Trust no one, Especially Witches - 4

Jason tried to scramble backward, but his body betrayed him. The power surge had left him weak, his limbs feeling like they were made of lead. "Stay away from me!"

The Covenant began to close in, moving with the practiced coordination of beings who had performed countless rituals together over the millennia. Elyndra raised her hands, preparing to weave another binding spell, while Morvenna readied the silver shackles.

"Sleep now, child," the elderly woman intoned, her voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of an incantation. "Let the transition be—"

The chamber's heavy wooden doors exploded inward with a sound like thunder.

Splinters of ancient oak scattered across the stone floor as two figures materialized through the smoke and debris. They moved with fluid grace, shadows given form and purpose. The first was a man, tall and lean with dark hair that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. His coat billowed around him like liquid darkness, and his eyes burned with an inner fire that rivaled Jason's own.

The second figure was a woman, striking in her fierce beauty. Her auburn hair whipped around her face as arcane energy crackled between her fingers. She wore fitted leather armor that bore scorch marks and battle scars, and her green eyes swept the chamber with predatory intensity.

"Well, well," the man said, his voice carrying a slight accent that spoke of distant lands. "Thirteen against one child. Such admirable odds."

The Covenant members immediately shifted into defensive positions, their earlier confidence evaporating. Morvenna snarled, recognizing the intruders immediately.

"Theron Blackthorne," she spat. "And the witch Lyara Stormwind. How dare you breach our sanctuary!"

Theron smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "How dare we? You kidnap a human child, attempt to steal his soul, and question our manners?" He gestured casually, and three of the stone pillars suddenly wrapped around the nearest Covenant members like massive serpents, binding them tight.

Lyara raised her hands, and the temperature in the chamber plummeted. Frost began forming on the walls as she spoke, her voice carrying the authority of storms. "Release the boy, and we might let some of you live."

"Never!" Elyndra shrieked, launching a bolt of searing energy toward the intruders.

The battle erupted in an instant.

Theron moved like liquid shadow, his form seeming to blur and separate as spells passed harmlessly through him. Where he gestured, the very stone of the chamber came alive—floor tiles rising to shield Jason from stray spells, ceiling stones dropping to crush advancing Covenant members.

Lyara was a tempest incarnate. Lightning danced from her fingertips, striking with surgical precision. When the copper-skinned figure attempted to bind her with golden chains of light, she laughed and the chains turned to ice, shattering against the floor. Wind whipped through the chamber at her command, sending several of the thirteen sprawling.

"Protect the vessel!" the elderly woman commanded, but her voice was lost in the chaos.

Morvenna attempted to reach Jason, but found her path blocked by a wall of writhing shadows that rose from the floor at Theron's command. She snarled and transformed her hands into claws of living metal, slashing at the barrier.

"The boy belongs to us!" she screamed. "The prophecy—"

"The prophecy," Theron said, appearing suddenly behind her, "speaks of choice, not ownership." His hand touched her shoulder, and she instantly turned to stone, frozen mid-strike.

The pale man with serpentine tattoos conjured a massive snake of pure energy, twenty feet long and crackling with venomous power. It lunged toward Lyara, fangs bared.

She didn't even look at it. A gesture sent a spear of crystallized air through its head, and the conjuration dissolved into sparks.

"Is that the best the mighty Covenant can manage?" she taunted, even as she deflected three more attacks simultaneously.

Jason watched the battle unfold around him in stunned silence. The display of power was beyond anything he could have imagined—reality itself seemed to bend and reshape at the combatants' will. Yet through it all, his rescuers moved with a purpose and coordination that spoke of long partnership.

One of the thirteen—a gaunt figure in gray robes—managed to circle around the main battle. He raised a curved dagger that gleamed with malevolent energy, aiming for Jason's heart.

"If we cannot have the Codex," he hissed, "then none shall!"

The blade descended—and stopped inches from Jason's chest, held fast by Lyara's telekinetic grip.

"Poor choice," she said without turning around.

The would-be assassin screamed as his own dagger turned in his hand and pressed against his throat. "Please, I yield, I—"

"You threatened a child," Lyara's voice was ice incarnate. "There is no yield."

The dagger moved with swift precision, and the gray-robed figure crumpled.

The remaining Covenant members, seeing seven of their number fallen or bound, began to retreat toward hidden passages in the chamber walls. Elyndra was the last to withdraw, her golden eyes blazing with frustrated fury.

"This is not over, Blackthorne!" she called out as she backed toward a concealed doorway. "The boy will come to us willingly when he understands what he truly is!"

"Perhaps," Theron replied calmly, releasing his hold on the animated stones. "But that will be his choice to make."

As the last of the Covenant disappeared into the shadows, the chamber fell silent except for the sound of settling debris. The oppressive magical pressure that had filled the air began to dissipate.

Lyara approached Jason carefully, her fierce demeanor softening as she knelt beside him. The battle-rage faded from her eyes, replaced by genuine concern. "Jason? Can you hear me?"

He tried to respond, but the adrenaline that had sustained him was fading fast. The strange dual-colored glow in his eyes dimmed further, and darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. The last thing he saw was Lyara's worried face as she caught him before he could hit the stone floor.

"He's exhausted," she said to Theron, cradling Jason's unconscious form. "The power surge and the trauma... his body can't handle much more."

Theron nodded grimly, surveying the ruined chamber. "Then we get him somewhere safe. Quickly. The Covenant will regroup, and next time they won't underestimate us."

Lyara stood, Jason's limp form seeming weightless in her arms. "The safehouse?"

"Too obvious. They know all our usual haunts." Theron's eyes took on a calculating gleam. "But I know a place. Somewhere they would never think to look."

"Where?"

Theron smiled, and for the first time, there was genuine warmth in it. "Home."

With a gesture from Lyara, a shimmering portal opened in the air before them. Through it, Jason caught a glimpse of a place that couldn't possibly exist—a realm where aurora-colored skies met crystalline spires, where the very air seemed to pulse with benevolent magic.

As consciousness finally left him completely, Jason's last thought was a mixture of terror and wonder. Whatever he had become, whatever power now flowed through his veins, his old life was truly over.

The portal closed behind them with a sound like distant thunder, leaving only the ruined chamber and the echo of powers that mortal minds were never meant to comprehend.