Chapter 26 – “Not enough. NEVER enough.”
Over breakfast, fully healed, mana topped off, my plan worked last night… tactical smirk— we plan our assault.
The fire crackles low in the ring of stones, and the smell of last night’s roasted game lingers under the sharp tang of steel and leather. I sit cross-legged with my girls, a dented tin plate in my lap, and the tension from earlier—skin, heat, kisses, confessions—hangs like smoke in the cool morning air.
Kit sharpens a dagger—“Lorica Noctis.”
Her amulet’s Spectral Armor hugs her body like liquid shadow. Her amber eyes flick up to mine when I smirk and call it “tactical,” the corner of her lips twitching despite herself.
Raka tears into a strip of dried meat with her teeth, tail flicking lazily behind her. “Worked, though,” she mutters around a mouthful, silver fur catching the morning light. “Feel like I could fight the world.”
I can feel it too. Mana humming, health bars full, the intoxicating presence of the bond thrumming between the three of us. Even Ed, looming just beyond the morning firelight, radiates something—alien but undeniably mine. His word still lingers in my head: Always. Watching? Watching over? I decide not to dig deeper. Not yet.
“Alright,” I say finally, spreading a rough sketch in the dirt with the butt of my spear. “Here’s the play. Ruin’s crawling with bushmen—elites and maybe an Elder in the center. We hit hard and fast, control the flow before they swarm us.”
Kit leans in, twirling her dagger. “Flank like last time?”
“Yeah. You—” I point to her with the spear—“stay in the brush, look for backstabs on elites. Kill fast, vanish faster.”
Raka grins, war axe balanced across her knees, her new Starburst Shield gleaming faintly. “And me?”
“You,” I say with a smirk, “are the wall that keeps us alive. Pull their hate. Hold the line. Make them bleed for every vine they swing.”
Raka’s chest swells with pride. “Gladly, Master.”
My gaze slides to Ed. The skeletal minion tilts his head, vines coiling lazily, the thorned claws flexing like roses waking at dawn. His hollow sockets glow faintly with red light.
“And him?” Kit asks, cautious but curious.
“He’s… a variable,” I admit, lips quirking. “But he doesn’t waste motion. He’ll pull his weight. I’ll keep him in reserve, then summon him where he’s needed most.”
Ed’s jaw creaks open just enough to rasp one word across the campfire:
“…Ready.”
Ed steps forward, skeletal frame creaking softly as he kneels to study the lines I’ve scratched in the dirt. Vines slither over his ribs like living tattoos, thorn-tips glistening in the morning light. His hollow eye sockets glow faintly red as he looks from the sketch to me… then to Raka… then Kit.
Slowly, with a rasp like dead branches shifting in the wind, Ed extends a claw and traces the lines I drew for the girls, dragging a faint groove along the dirt. Then, unexpectedly, he taps twice at Raka’s mark—the tank position—before curling his claw toward himself, as if to say her first, then him.
Finally, he draws a short line beside Kit’s flank mark and makes a soft, almost wistful sound:
“…Hide.”
Kit blinks. “Wait—he gets it?” She looks from Ed to me, tail twitching with interest. “That’s… that’s creepy-smart.”
Raka grins, baring sharp teeth as she adjusts the Starburst Shield on her arm. “Looks like bones here knows the plan. Just don’t get under my feet, Ed.”
Ed tilts his skull slightly at her, then utters a single word that sends a strange shiver through the circle:
“…Protect.”
Not kill. Not fight. Protect.
Kit leans closer to me, whispering so low only the bond carries it: “He’s learning… or remembering.”
I lead the way through the twisting undergrowth, the forest thick with dew and the faint scent of earth and wildflowers struggling against the rot of Bushmen vines. Every step forward feels like the hush before a storm—we move in perfect silence, the harem bond amplifying the rhythm of my breathing, the weight of weapons, the tension humming through each of us like a taut bowstring.
Kit vanishes into the shadows ahead, spectral armor whispering like moonlight on silk. I catch a glimpse of her tail flick before she melts into foliage, daggers drawn and spirit energy faintly shimmering across their edges.
Raka pads beside me, heavy hide flexing across her massive frame, shield resting against her forearm. She moves on instinct—quiet for her size, every step deliberate, silver-white fur catching stray beams of light filtering through the canopy. Her scent—warm, musky, wild—mixes with leather and steel.
Ed remains unsummoned, but cool and twisting in the ring on my finger as if waiting for his moment.
Through the underbrush, the ruins reveal themselves at last after several minor pulls: a shattered temple half-consumed by crawling ivy, black stone veined with moss and black-tinted vines that pulse faintly like living veins. Bushmen crowd the clearing—a full nest, half a dozen of them writhing around what looks like a massive Elder Bushman in the center.
Its tendrils dig into the broken altar like roots, drawing power from the stone itself.
But that’s not all. A vine-choked archway yawns behind it, faintly glowing with green light. Something lies beyond—a dungeon? A gate? Whatever it is, this nest is guarding it.
Kit’s voice flickers over the bond, low and smooth:
“Master… I count two Elites near the altar. The Elder’s feeding—this is the moment to hit hard, before it fully wakes.”
Raka bares her teeth, whispering with a feral grin:
“Say the word. We break them here… or die trying.”
The plan was simple, sharp, and dangerous. I breathed it through the bond one last time, my voice steady:
“Raka, you’re the wall. Kit, shadows and steel. I’ll bring the thunder. On my mark.”
Kit flashed me a grin from the brush, her spectral armor shimmering faintly like midnight water. Her daggers hummed with Spirit Blade magic, eager for blood. Raka crouched forward, muscles like knotted cords under silver-and-white fur, her war axe gripped in a hand that looked capable of splitting trees. The Starburst Shield gleamed faintly, its etched sigil catching stray beams of sunlight.
Through the vines ahead, two Bushman elites twisted like living brambles—thick bark bodies studded with thorns, their thorn-spears jutting out like spikes. Behind them, a few lesser creatures lumbered in the ruin shadows. They hadn’t seen us yet.
The bond pulsed—three hearts, one rhythm.
“Now.”
The bond snaps tight.
No hesitation.
Raka exploded from cover with a snarl that made the leaves shiver. She hit the Elder like a storm, shield up, axe flashing in a brutal arc that shattered thorny limbs. Savage. The Bushmen shrieked like wind through dead branches.
Kit blurred from the side, Echo Step behind the elites. Her daggers struck in perfect harmony—Soulfire Veilstrike bursting as she drove them deep, her grin wicked as bark cracked and vines withered.
I stepped forward, boots crunching the moss, lightning coiling up my arms. With a surge of will, I thrust my spear forward—Arc Lightning ripped from the tip, blasting two smaller bushmen into scorched heaps.
The battle sang. The three of us flowed like a single machine—Kit Echo Steps in and out, her blades painting spectral arcs; Raka’s shield smashing tendrils aside while her axe tore roots like sinew; I weave storms between them, each strike booming like a drumbeat of war.
The vines writhed in panic, bushmen falling one by one.
Victory felt inevitable.
Then—the altar shifted.
The ground beneath the ruin trembled, a deep pulse like a heart waking. From the vine-choked arch at the center, green-black energy slithered up like smoke. Thorns writhed into braids, weaving into a figure—a woman’s silhouette, green skin tangled with roses and thorns, eyes glowing sickly green. Her hair dripped like vines, her lips curling into a smile that promised ruin.
My HUD flashed in warning:
Boss Battle Activated:
[Briar Witch]
“What?”
The bond tightened with a chill. Kit froze mid-strike, whispering over the link:
“...That’s not in the plan.”
Regrowth
Behind the Briar Witch, the dead began to rise—bushmen we’d just cut down, their shattered limbs knitting with vines, eyes glowing like sap-lit coals.
The Briar Witch’s voice was like velvet strangled with thorns:
“Come closer, little lovers… I’ll make gardens of your bones.”
The clearing darkened, vines surging across the ground like snakes.
And that’s when the first volley of thorn-spears rained down from above.
The first thorn volley ripped the world apart.
Raka slammed her Starburst Shield up just in time— Lunar Bulwark— the spikes hammering into it with the sound of shattering bone. One thorn speared into the earth an inch from my boot—thicker than a spearhead and dripping poison.
“MOVE!” I snap across the bond, my voice cracking like a whip.
Kit was already gone—Echo Step flickering like a phantom across the edge of the ruin. She hissed over the link, “There’s too many! More moving in—roots everywhere!”
The ground erupted. Twisting vines lashed up like serpents, one nearly ripping my leg from under me. I snarled a word of power—Thunderwave blasting outward—roots snapping, thorns scattering. The recoil numbed my arms, mana dipping fast on my HUD.
The Briar Witch stepped through the altar arch, bare feet curling into vines like a lover’s touch. Her fingers danced, whispering spells like sins. Dead bushmen stirred, knitting into grotesque forms, eyes blazing green fire.
Through the bond, I gritted:
“Focus her down! NOW!”
Raka roared—a sound that split the clearing like a war horn. Rage boiled in her veins, her silver-white fur bristling as veins of moonlight pulsed across her arms. She surged forward, Starburst blazing as she smashed through a wall of vines.
The Briar Witch, shielding her blackened eyes, still managed a laugh like a broken bell. With a flick, thorn-whips lashed out. Raka caught one on her shield—another wrapped her leg, thorns digging deep and spraying blood. She didn’t slow. Her war axe came down like judgment, hacking into the Briar Witch—Savage!
—only for vines to yank her aside before the third strike, burying the blade in corrupted earth.
Kit struck the freshly raised Bushmen from behind, hidden like a shadow at midnight. Her daggers shimmered, Spirit Blade energy crackling as she unleashed Soulfire Veilstrike, steel flashing in a violet fury—slashes so charged that the air hissed. Bushmen fell in heaps of shredded vine-flesh. Echo Step—she’s on the Briar Witch’s back, daggers plunging—
—and hit nothing. The Briar Witch dissolved into a swarm of Briar Flies, reforming behind Kit. A single gesture and roots speared upward, impaling Kit through the thigh. She screamed, vanishing in a swirl of smoke to escape— Echo Step— but her blood painted the moss red.
My vision tunneled. HUD flashing: Kit—Health Severe. Raka—Heavy. All of us—Mana Low.
Not enough. NEVER enough.
I dragged the storm into my veins, the words tearing from my throat as I upcast:
Arc Lightning!
The air screamed. A white-hot lance of thunderous fire ripped across the ruins, leaping from cindered Bushmen, to the Briar Witch, to scorched stone. The Briar Witch shrieked, the altar burned. Smoke rolled in choking waves.
For a heartbeat—silence.
Then the laughter came back. Sweet, poisoned silk.
Regrowth.
Vines tore through the earth like a flood. Bushmen bodies knit back together into towering horrors once more.
Kit (panting over bond): “We can—Master—we can still…”
Raka (snarling): “We fight! We—” Her words died in a howl as two tendrils wrapped her arms, dragging her down. She ripped free with the raw strength of her Rage, blood slicking her fur, eyes wild.
I saw it then—the truth like a knife in my gut.
All three of our mana bars were nearly empty.
“I…” My voice drops. “RETREAT! NOW! RUN!”
I shout the order again, my voice shredding my throat:
“RETREAT! GO!”
But Kit didn’t move.
Through the green-black haze, I see her—blood dripping down one thigh, daggers burning with the last of her mana in her fists. Her ears flatten, her tail whipping. Her eyes burn—not with fear, but with that stubborn, feral fire that makes her who she is.
Kit (snarling over the bond):
“Not yet… NOT UNTIL SHE BLEEDS!”
And before I can stop her—Echo Step.
Smoke curls like ghosts as Kit blinks through the shadows, sliding between the Briar Witch’s vines like silver lightning. She appears behind her, a blur of motion as her Soulfire Veilstrike explodes in violet flares, daggers slicing through briar flesh. The Briar Witch screams—an unholy, ear-splitting wail—thorn armor peeling away in shards.
For a heartbeat, hope dares. The HUD flickers:
Briar Witch — Health: Yellow.
“KIT! BACK NOW!”
But the Witch’s thorned arms snap outward like whips, faster than thought. One coils around Kit’s waist—another her throat—thorns sinking deep, blood running in rivulets.
Her scream shatters me.
I have no mana.
I have Ed—Sanguis.
—and Ed moves.
Bursting from the ground directly into the fight. Creepy, broken, beautiful Ed.
He hits like a storm. Thornlash. Claws of vine and bone slash across the Witch’s face, ripping petals and thorns away in a spray of black ichor. He doesn’t stop—he wraps her in his own tangled body—Rose’s Embrace—forcing the Briar Witch’s limbs outward, his hollow skull pressed against hers in a grotesque parody of a kiss.
His voice is soft and raw, carried over the battlefield to me like a dying ember:
“…Love… always…”
Then he erupts in a shower of thorn and bone, detonating in a burst of wyld magic. The Briar Witch reels back, screaming with exertion as she tears Ed free, half her body ripped apart by his thorny embrace—
—but still alive.
Kit drops like a broken doll, blood soaking her fur. She tries to speak, fails, eyes rolling back.
“RAKA—Kit!”
The wolfkin doesn’t hesitate. With a savage snarl, she barrels through a forest of snapping vines, thorns tearing fur and flesh as she shoulders Kit into her arms like nothing. Her blood-slicked body shimmers with the last remnants of her Rage, eyes glowing like moons.
I slam Thunderwave into the earth behind us—it explodes upward, buying a split-second gap as the ruins shake.
Then I run. No looking back.
The three of us—Kit limp in Raka’s arms—through smoke, blood, and screaming vines.
The Briar Witch’s voice chases us through the darkened ruins of Bushmen Forest:
“RUN, LITTLE LOVERS. RUN. THE THORNS REMEMBER.”
I don’t stop until my lungs are fire and my legs give out, collapsing in the deep woods.
Kit is barely breathing, my HUD screaming Critical. I drop to my knees, fumbling a tiny potion from my bag, hands shaking as I pour it past her lips.
The red glow knits the worst of her wounds shut. Her lashes flutter—those amber eyes finding mine.
A whisper:
“…sorry…”
I pull her into my chest, shaking with rage and relief.
Raka crouches close, one arm around both of us, her silver fur matted with blood and dirt. The bond thrums weakly—pain, fear… and something else.
Unyielding love.
Above us, the forest groans. Thorns whisper like knives in the dark.
The Witch still lives.