A blast of magic shone light on the aged metal entrance. Some dark thing crawled onto it, speeding past Adreanna. Pain exploded in her shoulder as it clawed into her flesh.
She screamed, crashing her back against a tree. Howls mixed with her screams.
"Fiat lumine"
Light emerged from her arms, illuminating the jaguar. A jaguar that wore a very familiar stone.
She sighed.
Black Tourmaline. A rare stone that could guard against nearly all magic.
Damn it.
She dodged again, avoiding its claws. This spirit was clearly not used to its vessel. She'd be dead but for that. But it complicated things. Unlike familiars, which were bound to their vessels and thus could die, this thing could leave whatever it possessed at will.
Running was futile. Direct attacks with magic were useless. Only one option remained. It was risky, but what choice did she have?
It leaped onto her, claws ready to tear meat from bone. It climbed onto her back, ripping the fabric of her clothing and creating deep, bloody gashes.
She barely held back her tears as the agony continued, building up to unbearable levels. Her magic released itself out of control, the glow blinding it again.
She jumped, tumbling onto its back and ripping the necklace from its neck. It roared in fury, twisting its body to send her crashing to the floor.
Her bones hit with a thud on the hard earth. Her magic begged to be released. Blood flowed from the jaguar's eyes and snout as she tore apart its brain.
Its bones shattered, jutting out of its flesh and bloodstained body. As it lay there, dying on the grass, she began the next part of her plan. Approaching the body, blood still gushing from her wounds, she chanted:
"Spiritus inimici mei, veni ad me et mori!"
The spell's effects were immediate. She grasped at the spirit's astral shell, merging its mind with her own. They fought for what must have been hours, grappling over dominion of her body until, exhausted by the effort, it gave in.
Adreanna crawled on the ground, the world blurry around her.
Was this the end? Would she die now, her body and mind giving in to her injuries?
The light of death was so bright...
The light beckoned her, calling for her soul as she approached. She had no power to resist it, walking forward without a care in the world.
What now? She knew witches had no place in Hades' underworld, but had Hekate constructed some other sanctuary for her children? Or would she die now, her soul fading into nothingness?
As she walked forward, she heard something. What were those strange whispers that drifted in and out of focus? Those murmurs of an ancient, forgotten tongue, and the strange feeling of mystical energy as it thrummed in her veins.
The light faded.
"You're awake!" A voice cried out, releasing its grip.
"Styx!" She cried, hugging him tight. First the island, now this. They had been apart far too long and far too much. She didn't want to let him go. Not now, not ever. But as Sidero's rigid figure entered the chamber, they retracted their arms.
She smiled.
Adreanna scowled.
Bitch.
"Hello Adreanna. I trust you are well?" She said, reaching her hand out. Adreanna only stared. Sidero dropped her act.
"Well, can't say your tactics were elegant in any stretch of the imagination. But...they got the job done."
A "thank you" would've sufficed.
"How long was I asleep?" She asked, feeling around. Her injuries had healed.
"By the time we got to you, you were on the brink of death. The mental strain of what you attempted mixed with your physical injuries nearly killed you. It took us several weeks to wake you up."
"So what now?" Styx asked. She had a feeling that her familiar was only a few more minutes of conversation from clawing out Sidero's face. She didn't blame him. This High Priestess was getting on her nerves.
"We will begin the Initiation Ceremony at midnight."
Adreanna nodded, and Sidero left. Perhaps she should have thanked her as a sign of respect, but she was too tired to care.
Initiation Ceremonies were another common feature of covens. Depending on the Coven's maturity, they ranged from simple mingling to oaths signed in blood. This one would be the latter.
She looked around the room. They had dressed her in cotton, and she was perfectly content to lie down until she noticed the tub. It had been a long time since she'd had a bath.
After closing the curtains, she poured in the herbal mixtures, stirring gently with her magic before dipping in. All the tensions of the day faded away as she closed her eyes. The oils permeated her skin, draining her of worry and cleaning her pores.
Finally, she was done. As she dressed, this time selecting a pure black gown, she stared outside. The red moon stared back, the only indicator of any change in the cycle of day and night.
No one was there. Was she late? Wouldn't they have sent someone to get her if she was?
Styx got up, ears perked, and claws outstretched.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"It's too quiet. You don't think we're late, do you?"
"Better safe than sorry, I suppose. Sidero will look for any excuse to get us out of the coven."
They walked through the hallways, noting the paintings. It seemed much darker than it had before. One painting caught her eye. It attracted her in ways she could not understand.
The painting was of a girl, or woman, she honestly couldn't tell. Her face was grotesquely elongated, her chin most of all. Her lips were pulled in a black, gaping void.
Tears of blood streamed down her face from unseen eyes. Her hair was black, with a sliver of white brushing against empty sockets.
Where had she seen this girl before? She'd been sleeping for so long; it was impossible to recall. She went through what little she remembered of the day she met her, piecing together what she could.
"Hello?" This time, she couldn't stop jumping. Another witch lay behind her. She was older than her and had a look only a mother could give.
"Sidero sent me. She wants me to bring you for initiation. Come." She smiled, holding out her hand. Adreanna reluctantly took it, traversing the familiar maze of corridors until they reached the Initiation Room.
I don't think I'll ever get used to this labyrinth of a home. She thought, trying her best not to fall. This woman had a firm grip. Strong for her apparent age.
It was a feeling of danger that made her stop, dead in her tracks, right outside the room. Within the crevices of her mind, some unseen voice begged her to stop.
That voice proved correct as she stared at the bloodied surface. On it, an umbral figure stared down at his subjects from a throne of corpses. It was an altar.
An altar to Hades, Lord of the Dead.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
