“Your reign ends here, Witch of the Void! No longer will you spread your malice upon the people of Ganymede!”
The Witch laughed in a full, rich, rolling sound that filled the space like thick smoke and it made Umbra’s skin crawl even before she looked at her. She hated it. She hated it because she knew it well. Countess Umbra Steelblight had heard it too many times over the years, echoing across castles, battlefields, forests, ruins, and each time it had sounded like victory slipping from her hands. This laugh had haunted her dreams, and now it stood before her in the flesh—or in whatever twisted flesh the Witch had claimed for herself, her skin like shadowy silk over bones that should have long rotted.
“You failed to strike me down on four separate occasions,” the Witch said, her voice calm now, teasing, almost bored, which made it that much worse. “I am almost getting a little bored of this. As fun as toying with you has been, it has been… a delight.”
Umbra growled in anger, a sound very much a guttural, earth-shaking sound, something a human could never have produced. Something monstrous and wrong, but entirely, undeniably of what she was now. She tightened her grip on her spear, feeling its weight in her long fingers, feeling the hard leather of her shield against her forearm. Each piece had been a gift from the Queendom of Ganymede when they had plucked her from Earth, torn her from the chair she’d been sitting in, the computer she’d been typing at, and dropped her into this world of alien skies and strange suns that now felt like home.
It had been a long journey and she had not started as a monster. Once, she had been a regular human transbian, quietly living her life, the most dangerous things she faced being deadlines, assignments, the mundanity of her own room. And then the portal came, just like that. And now, ten years later, she was here, claws and teeth, fangs and limbs that initially felt too long for her own coordination, but now felt like her. She’d grown accustomed to the power it gave her, and the looks most people gave her when she appeared before them.
Five years ago, the Witch had caught her in a trap. A cruel, carefully woven trap, the kind only a being like Umbra’s ultimate enemy could devise. And now her body had become something horrible. All tall and lith and wrong. Paper-white skin stretched over muscle she only recently recognized as hers, a jaw that could open far too wide, claws that could tear through wood, iron, maybe stone itself, and two slits where a nose would be. There was a pair of horns on her forehead that swept up. And the pain had been terrible, but she survived that too.
Because she had someone to rely on.
Farah. An angel in every way the word could mean, both figuratively and literally. Once a priestess, once a gentle elven woman who guided Umbra toward power, toward purpose, toward victory against the creeping evil of the Witch. Yet now she glowed. Pure white wings, feathers soft like whispered prayers and contrasted with her dark skin, a radiant presence that healed by mere proximity. She was perfect in Umbra’s eyes. Farah was calm and infinitely patient, and most importantly, she was Umbra’s wife.
“You unholy thing! You will fall to the radiance of the Triumvirate! Your life ends here!” Farah’s voice boomed like a hammer of light, resonating through the chamber, filling every corner with righteous fury.
The Witch tilted her head, amused. “Cute,” she said, almost lazily, “but you two… you have failed time and again. I think I might actually be bored. Maybe the next hero will offer more entertainment!” Her hand rose, staff first, other hand open, palm forward.
“Live on time, emit no evil!” she chanted, every word rolling like a cruel tongue across the air. Ironic, yes. Especially ironic considering her target was an angel of light. But the spell was aimed at Umbra, and Umbra—monstrous, cursed, powerful—felt it rip through her.
A howl erupted from her throat, unearthly, something that was both her voice and something beyond her. She dropped to one knee, spikes of black blood stabbing from beneath her skin, piercing even her blessed armor, sending agony into every nerve, every bone, every tendon. Pain that made the world warp around her vision. Yet, she held onto her spear and shield, refusing to fully yield to the spell.
“My love!” Farah cried, voice trembling and fierce all at once, her wings glowing like molten sunlight even in the shadow of the Witch of the Void. She lifted her staff, pointed it at the monstrous knight, at Umbra, and the words spilled from her lips, urgent, flowing, familiar and strange all at once. “No evil, live on!”
A rush of warmth spilled over Umbra’s body, the spikes of black blood stabbing through her paper-white skin retracted, snapping back under the surface with a sickly, wet pop. Her wounds closed, healed by the angel’s magic, and she let herself exhale. Her claws relaxed, the grip on her spear steadying, shield tight against her arm.
“It ends. Now,” Growled Umbra, the words tasting like fire in her mouth. She levelled her spear, eyes burning red in black sclera, body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
The Witch laughed like a knife across glass—but it faltered. It faltered the instant Umbra practically blinked across the floor, her spear thrusting mid-motion, aimed straight for the heart of the being that had ruined her life, her body, her soul.
“You’re faster than last time,” the Witch said, bravado cracking at the edges, teeth flashing as she barely twisted aside, just enough to scrape the tip of the spear. Her shadowy robes whipped around her like smoke.
Umbra swung the shield in a brutal arc, trying to bash her, but the Witch moved with the impact, skating backward, feet light and fluid, recovering with a grace that made the knight’s blood boil.
“It’s thanks to you that I have this power,” Umbra growled, every muscle taut, every clawed finger gripping the spear like it was the only thing keeping her alive. “And I will use it to defeat you.”
“Evil rats on no star live!” Farah’s voice rang out, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the grand throne room. The cadence was alien, the rhythm strange, but Umbra didn’t need to understand it. She only needed to feel the effect.
A brilliant orb, white and blinding, materialized above the throne, dripping light down onto the Witch. The creature hissed, her movements faltering and growing sluggish and jerky.
That was all Umbra needed.
“We are more powerful because we have each other!” she roared, a sound that rattled stone. “Your evil deeds stop now!” She charged, her monstrous legs eating the distance in a heartbeat, spear aimed without hesitation.
The tip of the blessed weapon found its mark, piercing straight through the Witch’s core. Sizzling dark flesh met divine light, the blessing of the Triumvirate singing through the wound. The Witch froze, stunned, staring down at the gaping hole she could never heal.
No matter what dark magicks she unleashed, it would not close. The spear was gifted seven years ago to a human who had become more than human, made to kill gods, and it would. Even now, its blessing hummed with inevitability, a resonating, unrelenting truth.
“I-impossible!” the Witch gasped with pain.
Umbra didn’t wait for a last gasp, a final threat, a villainous laugh. She shoved the Witch to the cold stone floor with one foot, planting the metal of her boot on the quivering abdomen, twisting the spear as she ground it home.
“This is the end for you. This world will no longer be plagued by your evil influence. No more monsters. No more fear. No more death caused by your hands!” Her words roared through the hall, echoing in every shadow, every corner, every beating heart. “You are finished!”
The Witch coughed weakly, rasping, and then laughed.
“Th-this may be the end for me… but it is the end for you too! Eva, can I see bees in a cave!”
Farah froze, wings quivering, staring at the insane creature she had spent a decade trying to stop. The Witch’s laugh twisted and Farah’s mind screamed—this woman was clearly beyond reason now.
“My love!” Umbra heard again. Her heartbeat spiked, panic and clarity snapping together. She looked down and horror clenched her chest. A void-touched portal yawned beneath them, black and alive, pulling both her and the Witch into its depths faster than she could react..
The last thing she heard was Farah’s scream, pure and terrified, cut off suddenly by the void’s hunger. Silence replaced it. Absolute, deafening, endless silence.
Then there was only the sensation of falling. Falling through nothing. Falling and falling. The Witch writhing beneath her, the spear still lodged, black blood seeping around its edges. No ground, no ceiling, only endless motion, endless descent and losing track of time.
Then suddenly there was an impact. Light, sound, heat, and pain followed immediately. It slammed into her chest, her back, her legs, knocking the air out of her lungs in one brutal, impossible punch. Umbra went down hard, claws scraping across something rough, uneven, tearing against her armor.
She rolled, gasping, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out what she was even landing on. Her dark, unsettling eyes scanned the ground, and her stomach dropped harder than the fall itself. Stone? No, stone didn’t crack beneath her forming jagged lines spidering out like the aftermath of some god’s temper.
No… no… this wasn’t stone.
Concrete.
Concrete?
The city smelled wrong, sounded wrong, felt wrong. A hundred little noises assaulted her senses: horns, voices, screeching tires, distant sirens, the clang of metal on metal. Everything was too bright, loud, and far too much. The air wasn’t the alien wind she had trained in, wasn’t the strange magic-choked atmosphere of Ganymede. This was… Earth, her Earth, and somehow she was back.
She forced herself to push up, muscles trembling, armor scraping, claws digging into the unforgiving surface. Her eyes adjusted, slowly, painfully, to the light. She could see—buildings, tall gray slabs rising around her, people staring, frozen in mid-step, mouths open, faces wide with shock, fear, curiosity. The sidewalks were crowded, impossible, narrow. Noise and light assaulted her every sense.
What… what was—
And then, Countess Umbra Steelblight, hero of Ganymede, was hit by a bus.