Here There be Witches

Untitled Part 30

A gut wrenching scream ripped through the air.

Anara fell forward, left side fumbling to rush in front and catch the rest of his body where his right arm no longer could. Blood danced in an arc behind them from the stump of their elbow, taunting them as they crashed to the ground on their face. What happened what happened what happened what- ?! There, standing above them, was a man. His suit was red and black pinstriped, black hair with white slashed through it vaguely in the shape of eyes made a wild mess on top of his head, sticking out from either side of a bandage that wrapped around his face. It's entire head was covered in clothes, painted over with three eyes, staring directing into Anara's soul. This wasn't a man. This was the Keishin.

They did it. They revived it. But how?! Ignoring their arm, Anara was quick to dash away from the wretched creature. It followed them, and they dodged each other around the room in something almost akin to a dance.

"Blood..." It hissed. "Blood...blood..." He could hear the bloodlust in it's voice, feel it in it's soul as the cry echoed around the chamber, as if it was coming from every scarlet column and every shadowed corner. He could feel it in his soul--an insatiable hunger that almost made his mouth water. He wanted it...

He couldn't get distracted. He did his best to keep dodging, knowing full well that the creature was basically letting him. The outrageous power imbalance was making all his hair stand on end with electric adrenaline, shot through with fear. Despite this, his eyes scanned the room, desperate to find the culprits of this nightmare's revival. He had been so close to stopping them! They had been right in front of him, how could they have-

They weren't there. They were simply gone, and in that moment he knew it had seemed impossible because it was--this was all an illusion! His arm didn't even hurt! And if he concentrated...

Coming back to reality was like his soul had been dragged out of his body and shot violently back in by a gun. He gasped, tearing himself away from his contorted, paralyzed spot on the floor. Every air molecule was real now, the other people--friend and foe alike--were real now. The blue haired woman was running toward the gargantuan flesh bag at the back of the room with the syringe. Oh no you don't.

Someone shouted. The Wolfman threw himself between the students and his comrade, arms spread wide with a feral grin. There was so much space around him it was almost laughable that he was even trying. "Don't get in my way!" Kid screamed. As fire in neon mauve rained down upon him Anara sprang forward, leaping off columns and rocketing themself through the air with the same pinpoint accuracy as when they had escaped Medusa. Their only target, their only focus, their only care was for the syringe in that poor little frog's arms and they would get it.

More shouting, from three voices this time. Blackstar was descending upon the witch from above as well, but he would never make it as fast as Anara. The frog slowed, turning to it's attackers with a yellow glowing lump of black goo. The witch wouldn't have paid it any mind, but it exploded just before he could reach his prey, throwing all three of them in different directions. He grit his teeth, tongue begging for the taste of the blue haired creature's sweet ruby blood. Instead he picked himself from the ground once more and found the syringe, launching himself towards it. He wouldn't be foiled this time. He couldn't be.

There! It was in his grasp! He rolled with it, drawing a dagger to plunge into the glass...then screamed in fury when something slammed into him, an inky black curl wrestling the giant black tool from his grasp. It flew up and over, right into the arms of the little frog. His eyes widened, and he turned on the creature, a large mass of writhing magic. He already knew the basics of this spell. He tore it to shreds from the inside out.