Witch Monastery

Porter had lived in South Harbor District for over a decade. Just from their clothing, she could tell these were slum-born commoners - she even recognized which tailor shops some outfits came from!

But how in the Nine Hells had these penniless wretches become spellcasters?!

Before she could ponder, another volley forced her back into cover.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

The street shook with explosions. Gritting her teeth against the toxic mist's putrid stench, Porter barked: "Javelins - loose!"

She led the charge, her spear flying true.

These couldn't be real mages. South Harbor's illiterate poor could barely afford bread, let alone arcane training.

And any novice spellcaster would be spent after two 1st-level spells.

Now was their moment.

WHOOSH-

Her javelin skewered a cultist through the chest. Though her warriors' aim was rougher, three more found their marks.

A solid counterattack-

Then the impossible happened.

From the rear, cultists wheeled forward two grotesque wooden statues on carts - three meters tall, covered in blasphemous carvings. As they chanted, one statue pulsed yellow.

"Ghhhk-!"

The speared cultists - already dying - jerked upright like marionettes. With feral snarls, they yanked the javelins free, spraying gore and viscera across the stones.

Mortal wounds? Meaningless.

Their gaping injuries squirmed - bleeding ceased, flesh knitting before her eyes.

What unholy sorcery was this?!

Before she could react, the second statue's crest flared blue.

BUZZZZ-

"AAAAAGH!"

"POWER... GIVE ME POWER!"

An invisible wave of magic rolled outward. Wind howled through the slums as cultists tore off their shirts, revealing emaciated frames covered in glowing blue-white sigils.

The azure motes dove into those markings like starving piranhas.

Empowered, the cultists shrieked in unison:

"CHROMATIC ORB!"

WHOOSH-

Another barrage. The Amazons barely ducked in time.

Trapped.

Outmatched.

Facing unkillable fanatics.

...

"...That's the situation, Master. What are your orders?"

Andny stood less than a hundred meters from the battlefield, verbally relaying the chaotic scene. Her face showed clear shock, while the other witches wore equally troubled expressions.

Having hunted here for years, they knew the slums could never naturally produce twenty-plus spellcasters - and these were clearly not all their forces. The Timber Yard undoubtedly held more!

The only explanation? Sophia, leveraging her immense witch's mana pool, had shared her spellcasting abilities with believers, turning them into 1st-level warlocks en masse.

What extravagant generosity!

But this revealed two truths:

First, Sophia's mind was truly compromised - the arrogant witch would never share power with commoners otherwise.

Second, she must have regained peak strength to sustain so many spellcasters simultaneously!

Though mere novice spellcasters, their numbers alone made them formidable.

Charles frowned. Even without seeing it firsthand, he recognized what Sophia's cultists were using.

Soul-Touch Statues.

These artifacts could rapidly gather ambient magical energy, channeling it to tattooed "receptors" among spellcasters - instantly healing wounds or replenishing spent spell slots.

The most potent variants could restore three spell slots per minute - far surpassing even his recovery rate during the Night of the Witches.

But the cost was staggering:

First, originating from mind flayer technology, each statue required a living, high-level brain as its core component. No substitutes existed, making creation impossible for anyone with morals.

Moreover, the receptor tattoos contained fragments of the wearers' own brains - meaning each cultist had willingly lobotomized themselves, trading sanity for power.

The statues' instability brought further horrors:

Healing often caused grotesque mutations instead of proper recovery.

Mana replenishment accelerated mental deterioration.

The cultists fighting Amazons already showed severe madness. None would survive till dawn.

They were literally fighting with their lifespans.

Charles couldn't help but sigh inwardly. Taking a deep breath, he laid out the plan:

"Those two statues are the key to this battle. Hattie, Ekta, Sephera—the four of us will handle the common cultists. We can't let those Amazons die out—they're still drawing fire for us!"

"Ruth." His voice turned sharp. "Break through their blockade at all costs. Those statues must be destroyed first!"

"Understood!" Ruth nodded firmly. With Sephera weakened, she was now the strongest among them—without question, she would take on the most critical mission.

"One more thing, Ruth," Charles added sternly. "If you're forced to kill, remember—change your usual method."

Ruth inhaled deeply, her expression grave. "Understood."

Her signature decapitations would immediately draw suspicion if used today.

"Then," Charles gave the signal, "Move!"

The group advanced, entering the battlefield from the opposite flank before unleashing their assault. Charles was the first to strike—raising his hand from a distance, two magical circles materialized midair as twin beams of crackling energy lanced forward.

Eldritch Blast.

With the longest range, it allowed him to engage first.

Thanks to the Illusionist's Bracers, even as a 4th-level warlock, he could fire two beams simultaneously—without revealing the bracers' existence.

For now, at least.

Eldritch Blast had a unique scaling—rather than gradually increasing in power, it gained additional beams at specific levels: two at 5th, three at 11th, and four at 17th.

Firing two beams now wouldn't raise eyebrows. He could easily pass as a 5th-level spellcaster who hadn't yet mastered 3rd-level spells.

Of course, this ruse wouldn't hold once he actually reached 5th level and fired four beams with the bracers' aid. But that was a problem for later.

For now? Unlimited, consequence-free Eldritch Blast spam.

BANG—!

Whether by luck or improved aim after all this time, both Eldritch Blasts found their marks—two cultists were sent flying backward instantly!

Almost simultaneously, Sephera made her move. With her spellcasting abilities severely diminished, she could no longer cast Cloudkill—the infamous 5th-level spell that killed with a single breath.

Following Charles' strict orders to avoid hitting the Amazons fighting the cultists, she settled for a simpler option—a sickly green ray lancing from her fingertips.

Ray of Sickness.

The beam struck silently. The cultist clutched his chest, coughing up blood violently.

Despite the yellow glow from the statue attempting to heal him, the toxins ravaging his internal organs were unstoppable. His death was now inevitable.

"Aganazzar's Scorcher!"

Ekta was the third to strike. Alongside Hattie and Ruth, she closed in before reciting an arcane incantation. Raising her right hand, a searing pillar of fire erupted from her palm!

Aganazzar's Scorcher!

While its heat matched the 2nd-level Burning Hands, its range dwarfed the latter—the flames roared forward nearly thirty meters before fading, cutting straight through the cultists' formation.

Robes ignited. Cultists rolled in the dirt, howling. The battlefield was split in half within seconds.

Seizing the chaos, Hattie and Ruth charged forward.

Hattie summoned writhing dark tentacles around her body before plunging into the fray, draining the cultists' already-frail vitality.

A simple 1st-level spell—Arms of Hadar.

As the second strongest witch present, Hattie knew her true mission wasn't to waste energy on these novice spellcasters. Her real target was Sophia, who might have regained her full power.

Meanwhile, Ruth moved like a steel dagger—slicing through the crowd straight toward the heart of the cultists' formation.

Schlick—!

Her small hand rose, purple-red nails poised to decapitate a blocking cultist—then froze mid-motion.

Remembering Charles' warning, she redirected the strike, driving her razor-sharp nails straight through his chest instead. A quick twist turned his heart to pulp.

"Ugh...!"

The man gasped as blood fountained from his chest. Before his body hit the ground, Ruth had already leaped over him, sprinting toward the two statues.

"Now's our chance!"

Seeing reinforcements storm the battlefield, Gale Porter's eyes lit up. No longer willing to hide, she vaulted from cover: "Warriors—charge!"

Her powerful leap carried her nearly four meters high. Mid-arc, she hurled her spear downward—

WHOOSH—!

The razor-sharp point pierced a cultist's chest, severing his aorta instantly. Blood fountained—no magic, not even the statues' power, could revive him now.

Caught between sudden raids from two fronts, the previously confident cultists began faltering. Leaderless and confused, their Chromatic Orb volleys became sporadic—too scattered to suppress either attacking force effectively.

Seizing the advantage, the remaining Amazon warriors charged fearlessly. At close quarters, their brutal melee skills turned the tide completely.

These female warriors weren't just rigorously trained—they'd grown up nourished by ample meat, eggs, and dairy thanks to their nation's prosperity. The newer generations stood taller, stronger, and more robust than their mothers ever had.

Against these malnourished, barely-trained cultists? It was a one-sided slaughter.

Charles nodded approvingly. The battle was turning decisively in their favor—total victory was only a matter of time.

Advantage: ours.

As he glanced toward the Amazons, Gale Porter—bloodied but triumphant—turned as if sensing his gaze. Recognizing his distinctive white hair and handsome features, she flashed him a fierce, approving grin.

Charles returned the smile with a raised hand, acknowledging their impromptu alliance—

Then Andny's panicked cry shattered the moment:

"Master! Emergency—Sophia's... she's coming out!"

While others fought, Andny had been straining to infiltrate the Timber Yard with her worm scouts. Now she delivered earthshaking news.

What?!

Charles' body tensed instantly. He spun toward the Timber Yard, his expression grave as if facing imminent doom.

The other witches heard the cry and turned as one.

Then they all saw it—the Timber Yard's massive doorway seemed to distort unnaturally.

Emerging slowly, surrounded by eight cultists in ornate robes, came a horrific sight:

A gigantic brain-shaped monstrosity covered in writhing flagella, moving ponderously on worm-like pedipalps as it exited the abandoned Timber Yard's doorway.

Sophia had voluntarily stepped out from the Timber Yard.

-------------------------------------- 

Support me at patreon.com/TransFic and read upto 50 Advanced Chapters and Exclusive R-18 Content! 

-------------------------------------- 

Update schedule: 7 chapters/week 

Every 100 power stones = 1 Extra Chapter 

By voting with [power stones], you can easily get double the number of chapters.