Oralia’s hand shot to the hilt of her blade when a blistering heat erupted behind her eyes. Her fingers spasmed and the broadsword slid back into its sheath undrawn. The pressure within her head swelled. It clogged her ears and pressed against her eyes, building, building, building, until her skull felt like it would split like an overripe melon. She dropped to her knees and clawed at her eyes in a futile attempt to relieve the mounting pressure.


    A bone-rattling roar broke through the static cotton sensation filling her ears. The pressure alleviated, slightly, allowing for Oralia to ease her eyes open. Sascha, the source of the commotion, was using the last of his strength to go head-to-head with the elf newcomer. He lumbered across from Oralia, lurching and swiping at their attacker. The elf dodged each of Sascha’s swings with surefooted ease. Their attacker was calm, collected, and unnervingly giddy given the maniacal smile split across his thin lips.


    Oralia may not have recognized the face, but there was no need for introductions. Deep in her aching bones, she knew that the mad elf could have only been the infamous Taratheil Cray. The rumors regarding his magical capabilities were true, too, given the way the darkness stirred with hunger beneath her skin.


    Sascha glanced over his shoulder at her and bared his tusks. “Leave, now! Before he calls in his beast!”


    “Ruining my surprises, are you?” Cray dodged another labored swipe from Sascha and then lifted his fingers to his temples, exacting his revenge. “For shame!”


    Sascha’s body jerked to a stop mid-lurch. His hands shot to his head and clutched over his ears as he fell to his knees. His furious roar transformed into snarls of pain.


    Cray circled him with a shake of his head. “That was the original plan, yes. But I’m realizing now I don’t need my pet to take care of your beloved. Alone, without an army or a mate worthy of protecting her, I think I’ll carry out the task myself.” Cray’s maniacal smile pulled tight, flashing a row of off-white teeth. “The mother of your unborn child will die by my hand, Sascha. And, in exchange for all of the trouble you caused, I’ll give you the pleasure of watching her take her dying breath, before I finish you off too.”


    As powerful as Cray’s magic was, he could not wield his debilitating powers over two victims at once. With his powers focused on putting Sascha to heel, Oralia felt the pressure in her head recede. A mixture of rage and dark magic flooded her veins, propelling her forward. Sword drawn, she was mere steps away before Cray jumped back into the game. The elf pivoted on his heel, dodging the deadly swing of Oralia’s blade, and channeled the full force of his powers back onto her.


    Pain crackled like lightning down Oralia’s spine. She shook it off with a stubborn snap of her tusks and pulled herself back into a fighter’s stance, watching for her opening.


    “Dear gods, you are as hopeless as they say, aren’t you?” Cray’s harsh laugh bounced between the empty stone cottages. He was on the move again, this time circling her with an overconfident strut. “Just look at you! Your sword against my magic, really?”


    The powerstone pulsed against Oralia’s skin, urging her closer. For a split second, the memory of the fire witch flashed across her vision. She remembered the hot, suffocating smoke and ash. The blistering heat and taste of burnt flesh and hair in her mouth. She had swore never again and yet the insatiable pang of hunger drove her forward. With a pounding pain in her head and a flaring cold turning her chest to ice, she charged.


    Cray laughed again, delighted by her stubborn futility. “How?” he demanded, neatly dancing out of range. He could have felled her with another mind attack and yet he refrained. It was not out of good sportsmanship, Oralia suspected, but because he loved drawing out the game as long as possible. “How is it you’ve given Geralt the runaround for this long? And to think he could have been rid of you years ago had he just handed it over to me. This is childsplay!”


    His gloating nearly got his throat split. Cray ducked out of the way in the nick of time. Humiliated, the smile slipped from his face and his gray eyes went cold as he unleashed his magic, intent on punishing her for daring to embarrass him. The sword dropped from Oralia’s spasming hand as Cray’s magic brought her to her knees. He drove wave after wave of debilitating pain into her skull, ripping tears into her mind like blazing rods of molten metal to paper.


    Oralia’s vision went in and out, flashing from light to dark, as her surroundings started to spin. Disorientated, her sense of balance fled. She was unable to get up. Her heavy limbs were useless. Her body refused to move. She sagged her head against the ground and closed her eyes, feeling the burning in her head spread to her chest. And, just as her struggling lungs threatened to draw their final breath, the unexpected happened. The blistering heat sputtered out. Its raging fire tempered to a lukewarm and then to nothing. No warmth. Her chest was ice cold, void of all heat.


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    Finally, a disembodied voice rippled across Oralia’s screaming mind. The entity latched onto Cray’s magic and pulled, lapping up the excessive power like a ravenous animal. At long last, after starving me for months, sparing nothing but pitiful crumbs, you offer a fitting meal!


    Oralia forced her eyes open and lifted her head. She squinted, peering through blurry, tear-filled vision as the maniacal smile dropped from Cray’s ashen face. They were still connected. She could feel the angry buzz of Cray’s magic pouring into her skull and yet, she felt nothing. The elf’s eyes grew wide and panicked. The confusion set in. Followed immediately by fury. Whatever the dark entity was doing, it’d somehow melded their minds together. Oralia could hear Cray’s racing thoughts as if they were her own.


    Oralia Dawnsight did not possess magic, his thoughts screamed. She was as ordinary as she was predictable. She didn’t possess the ability to overpower a witch! And nor would she. He, Tatheriel Cray, would not be bested by some simpleton with a sword!


    Cray doubled his attack. He willed more power into her, lighting her skull aflame only to have his spell fizzle out. The more Cray gave, the more the entity fed. Its dark power wriggled and writhed beneath Oralia’s skin stronger than ever before. The entity’s cold presence flooded from her chest, up her neck, and into her swelling head, cooling the fire.


    The entity’s voice rippled through her. For someone so ordinary, you were an unexpectedly good host orc. But I have needs you cannot fulfill. The mad elf will serve as a satisfactory replacement.


    A spark of panic wormed its way through the deluge of rage and pain flooding Oralia’s clouded mind. No, no, no!


    As promised, I will spare your life for having delivered my new body.


    Oralia’s thoughts screamed every obscenity known to her. The only thing keeping the dark entity from wreaking its fury on the world was the absence of a magical host and Cray had unwittingly provided one ripe for the picking! Stubbornly, Oralia pushed with her hands, picking her agonized body from the ground, intent on severing Cray’s magic before the entity bridged the gap between them. She got only part way but her arms gave out like spineless jelly and she collapsed back against the muddy street.


    The wet ground trembled beneath her. She lifted her eyes in time to see Sascha’s blurred form slam into Cray. The pair went down together in a flurry of flailing arms and legs. Cray yelped and bounced against the ground, freed from the dark entity’s grasp. Oralia’s rigid muscles relaxed as the elf’s magic released its claws from her mind. The dark entity shrieked and howled in fury, but without magic, it had no power. No hold. Oralia forced it back down, shuttering its voice from her thoughts.


    Her body demanded she stay still and give it time to recover, but her heart had other concerns. Gritting her teeth, she rose shakily onto her hands and knees and dragged her way to Sascha’s side. He lay amongst the wet mud, sides heaving, gazing back at her with a rather pleased look on his face.


    “I told you to run,” he rasped between ragged breaths.


    “Did you?” she panted. “I must have been too busy not listening.”


    “You!” Cray’s undignified screech lit the air as the elf struggled to his feet. Alas, the weight of Sascha’s body had failed to crush the witch into a pile of unrecognizable pulp. The wiry bastard staggered upright, looking only slightly worse for the wear. Physically speaking, anyway. His former mania was gone, Oralia noted, replaced instead with a fear so strong, that she could smell its salty stench through the blood and wet grime clogging the inside of her nostrils.


    Cray’s eyes, bloodshot and rimmed in white, were fixed on Oralia. “What the fuck are you?”


    Cray finally realized his dilemma and it shook him to his core. He couldn’t use his magic against Oralia, not without opening himself up to something far, far worse. Which, without an army, bodyguards, or even a decent weapon at his side, left him woefully disadvantaged. Oralia patted Sascha’s bloodied cheek, encouraging him to hold on just a little longer, before she gathered her leaden legs beneath her and commanded them back into action.


    She rose, stiffly, and retrieved her fallen sword. It felt heavier than she remembered, but it was of no matter. She didn’t expect to have to wield it for long.


    Cray shied out of reach, eyes darting back and forth across the streetway, searching for the nearest dark alley to disappear into. He raised his hand to his mouth and spoke softly into the ring on his pinky finger. Oralia didn’t catch the words, but she did notice how the blue stone shimmered. It was unnatural, otherworldly, and far too familiar for comfort.


    “Take the big one’s advice, Oralia,” Cray said.


    A ghastly shriek lit the cool air in the distance. Overhead, the wind shifted. A cold, bitter current whipped through the narrow streetway, ripping sheets of straw-thatch from the rooftops as it raged past, filling the air with dirt and debris.


    Cray’s unnerving smile returned. “Run.”