightly as if reality itself bent in reverence to its presence.
He glanced over his shoulder, with his piercing blue eyes landing on the silver-haired woman who stood silently beside him, her posture poised, though her sharp gaze betrayed a readiness to act at a moment's notice. The silver-haired maid— known now as Spy— was a figure of striking beauty.
Her armor, crafted in the same design as Arthur's, was lighter, made for agility rather than sheer defense, though no less gallant. Her hair cascaded down her back like spun silver, and her silver eyes glinted with a mixture of mischief and cold calculation. She was silent but alert, every muscle in her body coiled with readiness— like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
Beside her stood a red-haired Cardinal— a tall, gentle-looking man dressed in a flowing white clerical robe embroidered with gold, holding a staff of silver and gold. His green eyes radiated warmth and kindness, and was the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. His red hair, bright as flames, seemed out of place against his soft demeanor, but it lent him a striking appearance nonetheless. He exuded an air of calm and trustworthiness that drew people in.
Arthur, still looking back at his companions, addressed Spy, his voice measured and calm, but with the weight of a leader accustomed to being obeyed. "Let me handle the talking," Arthur said firmly, with his gaze softening slightly as it met hers. "General Blackwood is a very… Traditionalist sort of gentleman— his values may conflict with ours."
Spy narrowed her eyes, but the faintest smirk played at her lips, with her voice as sharp as ever. "If you insist, Your Highness," she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm, though beneath the jest was a quiet respect. "But I'll be ready when you inevitably screw it up."
Arthur gave her a brief, knowing smile— understanding the role she played in their dynamic, as both protector and provocateur.
Cardinal, who had been observing the brief exchange with his usual easygoing air, took a step forward, his expression more serious now. He looked at the Knight of Diamonds, with his voice full of concern— though his tone remained light. "Just don't forget who's really in charge here, Arthur," he said with a wink, though there was a sharpness in his eyes. "No matter what General Blackwood tries to pull, remember— you're the one calling the shots."
Arthur's lips curled into a fond smile as he regarded Cardinal. "I haven't forgotten that, Lucas. But I appreciate the reminder." He clapped then Cardinal on the shoulder, his affection for his companions evident in the simple gesture.
With that, the three of them— Arthur, Spy, and Cardinal— began walking through the crowded lobby of the Matterhorn Branch Office, their footsteps echoing off the walls. The rest of the Royal Court followed behind them— their presence an imposing yet graceful force.
First came Elder Minister, who was an older man with a well-kept gray beard and wrinkled yet vibrant light skin. He wore a white and gold robe that seemed to shimmer with every step, with the fabric embroidered with intricate patterns that reflected his long tenure in service to the royal family. His eyes, though aged, were sharp with wisdom, and he moved with the grace of someone who had long since earned his place among the royal advisors.
Next to Callum was the Court Mage— a tall, imposing figure with dark skin and long, black dreadlocks that were tied back loosely, allowing the runes that adorned both sides of his face to stand out. These white runes glowed faintly in the low light, marking him as a master of the arcane arts. He wore an ornate robe of white and black colors, trimmed with silver, and a white cape draped over one shoulder. Muscles rippled beneath his robe— belying the strength hidden behind his scholarly exterior.
Walking beside Court Mage was the enigmatic Gold-Rank Padfoot— a towering anthro Doberman who moved with a silent grace that belied his size. His black and gold ornate clothes, tailored to fit his powerful frame, shimmered under the low light, giving him an almost otherworldly presence. His golden eyes gleamed with intelligence, and his sharp, alert demeanor suggested that despite his silence, he missed nothing.
Bringing up the rear was the Royal Guardsman— a knight of impressive stature and quiet resolve. His pale blond hair, tied back under a red bandana, was windswept, and his light skin bore the sun-kissed marks of someone who spent more time on the battlefield than in the court. His blue eyes shone with unshakable loyalty, and his armor, modeled after Arthur's, gleamed with a muted brilliance in the dim light.
As they approached the heavy iron doors that led deeper into the office, Court Mage cleared his throat softly. "General Blackwood undoubtedly has his own interests at heart, Your Highness," he said in his gravelly voice, though there was a hint of wariness in his tone. "Let's not underestimate him."
Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening slightly at the mention of Blackwood. "Good— we have our own interests at heart as well," he replied, his voice steady. "Let's not keep him waiting, shall we?"
Spy rolled her eyes, muttering just loud enough for Arthur to hear, "More like let's hope he doesn't try to strong-arm us into anything... Again."
Cardinal chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Just be glad it's not another drawn-out sermon about "duty" and "sacrifice"."
Arthur's lips twitched into a smile, though his focus remained on the task ahead. "Whatever he tries, we'll handle it together. But make no mistake— this is our mission. Not his."
The Maggiore Outpost was on fire— engulfed in the unrelenting chaos of war. The sky had been swallowed by thick, black smoke— leaving only a dim, hellish glow from the fires burning across the horizon. Flames climbed the rooftops of what had once been a bustling town— now reduced to a battleground. The air was filled with the unmistakable stench of burning wood, blood, and death. Screams echoed through the streets, which intermingled with the war cries of goblins and the ominous war horns of Blackwatch.
Hundreds of thousands of imp goblins flooded the outpost from all directions. These creatures, small but vicious, wielded crude iron weapons that gleamed dully in the firelight. Their makeshift bows were strung with frayed strings— their quivers filled with crudely fletched arrows that flew wildly through the air, occasionally finding their mark in some poor villager's flesh. The goblins tore through the village, hunting down anyone who wasn't part of Blackwatch that hadn't managed to escape in time.
In one horrific scene, a group of goblins cornered an elderly man— his wrinkled hands trembling as he tried to fend them off with nothing but a broken chair leg. They rushed him in a wave, stabbing at him with rusted blades.
One goblin slashed across the man's ankles— sending him toppling to the ground. As he screamed in agony, they piled on, hacking and stabbing until his cries became gurgled— dying whimpers. The cobblestone beneath him was stained with a growing pool of blood.
One of the goblins, an eager, foolish creature, held up a crudely fashioned explosive— a small barrel of volatile chemicals strapped together with torn rags. With a gleeful shriek, he raised it above his head, ready to hurl it at a nearby group of adventurers. But the device detonated prematurely— the goblin's body instantly reduced to a red mist. The surrounding goblins were torn apart by the force of the explosion, with their limbs and organs splattering across the ground like grotesque confetti.
Amid the chaos, a troop of Blackwatch lizardfolk stormed through the burning outpost. They were far more disciplined than the goblins, with their maroon cloaks flowing behind them as they charged forward with bone axes, bone swords, and javelins crafted from the remains of fallen beasts. Their scaly skin gleamed with a sinister sheen in the firelight, with their eyes reflecting cold, calculated malice.
One party of adventurers tried to hold them off, casting spells and hurling arrows. A fireball erupted in the center of a lizardfolk formation— incinerating several of them in a brilliant flash, with their bodies charred and blackened.
The lizardfolk retaliated, their bone javelins flying with deadly precision, skewering two mages who hadn't managed to conjure their shields in time. One lizardfolk warrior, roaring with fury, cleaved through an adventurer with his bone axe— the blade splitting flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The adventurer's body crumpled to the ground, with his blood mixing with the mud at his killer's feet.
A little farther out, a troop of centaurs charged through the village— their own maroon cloaks flapping as they galloped with terrifying speed. They were clad in iron armor over their equine bodies, armed with longbows— their arrows flying in rapid succession. Their hit-and-run tactics were devastating— peppering both innocents and adventurers alike.
A small girl, no more than ten, tried to flee the oncoming centaur stampede but was struck by an arrow in the back. Her tiny body crumpled to the ground, with her face frozen in terror.
Suddenly, an explosive spell was launched from across the battlefield. A massive, fiery blast erupted beneath the centaurs, blowing the ground apart in a thunderous explosion. The centaurs screamed in pain as their legs were blown off, their bodies torn to shreds. Bloody chunks of flesh, bone, and twisted iron armor littered the battlefield— the air filled with the smell of burnt meat and blood.
The spell had come from Witch, who stood on a hill overlooking the carnage— her eyes glowing with an eerie, mystical light. Her long, dark hair flowed in the wind, and her hat was tilted low, and was casting a shadow over her sharp, calculating eyes. She stood beside Spearman, Heavy Warrior, and Female Knight— all of them observing the slaughter before them with grim expressions.
Spearman leaned on his spear, watching as Blackwatch surged westward. His wild hair was damp with sweat and blood, and his muscular frame coiled with barely-contained energy. "Hell of a shitshow, isn't it…?!" He muttered, while kicking a chunk of debris. "It doesn't even seem like they're here for the outpost… What are they even after then?!"
Witch's voice was cold and smooth as she replied. "The Iron Flower Mountains. That's where they're heading. Blackwatch's forces... They're heading toward Matterhorn. That has to be it."
Heavy Warrior stood silently, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the others. His black, plate armor was battered and scorched, but he carried himself with the indomitable will of a man who had seen too many battles. The great sword strapped to his back was stained with dried blood, as his eyes scanned the battlefield below.
"Does it matter what they're looking for?" Heavy Warrior's voice was deep, gravelly, his gaze fixed on the bloodshed. "All I see is an army that needs to be put down."
Female Knight, her silver armor glinting in the dim light, nodded solemnly. Her blond hair was tied back, her pale face set in a grim frown. She drew her sword, her expression resolute. "We can't let them reach the mountains. Whatever they're after, we stop them here."
Spearman twirled his weapon absentmindedly. "Sure, sure. But how about we make it a little fun, eh?" His eyes gleamed with an unsettling excitement. "I'll take out the lizards. Been itching for a real fight all day."
Witch glanced sideways at Spearman but said nothing. Her focus was on the battle ahead. "This isn't a game, Damien; we're barely holding on. We need to buy the Royal Army time, and hope to the gods that they send enough reinforcements to counter Blackwatch."
Heavy Warrior's gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his greatsword. "We'll have to intercept as many goblins as we can then," he growled. "Those little bastards are thick as rats."
Just as the words left his mouth, a massive group of goblins rushed their position. Spearman was the first to act— grinning maniacally as he leaped into action. His spear moved like a blur— cutting through the air with incredible speed and precision. He skewered the first goblin clean through its chest— lifting it off the ground before hurling it at the next wave. Blood sprayed across his face, but he barely blinked.
Witch stood behind him, her hands raised as she muttered incantations under her breath. Arcane symbols flashed in the air around her before she thrust her hands forward— sending another fiery explosion ripping through the goblin ranks. Their shrieks of pain were cut short as they were consumed by the inferno, with their bodies reduced to ash and molten flesh.
Heavy Warrior charged forward like a living juggernaut— his massive greatsword cleaving through goblin after goblin with brutal efficiency. His strength was unmatched, with each swing of his sword sending goblins flying in pieces.
A group of lizardfolk charged at him, but he met them head-on— slamming his blade into the first one's chest, splitting its ribcage open with a sickening crunch. Another lizardfolk swung at him with a bone axe, but Heavy Warrior raised his armored arm to block it, then slammed his fist into the creature's skull— shattering it with ease.
Female Knight fought with precision, with her sword dancing through the air as she parried a series of strikes from a lizardfolk warrior. She spun gracefully— her blade slicing through the creature's neck, and sending its head tumbling to the ground. Without missing a beat, she kicked another goblin aside— her face set in grim determination.
As the group pushed forward, the sheer number of Blackwatch's forces seemed endless, and the enemy showed no signs of slowing.
Spearman, his face splattered with blood, turned to Heavy Warrior and shouted, "I'm counting fifty! You better not let me get all the glory here!"
Heavy Warrior grunted in response— slicing through another goblin. "Count all you want…! Just don't die…!"
Spearman laughed, with his voice wild and full of reckless energy. "Thanks! I don't plan to!"
The battlefield raged on, but Witch's eyes remained fixed westward, toward the Iron Flower Mountains. She muttered under her breath, her mind working through the pieces of this dark puzzle. "Where the blazes are they…?!"
As the group fought, more adventurers fell, but Blackwatch's forces kept pressing on— their sights set on the mountains, the skies filled with fire, blood, and death.
Heavy Knight, breathing heavily, gripped his greatsword tighter as the next wave of goblins rushed at them— all of them shrieking wildly. His body was drenched in blood— both his enemies' and his own. The armor that had once gleamed darkly was now dented and cracked in places, his strength sapped from hours of combat, but his eyes— burning beneath his helm— showed no sign of stopping.
"More coming," he growled— stepping forward with the weight of a war machine. His massive blade carved through the air— decapitating two goblins in one powerful swing, with their heads spinning off into the distance. Another came at him with a rusted sword— stabbing it into his side. Heavy Knight grunted in pain, but with a swift upward slash, the goblin's torso was torn in half.
Beside him, Female Knight fought with unparalleled precision— her silver armor glinting in the firelight. Her sword danced through the air, felling goblins with each strike. But they were taking their toll. One imp goblin, shrieking in fury, lunged at her— its knife scraping across the back of her leg, and tearing through her damaged armor. She grimaced in pain, but with a swift miracle, her sword lit up with divine energy. She spun and cleaved the goblin in half with a shining arc.
"Fortitude!" She cried— her voice filled with power. A burst of radiant energy spread from her, a paladin's miracle that bolstered the defense of her comrades— weaving a protective aura around them. "Keep fighting— we'll outlast them yet!" Her leg trembled, but the miracle was enough to dull the pain.
Spearman, a few paces ahead, laughed through the blood caked on his face as he tore through the goblins with reckless abandon. "I'm counting seventy now!" He yelled— thrusting his spear through the chest of a dark-elf mage that had crept too close. His spearhead flickered with lightning magic— sending a shock through the elf's body as he collapsed to the ground, convulsing.
Witch, slightly behind the group, was chanting furiously, her hands weaving intricate patterns as she deflected incoming arrows. Her deflect missile spell lit up the air around her— redirecting the goblins' arrows and even a fireball from a dark-elf sorcerer back toward their senders. The arrows pierced through several goblins, while the fireball hurtled toward the dark-elf sorcerer— who barely had time to scream before the explosion engulfed him in flames.
"Witch! Behind you!" Female Knight shouted, catching sight of a dark-elf mage preparing to hurl a spell at Witch's back.
Witch turned, her eyes glowing with power, and fired a volley of magic missiles. The glowing projectiles shot out in rapid succession, slamming into the elf's chest and blowing chunks of flesh from his body. He collapsed in a heap, his robes smoldering.
But even as Witch took a breath, she felt a creeping sensation at the back of her mind. An otherworldly voice, like a thousand whispering tongues, slithered into her thoughts. Her hands trembled as she tried to focus on the battle ahead, but something dark and ancient was worming its way into her mind.
Above the burning outpost, an Aboleth loomed— its monstrous, grotesque form floating in the thick smoke. Its flesh was a sickly green, covered in mucus and pulsing veins, while its massive tendrils swayed lazily as if surveying the carnage. Its eyes, glowing with malevolent intelligence, locked onto Witch. Its mind reached out to hers, insidious and vile.
"You... Will obey..." The Aboleth's voice echoed in her skull— commanding her to turn her magic against herself. Her eyes widened in terror as her hands began to move against her will— her lips forming the words to cast a destructive spell on herself. "You… Will die… For the good… Of Zemuria…"
"N-No…! NO!" She screamed, trying to fight it, but her power was being twisted— bent to the Aboleth's will. A swirling fireball began to form between her hands, aimed at her face.
Before she could unleash the spell, a blinding light washed over her.
"Dispel!" Female Knight's voice rang out— her sword raised high as she called upon her divine magic. A radiant wave of energy rippled from her— washing over Witch and severing the Aboleth's psychic hold.
Witch gasped, the spell dissipating in her hands, and she collapsed to one knee— panting. "Th-Thank you…" She managed to utter out, with her voice shaky.
"No time for thanks!" Female Knight said, with her shield raised as a massive tendril from the Aboleth slammed into it with a sickening thud. The force sent her skidding backward— her heels digging into the ground, but she held firm.
"Watch those tendrils!" Heavy Knight roared, while stepping forward and swinging his greatsword. His blade met one of the Aboleth's massive, slimy appendages, and with a powerful strike, he severed it from the creature's body. Green blood sprayed from the wound as the tendril writhed on the ground— twitching violently.
Spearman, never one to be outdone, grinned wildly. "My turn!" He shouted, before leaping high into the air— his spear crackling with electric energy. As another tendril shot toward him, he twirled mid-air— narrowly dodging it— and drove his spear deep into the Aboleth's flesh. The creature let out a horrific, ear-piercing screech as blood and mucus poured from the wound.
Witch, recovering from the mental attack, raised her arms again. Her eyes glowed with fiery determination as she unleashed a volley of Magic Missiles— the glowing orbs tearing into the Aboleth's belly. Each impact blew chunks of slimy flesh away— weakening the creature's levitation.
"It's coming down! Hit it with everything you've got!" Witch shouted, with her voice fierce with urgency.
The Aboleth's levitation faltered, and it began to descend— its massive body lowering closer to the ground, vulnerable.
"Now!" Spearman yelled, and with a powerful leap, he vaulted several meters into the air— his spear poised to strike. He aimed for the creature's heart, before driving his spear deep into the Aboleth's chest. The force of the impact caused the creature to spasm violently— its tendrils flailing in agony.
Witch's eyes narrowed. She wasn't done yet.
"Explode." She whispered the command under her breath, and the spear embedded in the Aboleth's chest suddenly erupted. The explosion tore the creature apart from the inside— its green insides and white sinew flying in every direction.
Chunks of the Aboleth's mutilated body rained down— splattering the battlefield in a grotesque display. The creature's massive form collapsed onto a burning building— crushing it beneath its weight. The explosion and collapse caused debris and rubble to scatter, with heavy chunks of flesh burying about sixty imp goblins who hadn't had the sense or speed to move.
The ground shook as the Aboleth's corpse hit the earth— sending a shockwave through the outpost.
"Move!" Heavy Knight bellowed, before grabbing Witch and Female Knight by their arms and pulling them out of the way, as the creature's body smashed into the ground where they had been standing. They narrowly avoided being crushed by the falling debris— their breath ragged as they stumbled back to their feet.
Spearman wiped the blood from his face, laughing breathlessly. "Damn, that was intense! You see that jump? I'm getting good at this!"
"You're lucky the thing didn't skewer you mid-air," Heavy Knight grunted, with his hand clutching his side where a tendril had grazed him earlier. He reached for a potion and downed it— the healing magic quickly knitting his torn flesh.
Female Knight, breathing heavily, raised her shield again. "It's not over yet. Blackwatch's forces are still moving toward the mountains. We need to-?!"
Suddenly, a figure appeared behind them. A cloud of black smoke swirled around him as he materialized— his presence unsettling. He was slender and short, yet athletic, with pale skin that almost glowed in the hellish light. His scleras were black as night, his irises burning with a red, malevolent gleam. His dark blue hair, messy yet sleek, framed his face, which bore a cruel smirk.
The figure radiated a menacing aura, a dangerous predator assessing its prey.
"You better have all enjoyed that triumphant moment of glory, humans," He taunted with a voice that was like a blade— cutting through the air, mocking and cold. "It'll be the last taste of victory any of you will be having."
Witch's heart raced the moment she saw him. Her instincts flared. As she caught sight of the ethereal black wings unfurling from his back— readying to launch a volley of crystalline projectiles— her hands moved swiftly;, casting deflect missile spell in a flash of desperation. The black crystals rocketed toward her, but her spell sent them hurdling back toward the attacker.
The shards sliced through the air— speeding toward him with lethal intent.
But in the blink of an eye, the figure vanished— disappearing into another cloud of black smoke. Time seemed to slow for everyone, as Witch, Heavy Knight, and Spearman turned— watching in horror as the figure rematerialized directly behind Female Knight.
Female Knight's instincts kicked in, and she tried to raise her shield.
But it was too late.
The reflected projectiles struck her full force— piercing through her armor like a volley of arrows through cloth. Her eyes went wide, the soundless scream trapped in her throat as her body convulsed. The sheer force of the impact sent her flying back— her shield falling from her hand as she collapsed to the ground, and blood gushing from her wounds.
"D-DIANA!" Heavy Knight's voice was a raw— guttural roar as he watched her crumple to the ground, unmoving.
Witch's breath hitched in her throat, her eyes locked on Female Knight's bloodied form. "I… I-I didn't mean…" She trailed off, with her own voice choked with disbelief— her own spell used against her own party member.
But there was no time for grief. The Blackwatch Executive was already moving— faster than anyone could react. He appeared in front of Witch, with his right wing coiled around his outstretched arm like a living weapon— its edge sharp and deadly.
Witch barely had time to process what was happening before the massive wing blade was slicing toward her— a dark crescent of death. Her instincts screamed, but her body was frozen— unable to keep up with his speed.
The world seemed to collapse around her.
Heavy Knight, blood boiling with fury, leaped forward— his greatsword raised to intercept the attack. Steel clashed against the wing blade, but the sheer force of the impact shattered Heavy Knight's sword into pieces— the broken shards glinting in the firelight as they fell to the ground. He staggered back, wide-eyed and helpless, his breathing ragged.
The Blackwatch Executive's gaze locked onto him with a cold, detached malice. With a single fluid motion, he sliced through Heavy Knight's right forearm— severing it cleanly from the elbow. Heavy Knight let out a cry of pain, with his hand twitching uselessly as it fell to the ground, while it was still clutching the hilt of his broken sword.
Before Heavy Knight could even react to the loss of his arm, the Blackwatch Executive spun— delivering a brutal roundhouse kick to the side of Heavy Knight's face. The impact was devastating. The young man's skull caved in from the blow— a sickening crunch echoing through the battlefield as his right eye burst, with blood and fluids spilling down his face. His body was sent hurtling through the air— crashing into the ground several feet away, limp and motionless.
"AKIHIRO! D-DAMNIT!" Spearman shouted, with his voice a mixture of fury and desperation. Fueled by adrenaline, he charged at the Blackwatch Executive— his spear blazing with flames after Witch's quick enchantment.
He lunged, aiming for the enemy's heart, the fire crackling wildly along his spear.
But the Blackwatch Executive moved faster than the human eye could track. He sidestepped Spearman's thrust with ease— disappearing and reappearing in a blur of motion.
Spearman barely had time to process what had happened before a blinding, white-hot pain erupted from below his kneecaps. He looked down, and was horrified to see his legs severed at the knees— blood spurting from the gory stumps. He crumpled to the ground, screaming in agony— his spear slipping from his hand as he writhed in pain.
The Blackwatch Executive stood over him, raising his wing blade to deliver the finishing blow. "Piece-of-fucking-shit…!" He growled out in a hateful voice— his blackened eyes narrowed, as he took aim at the back of the young man's head.
Desperate, Witch raised her hand to cast a silence spell— hoping to disrupt whatever dark power he was summoning. The air around the Blackwatch Executive shimmered as her spell wrapped around him— blocking out his voice, and nullifying his spellcasting.
Witch's heart pounded as she reached into her satchel, before pulling out a scroll. She unfurled it, her voice trembling as she read the incantation.
A powerful gust of wind exploded then from her position, sending debris flying in every direction, but also blasting her backward at breakneck speed. The wind howled as she soared through the air— her body barely under her control.
But before she could even crash to the ground, the Blackwatch Executive appeared in her path, with his wing blade extended. Witch's body impaled itself on the blade— the sharp edge skewering her abdomen. Blood erupted from her mouth as she gasped, her vision blurring from the shock and pain.
She convulsed while her body twitched violently— her organs having been torn apart by the massive weapon. Tears welled up in her eyes, mixing with the blood that trickled from her lips. Her hands weakly grasped at the blade— trying to push herself off, but she was too far gone. The Blackwatch Executive stared at her with fiery, hateful eyes— the slightest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
With a casual flick of his wing blade, he tossed Witch's body to the ground. She skidded across the dirt, leaving a trail of blood behind her— her body broken and battered.
Witch coughed violently, with blood spilling from her mouth as she tried to apply pressure to the gaping wound in her abdomen. Her vision blurred, dark spots dancing in her eyes as she frantically searched her satchel for a healing potion.
The Blackwatch Executive glanced down at her one last time, before teleporting away in a burst of black smoke— leaving her crumbled body behind.
Witch's trembling fingers finally closed around a potion bottle, with her grip weak and fading. With what little strength she had left, she uncorked the bottle and tried to drink, but her body was growing colder, her strength slipping away.
She could feel the world darkening, her life ebbing away with each shallow breath.