The Immortal Witch’s Death Wish

In the enigmatic realm of Borim, a captivating and eerie forest unfurled. Towering giant trees, gnarled their branches and twisted trunks adorned themselves in verdant jade colored foliage. These colossal arboreal branches towered all the way to the heavens, Their canopies interlocked to create a beautiful mosaic, dotted with pockets of golden sunlight that cascade through their leaves.

 

 The country bordered directly next to Azerjan, the country which venerates the tales of the Red Witch, the one above time, Resha. Borim however, was full of nonbelievers. The tales of the dragons and the witch were just that, tales. Much of the other countries in the world held similar beliefs. Oh how the ages wash down the accuracies of history. It never ceased to amaze. However, the land still possessed much beauty to it. It was for this reason that Lusha had decided they would instead venture through the forests on foot.

 

Both Lusha and Eri had decided it best to travel on foot through this country. The first reason of the matter was to condition her body for movement. The trek would take at most 60 days to arrive to the outskirts of Borim’s capital, Engal’Im. This trek was also coupled with the routine they had been doing for up to a year now. Except this time, it was needed twice a day. The sheer amount of movement they had to do saw to it that her body burned through all her reserves of energy – something which Lusha saw as a good sign. This should rapidly improve her healing time.

 

As they ventured deeper into Borim, they found themselves walking along winding paths carpeted with soft bed of emerald ferns. Delicate bioluminescent flowers burst forth from the forest floors, lighting the the darkness of the forest bed – even at night. The radiant blossoms released a gentle, ethereal glow, light tiny lanterns springing from the ground. According to Lusha, this was a result of a magic phenomenon, in which a majority of the mana ingested by the flora was capable of withstanding without distorting the plants. Apparently it was a very rare occurrence.

 

Borim’s landscape was not without it’s mysteries however, for amidst the towering trees, they stumbled upon many ruins and long forgotten strongholds. These were no doubt remnants of the wars fought long ago. If Lusha recalled correctly, this was one of the countries where a tremendous wraith had once appeared, a humanoid wraith that ravaged the lands and stagnated the country’s military might – until Xin had reverted its state. It was the first time Xin had attempted something like it.

 

The skies began to rain, which unlike other landscapes came down in giant streams of waterfalls, collected by the trees and then dropped through the many holes in the forest’s ceiling.

 

“This will be enough for now. We’ll rest there.” She said, pointing over at one of the ruined strongholds far off into the distance. Eri who had struggled to keep up, simply nodded, too exhausted to speak and attempting to catch her breath. On top of the constant movement, Lusha had also made her carry her bags, something that she did not even need to do given that she held the ability Spatial Magic [Unexpendable Pocket]. It was to build more stamina she stated, though Eri was certain it was because she was frustrated at not being able to find what she was truly looking for.

 

The stronghold was one carved of stone and marble all stacked neatly in mismatched placements. It was stacked in such a way that the corner towers spiraled upwards, no single brick placed the same. Aside from the four towers, the rest of the strongholds walls were entirely destroyed save for the keep. As Lusha observed her surroundings, she quickly realized that things weren’t quite as abandoned as they looked.

 

There were various spiked wooden barricades set up where the walls were crumpled. A fire pit rested in the court long put out. If Lusha had to take a guess, it would probably be Bandits making their base all the way out here. Thanks to the rain, it would seem the individuals inside were entirely unaware of her existence. Not that they would have constant sentries all the way out here. No... They must be close to a settlement if there were bandits all the way out this far.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_______________________________________________

 

 

 

“Ahh mannn this rain’s killing me. The damn tracks I was following is going to be fuckin’ washed up.” He walked over to one of the barrels and poured out some beer into his cup. “I’m telling you, the gods are against me always.” 

 

 

 

“Hahaha, I suppose they forgot to add re to your name didn’t they Morse?”

 

 

 

Morse quickly chugged down the entirety of his cup and threw it at the ground in front of the lad. The tin cup clanged and rolled around before the man stepped on it, stopping it in it’s tracks. “That joke ain’t even that funny ya know?”

 

 

 

“Hahahaha! Well I’m laughing!” Garn picked up the cup and shoved his way past Morse, pouring himself a pint as well.

 

 

 

“Only cause you’re a dumbass.”

 

Garn simply laughed it off and continued to sip his drink. The rest of the room was not paying much attention to the duo. A total of 33 people inhabited the keep, some playing games of dice and others training. There were at least 10 rooms within the keep. Though some of the rooms had holes all throughout, the dining hall was at least still in top condition, resting right in the middle of the circular domain. Beds lined each corner that was unblemished and some blankets rested lightly on the ground.

 

 

 

“Gahh, would you look at that, Morse and Garn are back at it again” Horas cackled. Before throwing down a set of dice. “One, two, three, five, six six.” He sighed and passed the set along to his right. “I think some of Morse’s luck is out here rubbing off on me this time, huh.”

 

 

 

“Mann… they’re really throwing up a storm this time.” As the rest of them looked back, he took his time to roll the die.

 

“My bets on Morse. The sour fucks got no sense of danger. That’s probably where he gets all his ‘bad luck’ from”

 

 

 

“Mann would you look at that—two, two, four four, one, one. Three sets!”

 

 

 

“Limn you slick maggot.”

 

 

 

“Bah. This is why I hate playing with you, you cheat too much.”

 

 

 

“Oh what do ya mean! None of you saw that? I rolled it clear!!”

 

 

 

The man spit some sort of leaf he had been chewing on into his cup. “I haven’t even had my turn yet.”

 

“To hell with the game. We’ll decide if you cheated or not based on those two, Limn.”

 

“What ya talkin about?”

 

“Who do you think’s going to be the victor of this one.”

 

Victor chimed, who’s usually silent chimed in at that moment. “You called?”

 

A burst of laughter came fourth. The man was a silent one, but his comedic timing was always impeccable, making him the life of the group. Though, if it was intentional, no one could ever know.

 

“My money’s on Garn.”

 

“Garn.”

 

“Mhm. This ones going to Garn for sure.”

 

Everyone else suddenly became interested at the altercation going on between the two. The two hurled insults at each other as much as they hurled their fists.

 

A punch came barreling towards Morse’s face, which he promptly dodged. Though it was entirely a feint. The moment Morse chose to move his head to the left, Garn had already closed in the gap and wrapped that same hand around his head pulling him into a head lock, stagnated only by his upward knee strike.

 

His knee found itself resting square into Morse’s diaphragm, causing him to keel over more before Garn discarded him into the ground.

 

Garn took several steps back. “Oh c’mon goblinface. Lookin to sleep already?” Garn stated hopping back and forth. Enraged, Morse lurched forward, with an uppercut, imbuing mana into his fists. A spiraling serpentine trail of mana surrounded both of his fists moving in motion with his rising speed. “Martial Art [Twin Dragon Strike]”

 

Garn managed to dodge it just by the breadth of his hair. The intensity at which he avoided such a technique sent him flying back into the wall. The “Twin dragons” around his hand flew upwards into the ceiling, destroying the surface and causing the walls to cave in.

 

“Y-..you really messed up now.” Garn pulled a blade from one of the racks that stood near him. “Manipulation Magic [Integrate Arms].” The sword instantly melted into his skin, merging flesh and iron. By pumping his blood to his arms, the sword increased in size as well. “Martial Art [Blood Paint]” He quickly pulled his cloak off his body, revealing several sharpened barbs on the inside of his cloak. The sharp barbs continuously ripped through his body as he removed them, leaving him various with gifts of blood and scars around his entire body. Then they solidified and hardened into swords. All around his body were blades leaving him an entirely untouchable fortress.

 

“If you really want to take it there!?” Morse shouted. Charging up a set of flame around both of his hands.

 

“You damn idiot. You’ve already taken it there.” He stepped into a charging stance before moving into a set of three point zigzags. “Martial Art [Mirage Dance]”

 

Morse cursed under his breath. He knew what Mirage dance was exactly. If he were to shoot his fire ball, he would hit nothing but an after-image. He only had a single half a second before the man would get to him. He didn’t have time to be tossing about flames recklessly. So he did the only sensible thing he could. He retreated, taking one leap backwards before shooting the flames into the ground.

 

Upon hitting the ground the flame spread into a stream across the stone floor. Upon looking back up, Garn was already gone.

 

“Right behind you, idjit.” He passed right by him, purposely near missing his tackle so that the man would only take several light cuts around his arm and side. In an attempt to defend himself Morse put his hands up, stopping his stream just enough for Garn get in front of him and palm his face with his right hand.

 

The sword hand rested openly against his chest while his other, bloodied handpicked Morse up by the head alone. It was game over. At any moment Garn could protrude a blade from the hand that held onto Morse’s head, slaying him then and there.

 

“Now you’re lucky I was taking it easy on you. Only because the boss told us not to over-exert ourselves. We’ll need all our men in top shape for the tournament anyways.” He lightly set the man back down.

 

“But ya know… I don’t think he’ll mind if you sit out on the raiding just this once.” With one quick motion he launched his fist into Morse’s chest, sending him sprawling across the ground and fracturing his ribs. The sharp sound could be heard as clear as day.

 

The rest of the group just watched in intrigue. “Fucking hell. Looks like it’s Garn.” Horas cursed and slipped a couple silver coins over to the rest of the group. Just as he was about to drop it in their hand he stopped. “Hold on-“

 

Morse slowly got up. “keep your swords on YOU DAMN PRICK!" His rage was getting to his head. One thing about Morse, it was never certain which one was quicker to ignite, his flames or his temper. That's perhaps why Garn loved messing with the lad so much. But you see, younger men have a tendency of acting brash. Morse was still not mature enough to handle things or think about things like the future. In a case like this, where you have him antagonized and utterly beaten-- the results may not always be as desired.

 

Elemental Magic [Ifrit]. His screams began to be curdled and sharp as steam rose from his skin and flames shot from his mouth. Fire engulfed his body and, in an almost pained manner, he grasped at his head. The man was capable of assuming an elemental form. "Not good..." Victor quietly chimed. 

 

Everyone else began to get into a defensive stance. "Hey!! Morse! CALM DOWN"

 

"Goddammit Kid. Seriously?!"

 

Limn cursed and withdrew his blade. Everything appeared to reach it's boiling point. 

 

That was until a man calmly walked over to the duo. "You two. Down. Now."

 

A strange force pulled their body straight to the ground, sending them face first into the cobblestone. A middle aged rough looking man walked over in front of the others. Brown shoulder length hair, and scars all along his face to boot. Blotted brown eyes and a bit of bloodshot veins encapsulated his scalera. He looked like a madman, but his demeanor was one of a very observant and dangerously calculated individual. 

 

"I believe I stated... there was to be no violence these next 3 days. Do my words not mean anything now? Is that what this has become?"

 

 "B-boss, I wasn't trying t-" 

 

 

 

"Shhh. I did not say you can speak."

 

Garn looked down, still in his kneeling position. His lips remained sealed.

 

He walked over to Morse and placed his foot atop the man's head. "And You... You inconsolable fool. Do you see the damage you've done already to the castle?" He creased his feet into the man's head, pushing him further upon the ground until he deactivated his flames. 

 

 

 

"I explicitly stated it didn't I? Garn, did you not hear me say it?"

 

Garn nodded. "Yes, Boss." 

 

"Repeat the words to me."

 

"There's to be no violence for the next 3 days."

 

"That was an order."

 

"In three days, all the nobles and various lords from all over Borim will be headed to Engal'Im. They'll be armed to the teeth with various elite mages and mercenaries. We don't have time to be wasting our condition nor the skill to be doing so."

 

He squared down in front of Garn. "Do you understand? We don't have the space to be horsing around. We need all the manpower we can get." His glance at Morse was not one of disdain but rather pity. "Even if they are quite useless."

 

Morse grit his teeth in frustration, but withheld his tongue. 

 

"The only reason why I don't slay the both of you is because I may regret it once the raid comes. Do you understand?"

 

The two of them nodded. Before "Release."

 

Whatever it was binding them let go, and they sprawled out on the floor breathing heavily.

 

"Now then..." The man spoke "who might you be?"

 

The question seemed odd at first, but once they followed the boss's eyes, they cought sight of her.

 

A girl with blood red hair, not much older than Morse sat on one of the barrels, tinkering around with one of the cups that were laying about. Her red nails, clanging against the tin metals, making a distasteful melody. One leg perched up on the barrel, holding her elbow, while the other hung off the side, just barely off the floor. 

 

The light red eyes were one that held both bleakness and also intrigue in them. Her face was smooth and unblemished.

 

She didn't appear to be of noble birth, but yet wore clothes that he had never seen before. They didn't appear to be from Borim. 

 

An ominous feeling began to rise in several of the members. Even the leader felt an uneasiness that made the hairs on his arm stand up. No matter what, one could tell this was not a normal situation.

 

Her sanguine lips spread into a smile before she tilted her head towards the man who spoke.

 

Not answering any of the questions at asked of her she instead posed a question of her own.

 

 

 

 "This tournament you're speaking of... Tell me more about it will you?."