Meanwhile, the Sorcerers injured by
‘Witchfire’ were helpless victims to the Demons. Many
others tried their magic on the Demons but to no avail.
“Stop it fools!” snapped Mazra. “Demons are resistant to magic!”
The servants of the Twilight Coven, the ones who
remained in shadows, revealed themselves with guns, shotguns and
machineguns. As if on Queue, one of the Vilkons’ security forces
rushed into the cathedral from all sides. Antique stained-glass windows
were smashed in seconds. Sacred chalices were kicked away and punctured
by gunfire. Paintwork carefully preserved was splattered in blood by
the brutality.
The weapons injured many of the servants, the
soldiers also. There was no order. Everyone was everywhere. They
strived to out-shoot each other, to obliterate their enemies. Nothing
was heard but screams of pain and gunfire. Pools of blood slithered
along the floor.
The Witches huddled in a corner, covering their ears
and willing this madness to stop. The Sorcerers from the
Sorcerer’s Guild merely looked upon the events with a slight
distain.
A number of soldiers had knives to slaughter their
enemies more efficiently. The Demons became cheeky; they captured the
illegal Sorcerers and held them in front of soldiers. A dark maid was
thrown on a table, breaking it. A Demon breathed fire on the broken
table, burning it and the woman alive. A number of the fighters stopped
when they heard: “ENOUGH!”
Rasheliss walked along the platform behind the
moonlit altar. She stopped. “I said enough!” Stray bullets
punctured her torso. “You’ll be paying that with your
blood!” she told in disgust. Everyone stopped moving. She looked
at the Sorcerer with indigo-coloured hair. “Digoa, the Twilight
Coven will be ultimately punished by the Vampire Council, as is agreed
with Lord Winguard. It is hoped satisfactory to the Sorcerer’s
Guild.”
“It is Mistress,” answered Digoa without contempt.
“Good,” Rasheliss looked around her.
“Security, reassemble outside, bring your dead with you. Demons,
take your food back to your Master.”
With some hissing and snickering, the Demons faded
back into the darkness and took the Sorcerers and their servants with
them, dead or alive. When the sounds of scuttling, scraping, clomping,
rattling and any movement stopped, Rasheliss looked around slowly and
carefully. It seemed to take an eternity.
“Dawn is approaching,” she observed. “This place will have to be cleaned up.”
The Witches stepped out of their hiding place.
“Leave that job to us,” said the woman confidently.
Rasheliss nodded and walked away. The three Witches
stood at three points in the Cathedral and prepared. During their
preparation, the two Sorcerers from the Sorcerer’s Guild were
exiting. But out of curiosity, they stayed.
The Witches sang a chant. “Mirati merro sto
vani yobis, ke meena teyoko sisotti diyatio rowa.” This chant
they repeated in their melody. An orb of light appeared between them,
highlighting the pews surrounding the Sorcerers, which were cracked and
knocked over. These pews started moving. They jolted upright and were
suddenly fixed. Blood fell from the walls and soaked into the ground.
Glass shards flew into the opened windows and reformed into
stained-glass windows. Ruined chalices and candlesticks flew back to
their positions and morphed back into their original shapes and shine.
Cracks on the walls or furniture sealed themselves. Anything burned
morphed back into their former form.
The orb of light shrunk away. The chant ended.
“Wondrous,” commented Digoa’s female companion in awe.
“Indeed,” he agreed, just as surprised.
The Witches breathed out. “Our ride’s
still outside?” asked one of the younger men pleasantly.
“Yes,” answered Digoa uncomfortably.
Midiro and Manar were seating Rowan in one of the family cars. Once she
was secure, bodyguard and Lord quickly exchanged the desire to return
home. They were surprised to find themselves surrounded by armoured
vehicles and troops. Everyone was in shock. No one was willing to move.
Scythe stepped forward, shielding himself from the
bright lights. “I am Lord Scythe Vilkon. I take it you are the
enforcers of Lady Korum?”
“They are,” came a strict, feminine voice. Her silhouette moved forward.
“…Dorania?” exclaimed Midiro.
“Lady Kirilian,” continued Scythe calmly. “What brings you here?”
“I have come to retrieve my daughter,”
she stated matter-of-factly. “I will also take responsibility for
the wellbeing of your son.”
Scythe’s eyes hardened. “On what grounds?”
“Lady Korum generously lent me her troops
because of the evidence I presented her, which demonstrated that the
Vilkon family orchestrated the plot to take my daughter and sacrifice
one of your own sons.” Dorania had stated this smugly. “In
order to aid in your effort you had coerced the help of my bodyguard
Manar to convince my ignorant husband to help you. I had been informed
she took him to your mansion. Is there any evidence to suggest his
visit had a different motive?” she accused. Zareen could be heard
wailing.
“Of course there is Dorania!” shouted Midiro angrily.
“No point in resisting Midiro!” shouted
Scythe. He had not reacted once and continued to stare at the woman in
front of him. “Lady Korum has been convinced and in her
territory, her decision is final!”
“Manar! Seat Master Vilkon next to Rowan!” Dorania ordered proudly.
Manar moved automatically. She approached where
Kiyor knelt, finding him frightened and exhausted. He was unaware of
the events surrounding him. His mother held on to him tightly, crying
with all her might. She looked up upon hearing Manar approach. Her eyes
pleaded to the bodyguard.
Manar bent down, wrapping her arms around Kiyor.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, regret apparent in her
eyes.
Zareen trembled. “Take good care of him.”
Meanwhile, neither Scythe nor Doriani had moved.
“You hate us so much,” he deduced. She continued to look
triumphant. “I am of higher rank, you will answer me.”
“Yes,” she hissed. “Having so much
power, your family discourage the more powerful rulers from
investigating my offers, they prefer to have ones from your family
instead. I hate how much your family can get away with, just because of
your wealth, power and status. Everyone expects the Vilkons to be
constant, your activities against the Sorcerers’ Code and your
own laws are ignored, simply because you are all so prestigious!”
He smirked. “Careful, you’re getting
emotional. Are you losing control?” He took two steps forward,
lowering his arm. “Prestigious? I doubt that. Your reasons and
everyone else’s to hate us is legitimate. But you will find those
activities you speak of are not my doing, or anyone else’s in my
Sect.” He no longer smirked, but the bewilderment in her eyes
made his gleam in glory.
“They are prepared for travel my Lady!” called Manar. “As is your husband!”
“Very good!” called Dorania. “Take
them home!” The pair stared at each other a moment longer, before
they both turned away.