Chapter 150: The Witch Covens’ Claim
Luna and Phoenix’s elemental power exploded through the room like a roaring tidal wave. Time itself bent and twisted unnaturally around them, distorting reality. The soldiers froze mid-step, their eyes wide with shock. Their weapons, once solid and lethal, turned to crumbling dust in their trembling hands.
Dr. Webb’s mouth fell open in horrified disbelief. "Impossible," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "They’re just children."
"We’re not just anything," Luna said coldly, her voice ringing like a silver bell in a quiet tomb. Her eyes blazed with a haunting silver light, filled with ancient knowing.
Phoenix stepped forward, calm but furious. Golden light radiated from his skin in pulsing waves, illuminating the room with sacred heat. "You hurt our family," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Now you pay."
The twins raised their hands together. Power surged between them like a living force. Every soldier in the room aged fifty years in three unbearable seconds. Gray hair erupted like frost overnight. Wrinkles gouged deep lines into their once-strong faces. Muscles sagged. Bones ached.
"Stop!" Dr. Webb screamed, stumbling backward. "You’re killing them!"
"Good," Phoenix replied, his tone chillingly simple.
But before the twins could deliver the final blow, thick purple smoke coiled into the room, swirling like ancient spirits disturbed from slumber. It smelled of crushed herbs, graveyard soil, and old, forgotten magic. The aged soldiers collapsed, gasping as if their lungs were full of sand.
"Enough, little ones." A woman’s voice rang out—calm, commanding, ancient. It echoed with centuries of power.
The smoke parted like velvet curtains. Twelve women stood in a perfect circle around Luna and Phoenix. They wore long, flowing black robes embroidered with glittering silver symbols that shimmered with enchantment. Their eyes glowed with eerie violet light, unblinking.
"Witches," Seraphina hissed, her fangs bared. Her vampire powers were slowly returning, her veins pulsing with cold fire.
The leader stepped forward, regal and poised. She was tall, her white hair braided intricately and hanging down to her waist like a silken rope. A delicate silver crown rested on her brow, studded with moonstone and opal.