While Lunara was locked in a fierce battle with the Skeleton Queen, elsewhere in the cursed lands of Purgatory, the Guardians and Garrick had gathered together, their faces tense and serious.
The greyish skies loomed heavily above them, as if the very world was holding its breath.
Sybil glanced at Garrick, her voice sharp but uncertain. "What now?" she asked, gripping her weapon tightly, as if ready for a fight at any second.
Garrick didn't hesitate. His tone was cold, matter-of-fact. "We gather the other witches and go save Zayne."
His eyes glinted with something dark, something dangerous.
Saphyra scoffed, her distrust plain as day. She folded her arms and snapped, "Why the hell should we even listen to you?
If you could kill us all right now, you would."
Garrick chuckled dryly, a sound without any warmth.
"Yes. I would," he admitted without shame. "However, I can't. Not yet. Not until I get Zayne out of this shithole.
Then," he added, his voice low and menacing, "I'll come back to kill every single one of you."
The Guardians exchanged tense glances but knew they had little choice.
As much as Garrick was a threat, he was right — their priority was getting Zayne out alive.
Without wasting any more time, they began the process of gathering the other witches.
They made their way beneath a massive mountain that rose like a jagged tooth out of the cursed ground, a landmark large enough for any witch in the area to spot.
They sent word by using minor signal potions — small bursts of colorful smoke that witches would recognize — and slowly, steadily, the other witches began to arrive.
Minutes turned to hours, but eventually, a large crowd of witches, battered but still determined, gathered under the looming mountain.
Their faces showed varying degrees of exhaustion, fear, and anger, but they were united by a single goal: survival.
Once the final group trickled in, they wasted no time.
Without fanfare, the witches, the Guardians, and Garrick started their perilous journey through the vast, twisted lands of Purgatory, each step taking them closer to where Zayne was being held.
The terrain was harsh. Blackened trees, thorny undergrowth, and fields littered with the bones of long-forgotten creatures surrounded them. As they pressed forward, a sudden disturbance caught their attention.
Ahead, a cluster of skeletons — dozens of them — appeared, their empty eye sockets flashing as they noticed the witches.
There was a moment of stillness — a sharp intake of breath — and then the skeletons, in a chaotic horde, began to charge toward them.
Most of them were second and third-grade skeletons, but scattered among them were a few dreaded first-grades — stronger, faster, and infinitely more dangerous.
Sylvara, ever the tactical one, frowned deeply. "What if the Skeleton Queen can see through them? See us?"
Sybil shook her head, her voice calm but firm. "Probably not.
She's already locked in combat with Lunara. Her focus will be completely on that battle."
Despite that reassurance, tension remained thick in the air.
Several witches instinctively reached for their damage potions — volatile concoctions designed to burn and destroy enemies on contact — but Saphyra stepped forward quickly, her voice sharp.
"Stop. Don't waste them here," she ordered. "Damage potions are rare and powerful. We'll need them if we run into a Purgatorist or something worse."
Grudgingly, the witches listened. Instead, they pulled out strength potions, drinking the foul-tasting liquids without hesitation.
The effects were immediate — muscles tightened, senses sharpened, and a low hum of energy filled the air.
Weapons were drawn, ready to meet the enemy head-on.
The clash was short but brutal. The empowered witches tore through the skeleton ranks with ferocity.
Blades flashed, potions exploded, and bone fragments rained down like deadly hail.
Garrick moved to join the fray, his expression dark, but the Guardians blocked his path.
"No," Sybil said firmly. "Your Creation is too useful. We can't risk you getting killed here."
Garrick growled under his breath but obeyed. For now.
Amid the chaos, a first-grade skeleton broke through the line. It lunged at a young witch who had barely raised her blade in time
. A deadly blow was moments away — but Sybil reacted with lightning speed.
She intercepted the attack, blocking the strike with her own weapon, and shoved the first-grade back with enough force to send it skidding across the dirt.
The skeleton, surprisingly, spoke in a rasping, hollow voice. "You shouldn't be here… Why are you here?"
Before the creature could say more, Sylvara appeared behind it, moving like a shadow.
Her blade sliced cleanly through its spine, dropping it to the ground in pieces.
Nearby, Saphyra was locked in combat with another first-grade.
This one was faster, craftier. It hurled multiple sharp weapons toward her in quick succession.
Saphyra weaved between them with fluid grace, each miss coming closer than the last.
She narrowed the gap between them, and with one decisive motion, brought her sword down, cleaving the skeleton's head clean from its shoulders.
Meanwhile, far away in the ominous castle of the Skeleton Queen, the illusions the witches had sent were still at work.
From a distance, they appeared so real — moving, acting like true witches.
Zorath, the overseer of the castle, watched them with growing suspicion.
Something wasn't right.
None of the traps triggered when the witches passed through.
The mechanisms snapped shut harmlessly behind them, the walls that should have crushed them met nothing but air.
Vel'Zorath knew witches had impressive technology, but this… this was on another level.
Was this a Creation? Or some new device he hadn't seen before?
His doubts only grew when the illusions entered a large, ornate room filled with decadent decorations.
In the center of the room stood a berserk skeleton — a monster whose mind had been shattered, driven purely by rage.
If the real witches had entered, they would have been forced into a devastating battle.
But the illusions, being mere phantoms, simply passed through the berserk creature.
It swung its massive weapon, enraged, but hit nothing but air and stone.
It roared in confusion and anger, unable to touch its ghostly enemies.
And while the witches had a berserk skeleton in their path, Garrick's illusion faced something even worse.
In the depths of the castle, in a grim and shadowy room, Vel'Gothar — a fearsome Purgatorist — waited.
Seeing the illusionary Garrick approach, he struck without hesitation, delivering a brutal kick that would have shattered a normal man.
But the illusion didn't react. It merely flickered slightly.
Vel'Gothar eyes widened. "They've fooled us," he hissed, realization dawning.
Vel'Zorath, hearing this, reacted immediately. He dismantled the entire castle in a heartbeat, collapsing the illusionary stronghold into dust.
He knew now that he had to find the real witches — fast.
Wasting no time, Zorath moved his castle, shifting its location again and again in rapid succession, scanning the cursed land. It didn't take long.
Soon, he found them — a large group of witches marching determinedly toward the place where Zayne was being kept.
Enraged, he relayed the location to Grothar.
Without hesitation, he teleported, bringing with him an army of berserk skeletons, along with elite first, second, and third-grade soldiers.
The witches, still running, sensed the disturbance too late.
In front of them, the air shimmered — and from that shimmer emerged Vel'Grothar and his deadly forces, blocking the path forward.
Vel'Grothar expression was twisted in a mix of anger and amusement as he looked at the stunned witches.
"How the hell did you get over here?" he demanded, his voice low and full of malice.
The battle was inevitable.