Countess Umbra Steelblight was, if she was being completely honest with herself, not feeling particularly great right now.
Which was, she supposed, only fair, considering she had very recently travelled across realms, shattered through reality itself, and then been struck by something extremely large and somewhat fast.
I haven’t seen a car in so long, she thought dimly, the idea floating up through the fog in her mind like a half remembered dream.
Her eyes blinked open and she was immediately assaulted by white. White everywhere. White ceiling, white walls, a white door with a little window in it, white bedding tucked far too tightly around her body. It all blurred together for a moment until she forced herself to focus, her red eyes adjusting to the harsh, sterile brightness.
A hospital, then.
She let out a long breath through her nose, something between a sigh and a low rumble. That was… sweet of them, she supposed. Thoughtful, even. Humans were like that, sometimes. Fragile and frightful little things, but capable of kindness when faced with the unknown.
Still, it was unnecessary.
Her body burned faintly beneath the sheets, not with pain exactly, but with that familiar crawling sensation of regeneration already well underway. She could feel it knitting her back together, muscle, bone, skin, all reforming at a pace that far exceeded anything a human body could ever manage. She had lost limbs before, whole pieces of herself torn away in battle, only for them to grow back later like it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
There was a reason the Witch of the Void had struggled to put her down permanently, especially after cursing her with this form.
Her thoughts twisted suddenly, a spike of unease cutting through the haze.
What had they done with the body?
The body she had arrived with, or what remained of it after the impact. It could not simply be left unattended. If it had been destroyed improperly, if it had not been purified, the resulting miasma would be disastrous. The magical rotting corpse of the Witch of the Void in a realm with no protections whatsoever, no understanding of what it was dealing with, would be utterly catastrophic.
She tried to bolt upright only to be abruptly halted. Resistance pulled her back down against the mattress. She frowned, then tilted her head and looked down as far as she could.
Thick straps across her chest, her arms, her legs. Even her wrists were cuffed, heavy restraints biting into her pale skin.
She sighed wearily. Of course. Of course they had done this. From their perspective, an impossible monster had fallen out of the sky and survived being hit by a vehicle. Restraining her was, frankly, the sensible option.
Her gaze drifted around the room, slow and assessing, until something caught her attention. She snapped her head slightly to the side.
There was a nurse standing near the wall. A man, young, shaking so badly she could hear the faint clatter of whatever he was holding. His eyes were wide, fixed on her monstrous features. Fear rolled off him in waves.
She softened her expression as much as her face allowed.
“Would you be so kind as to release my bondage,” she asked, her voice polite, measured, carrying the tone she used when addressing commoners who had not yet done anything particularly foolish.
The nurse did not move. Did not blink. He stared at her like she had just sprouted claws, horns, and teeth several centimetres long.
Oh, right, she had.
“Ah,” Umbra said, the word slipping out with another sigh. “Right. English.”
She rolled the language around in her mouth, testing it. “It’s been too long since I tasted it on my tongue.”
When she had been taken to Ganymede, they had not bothered teaching her their language slowly. Instead they had used a spell, one that forced understanding directly into her mind, rewiring her thoughts so she could comprehend Velthuta instantly. An efficient solution, and also an agonizing one. She would rank it worse than losing a limb, and that was saying something.
She tilted her head, studying the nurse. “Do you not understand me?” she asked.
The nurse nodded, stiff and jerky.
“Very good, lad,” she said, approving. “Then listen carefully. I wish to sit up. I am more than capable of doing so myself, but I would rather not break things in the process, if I can help it. So I would appreciate it if you removed this bondage.”
He continued staring and seconds stretched.
She let out another sigh. “Please.”
That, at least, seemed to get through to him. The nurse flinched, then slowly edged around the room, never taking his eyes off her. Umbra tracked him with her gaze until he reached the door and slipped out, shutting it behind him with shaking hands.
She let her head fall back against the pillow, the stiff, unpleasant sort hospitals seemed to favor, and stared up at the ceiling.
“Patience,” she murmured to herself.
She tried, at least, to straighten her legs. That was when she realized two things in quick succession.
First, she was no longer in her armor. The familiar weight was gone, replaced by thin fabric and bare skin.
Second, they had very clearly underestimated her size.
Apparently, in an attempt to accommodate her height, someone had pushed two beds end to end. It was almost enough. Almost. Her long legs stretched past the end anyway, knees hooked awkwardly over the gap between beds, the hard plastic pressing into her bones. A thin blanket was the only thing cushioning the contact, and it did a poor job of it.
It was not the most uncomfortable position she had ever endured. Not by a long shot. Still, it made her ache for home.
For her manor. For the massive, luxurious bed that actually fit her. For the feeling of lying there with her angelic wife’s arms wrapped around her, wings warm and solid at her back. In that moment, that simple comfort felt like the greatest treasure in any realm.
The door opened again, pulling her from her thoughts.
This time it was not the nurse. Two police officers stepped in instead, one man and one woman, both cautious, hands hovering near their belts. Behind them was someone else, half hidden by the doorframe, and Umbra could not quite see who.
“Greetings,” she said, tired but with as much composure as she could manage.
The man stared. “You speak.”
“Yes,” she replied. “As I am wont to do. Would you mind releasing this bondage? I wish to sit up and take stock of myself.”
They both continued staring at her, eyes wide, expressions blank.
“What,” she said, attempting levity, “have you not seen a nighthunter before?”
No laughter. Not even a flicker of amusement.
She sighed again. “If you are not to speak, then send someone in who will. I have places to be, and my patience will only last so long.”
“Uh, sorry,” the man said finally. “We’ve never seen anything like you. You might be dangerous.”
“Hence the bondage,” Umbra replied calmly.
“Yeah.”
“Yes, well. I mean you no harm,” she said, her voice firm now. “So please undo the bondage, before I do so myself. I assure you I am very capable of doing so.”
The man hesitated, then glanced sideways at his colleague. For a long moment they just looked at each other, some silent conversation passing between them that Umbra could not hear. Finally, the woman gave a small, tight nod.
The man swallowed. Umbra could hear it from where she lay. With a breath held so long it bordered on painful, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy ring of keys. His hands shook as he knelt beside the bed and fumbled with the cuffs around her wrists, metal scraping against metal as he tried the wrong keys first, then the right ones.
The woman stepped out of the room briefly, moving fast, almost jogging. Umbra tracked her departure with her eyes, though she made no move to interfere. Moments later she returned with a doctor and another nurse in tow, both of whom looked like they very much wished to be somewhere else. Without wasting time, they hurried around the bed, loosening straps, undoing buckles, working as quickly and carefully as they could, as though she might explode if they were too slow.
When the final restraint was removed, Umbra inhaled deeply and sat up in one smooth motion. Her back straightened, shoulders rolling as she stretched muscles that had been bound for far too long. She did not quite realize how much space she took up until her claws struck the ceiling with a dull crack, sending a few tiles rattling loose. Dust drifted down.
The doctor and nurse yelped and scrambled back toward the wall, pressing themselves against it as if they could sink into the paint and disappear.
“Ah,” Umbra said, blinking and rubbing the top of her head. “Sorry. It has been a long time since I was in a room scaled to human size.” She shifted carefully, hunching slightly to avoid causing further damage. “Now,” she continued, getting down to business, “where is my armour and my weapons? I must hunt down a witch, or at the very least, the corpse of one.”
The female police officer cleared her throat. “They’re… at the station,” she said carefully. “We, uh, confiscated them.”
Umbra hummed, the sound low and thoughtful. “Yes. That is reasonable, I suppose.” Her eyes lifted, sharp and serious. “However, I need them. The creature I fought is not merely dead, she is dangerous even in death. Unless her corpse is properly purified, her corruption will spread.” She paused, letting the weight of that settle. “Possibly far enough to end this world.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“Okay,” the man said slowly, holding his hands up a little. “First, we’ll need to question you. Once you’ve healed.”
Umbra waved a clawed hand dismissively. “That will not take long. I can grow limbs back within a few days. Whatever struck me”—she hesitated, frowning faintly—“the bus, I believe—did not hit me hard enough to put me down for more than a few hours.” She fixed them with a steady stare. “I will cooperate. But do not dally. We are on limited time, whether you believe me or not.”
The man nodded, clearly overwhelmed but trying his best to keep up. “I’ll… I’ll call a van for you.”
“Very well,” Umbra said, settling back slightly on the bed, careful not to damage anything else.
The doctor and the nurse did not linger more than they had to. The moment Umbra made it clear she was capable of moving on her own, they retreated quickly, almost tripping over each other in their haste to leave the room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving an abrupt and unfamiliar quiet in their wake.
Umbra waited a heartbeat, then swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet met the floor with a solid thud, toes curling slightly against the cool, smooth surface. It felt strange, standing in a place so mundane and ordinary, when she had so recently been falling through the void itself.
She straightened slowly, rolling her shoulders, testing her balance.
Magic was not her forte. That had always been Farah’s domain, spells flowing from her angelic wife as easily as breath. Umbra’s strengths lay in steel, endurance, and a supernaturally stubborn refusal to die. Still, she knew a handful of spells. Enough to be dangerous, at least. A tracking charm, for one. And a lesser purification spell, crude but effective if applied soon enough.
Unfortunately, she knew nothing that would allow her to traverse realms. Not a single incantation, rune, or ritual that could punch a hole between worlds the way the Witch had. That knowledge would require research. Study. Time.
Later, she told herself firmly. That was a goal for later.
There were more pressing matters at hand. She considered making a list, organizing her thoughts the way she used to before a campaign. She would need supplies, information and maybe even tools from Earth. If she found a way back, she could bring things with her. There had to be a way back. There always was, even if it took years, decades, a lifetime.
This planet was a mana desert, dry and hostile to magic, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible.
She would not rest until she found a way.
In the other world, she had a fief to govern. People who depended on her. And Farah. Her love. Her anchor. Responsibilities she would not abandon, no matter how far she had fallen. There had to be a way back.
There had to be.
The door opened again, snapping her from her thoughts. The doctor and nurse returned, each carrying pieces of her under-armour folded awkwardly in their arms. Gambeson, tunic, and her padded trousers, along with her unmentionables, of course.
“Leave it on the bed,” Umbra said calmly. “I will dress myself.”
They did not argue. They did not even reply. Instead they placed the garments down and hurried out once more, the door closing with a soft but decisive click.
Umbra dressed quickly and efficiently, muscle memory guiding her hands. The fabric felt right and familiar to her in a way the sterile hospital gown never could. She had just finished adjusting the last strap when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she called.
The two police officers stepped inside again, moving a little more confidently now, though still wary.
“I presume the transport to your station is on its way,” Umbra said, already straightening and preparing herself to move.
“Yes,” the woman replied. “It is.”
“I see.” Umbra inclined her head slightly. “Then I am as dressed as I can be under the circumstances. Let us not dally.”
There was work to be done.