Every step Tristessa took was accompanied by a series of spasms that coursed through her body like tidal waves, emanating from the depths of her dark soul. Knowing that this was territory invaded by an enemy she had seen at work was psychological torture. Like venturing into a dark cave from whose unpromising depths came the roars of a hungry, bloodthirsty creature.

"That's right, very good, Vierna! The pain will pass, I promise."

"I can't wait for your father to see you again. I swear I went to visit him every week. He never lost faith in seeing you again, Sylvio."

"Joyce? Can you hear me? You can't fall asleep after taking that dose of vitality potion. Listen to my voice…"

With bloodshot eyes and overwhelmed with haunting horror, Tristessa saw Imperial soldiers inside or outside their tents, sitting on benches or even standing. But always in the company of one of those men and women mentioned by Officer Illius.

Half-naked victims, with clear signs of having suffered torture, covered in bruises, cuts, and worse, like the complete absence of a limb. With matted hair, skin saturated with dirt, mud, and dried fluids. Filth in every corner of their bodies, no trace of personal hygiene. Smelling so bad that even Tristessa could feel the strong human scent reaching the back of her throat, even though she didn't approach anyone and didn't intend to.

Seeing those faces overwhelmed with madness, static in catatonic state, eyes fixed on nothingness, unblinking… Every aspect of each of those people was strange and repulsive.

An intolerance that, under other circumstances, Tristessa believed she wouldn't feel. Not like now, where she would never, ever be able to feel pity for a witch of the Coven.

"Ah…ah…" The girl sighed softly, unable to hide her fear at the sight of them, aided and accompanied by the Imperial soldiers, who had abandoned their duties and responsibilities. "W-What do I do…?"

She didn't know if those male victims were working with their captors, but Tristessa had not doubt that the women were pretending. Feigning vulnerability so the soldiers would lower their guard. Making them believe they were weak spinnaraks when behind those masks were vargs filled with wickedness.

They couldn't deceive Tristessa, possessor of knowledge of horrific futures plagued by Death. Knowing the truth made her tremble like a little child, bringing her to the brink of hyperventilation.

"Hey, you!"

Tristessa jumped and looked to her right. A soldier had removed her helmet—a daemonion with six small horns on the top of her head. She was keeping company with a witch who was missing fingers on both hands; sitting beside her on a bench outside a tent where healers were administering first aid. Both were of the same species, with the same facial features and reddish hair, revealing that they were twins.

A reunion after so many years and so much pain would have touched anyone's heart…

"Who…?" The soldier didn't finish her question because her sister squeezed her hand with her remaining fingers, sobbing and drooling uncontrollably. Begging her in her own language not to get up and leave her alone. "Calm down, calm down, I won't leave your side, Bon'eyz."

With the same brusqueness with which she had reprimanded her, the soldier nodded to Tristessa to ask her to go on her way, wherever she was going. Violating her responsibilities and sense of duty, without regard for the consequences.

"Damn it," the dark-haired girl groaned. Her legs refused to move, unwilling to leave that soldier at her sister's mercy… Until she felt the witch's strange eyes fix upon her. That restored her full mobility —the fear of being even more exposed than she already was—and she moved away as quickly as she could. "Those eyes…"

Eyes that seemed to be looking at her and yet not. Pairs of eyes that seemed lifeless, following Tristessa as she walked toward the heart of the outpost. Disturbing, almost as much as the passivity of the Imperial forces.

"W-Why…? Why aren't they suspecting a thing? Why are they so fucking blind?!" she thought, raging at the unbelievable sight before her. "They are all out of their fucking mind! They are witches, dammit!"

Witches? Impossible. Surely, they thought that their friends couldn't be witches. Surely, they thought members of their family couldn't be witches. Surely, they thought their lovers couldn't be witches.

No one cared. No one cared about the mission now, about Janos Youngblood's orders. No one suspected about a group of men and women appearing out of nowhere. No one realized that all those chance encounters seemed calculated. Precise, designed to trigger emotional responses rather than logical ones. Vile manipulation of years of pain, transformed into a pantomime in which the soldiers begged to stay.

The chances for happiness on Nekrom were limited. That moment at the Feydra Crossroads was unique for them, and the requirement was to sacrifice all protocol, discipline, roles… And if Tristessa didn't do something to prevent it, their lives.

"…!"

Suddenly, a hand covered her mouth, and Tristessa was pulled aside in a swift, faster than the blink of an eye move. Among the tents, without soldiers attending to witches, where the sun's rays didn't reach.

The shadows and the sudden change in lighting didn't allow her to see right away who had captured her. But the smell of gunpowder on those fingers against her lips and a hat contributing to the darkness made Tristessa, paradoxically, relax. She sensed and followed a hunch that proved to be right when her vision cleared.

"Are you crazy, lady?!" Auron whispered, though he wanted to shout in her face. His eyes were blazing, and his mouth moved in short, ragged breaths behind the black handkerchief. "What in the Abyss were you thinking?!"

"A-Auron, I'm sorry! This is horrible! Everyone's being manipulated…!"

"Keep your voices down, both of you."

Cutting through Tristessa's babble and the gunslinger's prepared reprimand, Zephy approached them after skirting the row of tents, confirming that the coast was clear. Besides his shield on his back, he carried a spear whose shaft was made of polished, clear metal, etched with non-energized thaumaturgical glyphs along its entire length except for the middle, encased in leather grips. At its tip gleamed a sharp, dark steel head, shining brightly in the daylight.

"I don't trust the vilecross to stay hidden where we left him, Casimir. He seemed very agitated; nothing I said calmed him down," the General warned in a low voice before turning to Tristessa. The way he glared at her left no doubt that he was angry with her. Nor did the tight grip on her shoulder, squeezing the material of her leather trench coat and digging his fingers on her collarbone. Hurting her, the bone fragile like a piece of glass. "Can I be optimistic that you're unharmed and breathing, Miss Irandell?"

"N-No, I'm sorry, General Nostromos. Everything's so wrong… Those women are witches, I don't fucking know what's the deal with the men with them, and…and…" Tristessa stammered, her tongue tangled in her mouth with all she wanted to say. What she had seen, her assumptions, and her fears about what she sensed was about to happen. The calm before the storm of Death that only the Coven knew how to conjure. "I don't know w-what to do!"

"Calm down…" he said, releasing her and indicating with a raised finger that she should lower her voice. The voices of soldiers and the disjointed murmurs of the witches could be heard nearby. Between the tents, keeping the three of them on high alert for the slightest movement. "If they've already seen you, it's too late to turn back. We have no choice but to press on and find Rykard and his betrothed, until reinforcements arrive."

"What do you plan to do, General? I don't want to be pessimistic, but… You know what happens when the Coven springs into action," Auron said darkly, as if the fate of everyone present were sealed. "It might sound selfish, but I think the best course of action would be to uncover their plans and extract information about the Mercer-Archeos."

Tristessa bit her lip, trying to stifle the sob that welled up in her throat. She thought of that red-haired daimonion weeping with joy at having found her missing sister, and the light of her eyes fading once blood starts to flow…

Without answering the gunslinger's question, and squeezing Tristessa's pained shoulder a little tighter to comfort her, Zephyr told them:

"Follow me, both of you, and stay close. The entire area is compromised, and from my point of view, it's under enemy control… So at the first sign of hostility, I'll need you to stay behind me, Miss Tristessa. And you, Mr. Casimir, will have to provide covering fire if necessary. Understood?"

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"Yes, General," they both said in unison. Worry and fear tinged their voices.

"Let's go."

Zephyr emerged from the tents and strode purposefully toward the heart of the outpost, followed by Tristessa and Auron closely. With no intention of hiding or going incognito. Such decision made the reaction of the soldiers nearby predictable: they rose from their seats and ceased all activity.

"It's the General!"

"What are you doing here? Didn't Karla Illius say she was expecting us all at the main camp?"

"Do you think he'll court-martial us? Someone must explain to him the miracle that just happened!"

Zephyr kept walking. Ignoring the greetings, the soldiers' attempts to justify their dereliction of duty, and the eerie stares of the witches, which Tristessa didn't miss.

Also, the passivity of the mutilated men; reduced to unreactive husks, unlike their female companions... They were puppets, mindless dolls with sinister purposes.

"They are all looking at…"

Those women in terrible health condition and their male puppets seemed more interested in her than in the General of the Entrana Military Forces. Someone leaving a thick trail of Discord in her wake; the scent of Darkness and the blessing of the God of Chaos. Drawing them like moths to a flame, an allure impossible to ignore.

"Auron…" she whispered as she saw the witches and their male puppets begin to follow them in any way they could. Whether dragging along the bewildered soldiers accompanying them or crawling if they were missing a leg.

"I'm with you, lady. I won't let anyone lay a finger on you," he promised, glancing at her with determination.

Tristessa didn't have the luxury of time to feel even a sliver of peace from her companion's support, as Zephyr came to an abrupt halt.

The outpost only covered enough area to intercept the roads and prevent passage without prior inspection. And that exact spot, marked by an old wooden sign that still stood, was where the largest number of soldiers and rescued people with the fewest critical health conditions had gathered—except for one whose face was completely mutilated and deformed.

They tried to communicate as best they could with these women, whom Tristessa was sure were feigning that kind of madness. Waiting, buying time…but for what?

"Neither the Mercer-Archeos nor the Caravan passed through here if these fucking witches arrived first… What do they want? What's the point of all this shitshow?"

A question that would perhaps soon be answered, for better or for worse. Meanwhile, the commander in charge of the operation at the Feydra Crossroads noticed his General's presence and went to meet him.

"General Nostromos! What a wonderful surprise!" The style of armor the man wore was like that of lower-ranking soldiers, with the addition of a cloak embroidered with the symbol of the Empire, and the helmet he carried bore a silver halo engraved with glyphs that Tristessa didn't recall from her limited study of Nekromian alphabets. "Illius didn't inform us you were coming!"

The commander, Rykard, was a man with a jovial smile on his handsome, clean-shaven face, with light green eyes and long, flowing brown hair. In his gleaming armor, he was every inch a knight, a herald of light amidst the shadows that dominated Nekrom and were slowly but surely consolidating their conquest.

A light amidst the darkness. Now embodied by all those unsettling women and shacking men, who had surrounded them.

"I didn't tell her. You look good, Rykard… Too good, I'd say. Good enough to shirk your responsibilities," Zephyr said, cold and sharp as the edge of a sword. His grip tightened on the hilt of his spear with the rage that gnawed at him. Perhaps he was indirectly trying to intimidate the witches of the Coven. It didn't work. "Why aren't you guarding the edges of the area? Why aren't you patrolling the surroundings? What does all this negligence mean?"

"Of course you're absolutely right, General, I won't deny my faults. It's just that… Look."

Overwhelmed by such genuine joy, Rykard gestured to everyone present, who had formed a circle around them. A terrifying sight for Tristessa and the two men.

"Isn't this a miracle from the Gods? So many victims of the Coven, returning home… Friends, family, acquaintances who vanished from our lives, are back. Tell me, General: how could you expect me not to give my soldiers a moment of peace and enjoy this reunion? To let them care for those poor, tortured souls? To let them treat their wounds, give them food and drink?"

Rykard chuckled and looked behind him. He saw the only witch in the Coven who didn't seem to have any visible injuries beyond bruises around her eyes.

"And of course, how could I not celebrate the return of the love of my life?"

The witch accepted the invitation of her beloved. She walked toward him and took his hand, intertwining their fingers and standing beside him. This allowed Tristessa to confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, her worst fears.

"It's…it's her…" she whispered so that both Auron and Zephyr could hear. "She's a witch…"

Tall and wearing only dirty rags to conceal her breasts, waist and legs, Lorraine was the spitting image of the short-haired, blonde psychopath Tristessa remembered from that failed loop. Being carried in her arms through the Forest of Dead Titans, threatening to devour her legs and arms, laughing at her misfortune and tragic fate… Until she perished, a victim of the madness brought on by witnessing the physical manifestation of Endrel and Margules.

The only difference was that the Lorraine standing there beside her fiancé had eyes, unlike the one Tristessa remembered, blindfolded like the other witches.

She remembered her blindfold having slipped a little bit, revealing the socket of her right eye, empty and filled with metallic wires. That was an image she would never be able to erase from her mind. It had been so traumatic and real that Tristessa had no choice but to conclude that the bloodshot blue eyes surrounded by bruises were not of Lorraine's. Rather, they belonged to a victim of hers…

And the same case could be for every witch present. Eye-collectors, for the sole purpose of deceiving soldiers that knew nothing of medical care beyond first aid.

"Lorraine… By Kantrus, many years have passed since the last time I saw you. My sister still remembers her best friend fondly…" There was sorrow in Zephyr's voice, which Rykard mistook for the pain of all that time spent in desolation and without answers about the woman's whereabouts. Empathizing, his smile fading as he held back tears, until he saw the brown eyes of that harsh man focus on his fiancée with hostility. "And I think she'll have to keep remembering you for who you were before you disappeared… And not for who you are now."

Lorraine showed no reaction. Her eyes, which weren't her own and didn't blink, wouldn't yield any results, but the lower part of her face remained impassive. Her mouth was closed, her lips and lower jaw motionless. Stained with filth. Hiding rotten teeth that had tasted flesh and blood.

"What? What are you talking about, General?" the Commander asked, confused. "Aren't you happy about Lorraine's return?"

"Rykard, get away from that woman, right now. And as for you, Lorraine…" Zephyr pointed his spear at her, under the astonished and impassive gazes of the soldiers and witches, respectively. "If you kneel and answer all the questions I have for you, I swear I will arrest you and allow Lady Aurelia Eramisaptor to judge you for your crimes… Witch."

Time seemed to slow down for Tristessa. Perhaps because of all the tension built up by this already dire situation. They were surrounded, and only her blind faith in Zephyr Malak Drakan was what kept the girl from resigning herself to death.

"W-Witch?! General Zephyr, please don't talk nonsense like that!" Rykard turned to take his betrothed by the shoulders. Blinded by love, a love he had sought for years and that had now returned to him. "Tell him, Lorraine! Tell him everything you said to me…!"

But instead, Lorraine hugged Rykard, slipping her arms under his armpits and interlacing her fingers in the middle of his back. Resting her head on his shoulder, she looked at Rykard, Tristessa, and Auron alike.

And she gave them a wide, ear-to-ear and black-tainted grin, born of the most absolute and vile madness.

A demented smile that was mirrored by all the witches present.

"Hail…" Lorraine's voice was clear, commanding. Soaring above the sound of the wind, the birds in the forest, and Tristessa's frantic heartbeat. She spoke with vile delight, a sound that was poison to the ears. "…Moebius!"

Black spider veins spread across her face in a second, reaching her false eyes and causing lines of blood to begin flowing from the edges of the sockets. From inside her nose, from her mouth. Followed by a general bubbling beneath the skin, as if the muscles underneath had liquefied and were boiling.

The same thing happened to all the other witches, clinging to their confused relatives, acquaintances, and friends who were still, dumbstruck. And the male victims, mindless puppets of the witches, also suffered from that malicious effect. Sobbing, trembling, fearing the dark fate that awaited them.

Everything was happening so fast. Almost no one knew how to react, or even how to interpret the dire unfolding event. Only one person there had the sharp mind to do something about it and, luckily, was on Tristessa's side:

"AURON, TRISTESSA! TO ME, NOW!"

Thanks to that roar carrying a command, the gray-eyed girl and the gunslinger snapped out of the trance imposed by what they were seeing and pressed themselves against the sides of the General; against the sharp, hard edges of his shield. Tristessa caught a glimpse of Zephyr moving a small, smooth stone between the fingers of his right hand; a rune marked with an earth elemental thaumaturgy glyph, Terrum.

The man threw it forcefully to the ground near their feet, and the effect was instantaneous: along with the glyph's activating glow, walls of earth and stone rose around them in a semicircular shape at great speed. They converged above their heads, and absolute darkness filled the interior of that earthen dome.

Then… Sounds of explosions and shockwaves that made the walls vibrate. Tristessa had unconsciously hugged Auron, and with her eyes closed and her forehead resting on his arm, she listened to those terrifying noises…

Noises that sounded like lightning shattering the skies above.

The sound of hammers falling on red-hot steel blades in a forge.

Corpses in an advanced state of decomposition, bloated and about to burst…

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