“My sweet daughter your mother was witches, one ostracized by the church, but she was the kindest person to ever live. When we lost her, I vowed to keep you safe. I beg of you, treat your aunts with kindness. Their craft bears wisdom, capable of things that you could only dream of. So I ask of you to try to learn more of the world. If the kindest and wisest people to live were practitioners of the craft, then there might be merit in delving to it. My daughter be brave, be bold, you carry the blood of your mother.”

  -Unknown

  Beelza

  She felt it in the air, something was born. She could feel something was terribly horribly wrong. She and her team flew the skies towards Knives. When she felt the strange coldness in the air, she urged everyone to stop and go to the ball. She didn’t know why, but she could feel something was pulling her here.

  Along the way, she heard screams all around the city. Mobs of people running and several fires that started to spread. She moved her large mortar and pestle even quicker.

  What was strange was the thing that was left by her grandma spoke to her. It whispered things that felt...right. What was previously brown polished wood turned dark gray iron, one that was cold and heavy. It felt like the thing accepted her now, that it became a part of her. So it spoke to her and it showed her things she could barely understand. Spells and teachings of stars, arcana, and life. She felt more attuned to the mysteries of the world more than ever.

  She finally reached the mansion and saw fires as big and as tall as great oaks. Red and orange filled the horizon, while down below she saw shambling monstrosities pour out of nowhere.

  “Beelza!”

  Number 1 called out to her from below. He was carrying knives in his arms who was unconscious and wounded. Several of the goons fought off the creatures with swords and spears wielded in such efficiency that she suspected that they were veterans of war. She descended from the sky to meet with the survivors.

  “What happened?” She asked.

  “The woman was a necromancer. I tried to save master, but we ran out of the ointments. Many of the men are wounded and dead. She raised the dead back to life into aberrations and sick twisted parodies.” The old man said.

  Tch, a necromancer.

  She’s only heard stories of such beings from her grandmother before. But if even just a fraction of what she told was true, this was a bigger problem than the destruction of the city.

  She took out her satchel and laid out various potions and poultices down. She took out spirits and sanitized her hands. She undressed the man and quickly administered first aid with incredible efficiency. She saw the flesh knit itself and the bones set into place. The pain woke up knives as he screamed in agony.

  “Lay down, you’ll impede the healing.”

  “What happened? How many died?!” The man said.

  Number 1’s eyes fell. “Ten are injured, seven couldn’t be found, and thirteen became zombies after death.”

  The news devastated the man. Beelza never knew the man could make such a face, so losing them meant a lot to the man.

  “I have to go back, maybe the others are still alive.” Knives stood up as he gritted his teeth in pain.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  “I cannot let you do that knives. Your treatment still hasn’t properly set and any exertion could leave you dead. And if you fall, I fear that even I couldn’t reverse your undeath.”

  “I can’t just leave them there!” He turned to the burning mansion as it swallowed their view, the maggot queen’s laughter still being heard behind the conflagration. “Even if I could save just another one of my family, I need to do something.” He bit his lips till it bled.

  Beelza looked to the burning wreckage. Men held together by worms shambled and dog sized flies took to the skies. The smell of plague and agony filled the air, going closer would spell doom for any person foolish enough to follow the sound of laughter. And yet she knows with certainty that the wounded man infront of her was fated to traverse the embers.

  She stumbled. Her eyes saw glimpses of the future, horrible, terrible, beautiful calamities spread throughout the world. She felt the mortar and pestle her grandmother left for her speak. It told her of potions and tinctures, of secrets and rituals. She saw a black tongue given to a girl and she saw the whispers it gave. She saw the creatures beyond the veil and glimpses of their machinations.

  The iron pestle she held in her hands told her of omens too dangerous to avoid. She has seen the past present, and future. And now she chose to follow it. She heard her grandmothers voice, she heard the chantings of covens, she heard prayers from wise women and old crones, she heard all of their voices all at once and it was beautiful.

  She felt spirits posses her iron artifact and start marking the ground. Circles and winding symbols etched themselves to the burning landscape. Her feet left the ground and began levitating closer to the chaos in a trance, seemingly unfazed by the bloodthirsty undead around her. Countless beasts felt the disturbance swooped down to pierce her body. They converged to her location.

  “Beelza!” Knives yelled.

  They heard a loud clang. The girl now had the skin and bone of iron. Her teeth and nails now sharp and pointed. In one motion she pointed at her mortar and the abominations around her were sucked in. All the beasts, large and small, fell towards the iron bowl. Then forced the pestle to spin, descending to meet the creatures below.

  It landed and carnage ensued. Claws and limbs were ground down to fine paste. The sounds of gurgling beasts filled the air. Knives and his men were witnessing something more than the girl. It was as if something greater has taken control of her body and used her as a medium.

  Though they never thought such a thing was possible, the men knew that this was a seance, an attempt to commune with the spirits of the world. They wondered if she was becoming a demon or an envoy of the divine, yet knives knew this was something else. This girl had otherworldly blood in her.

  Her mortar turned into a club that passed through flesh as if it were nothing, while her mortar shielded his men from any harm.

  Beelza could feel it, a thing of dark origin in the sea of fire. A curse in the shape of a tongue.

  “Knives, I can feel her. I can feel the necromancer’s grasp on the bodies.”

  Her eyes pointed to the fire, as if seeing what lies beyond it, and the being stared back.

  Then as if to respond to her gaze, it stopped laughing. A sound so malicious and demonic spoke to her, to everyone, to men, women, old, and young. They all felt the eyes of a predator.

  “I S E E Y O U”

  All the maggots and flies that filled the sky started melting back to the center of the fire, like a candle only in reverse. The streams of broken bones, bloody limbs, burnt metal.

  What stepped out of the wreckage was not human, not animal, not a beast, but something else so unholy that it would corrupt the gaze of all who bore witness to it. It was blasphemy, an affront to the realm of god and man. A hellish pile of bodies contorted to fit a puzzle in the form of a giant woman as big as a field and taller than any man-made structure.

  This was the necromancer. This was the thing Beelza felt. She was trembling at her feet at the sight of something so unnatural that she wanted nothing more than to run. And so many did, far far away from here, to somewhere that thing wouldn’t reach them.

  Screams filled the air as people ran away from the mansion, carrying their loved ones by their arms regardless if they were alive or dead. They clutched the one remaining hope they had, be it a parent, a child, a lover, or a torso.

  “Goons!”

  A voice pierced the tension. Knives stood up and dawned his crown of horns and his cloak. He faced the remaining survivors. A crowd of adults and children wearing black cloaks that bore his insignia of a swallow.

  “Save anyone that you can and take them to the base! Ravens fly and clear a path to safety. Scouts, find all the wounded that you can. All of you prioritize the living, the dead will soon be our enemy so you better tear them to bits before they rise again. Number 1, leave me here with Beelza and lift the buildings with you magic. Create a barricade if you can. Go!”

  As if roused by his voice, everyone moved as quickly as they could until only Knives and Beelza were left. Knives took a nearby blade from a dead officer and minced the body with swordplay that astonished Beelza. The man was wounded, but could still do this much. He turned to Beelza.

  “Beelza is there a way to kill that monster with your witchcraft? I’m willing to sacrifice anything to make it happen, so is there something we could do?”

  He said with eyes filled with cold hatred. Hatred at the death, the destruction, and the necromancer who did it all.

  Beelza looked at the towering monstrosity and to her mortar. She heard voices, one of forbidden recipes and occult rituals. If she couldn’t kill the thing that towered the sky, then maybe she doesn’t have to. She looked at the mans crown of horns and cloak of bat wings and had a wicked idea.

  Maybe it’ll take a monster to fight a monster.

  Malefic energies filled the air smothering any embers that seemed to spread around them. Ever since the mortar and pestle spoke to her she felt different, more of what she really was. In the middle of the carnage and the death she smiled from ear to ear. She laughed like a maiden, a mother, and an old crone.

  She was a witch after all.

  “There will be sacrifice Knives, are you willing to pay it?”

  Knives’ eyes did not budge, fury still burned in his heart.

  “Yes”

  “Good, because when you descend, there is no going back.”