Persie Merlin and the Witch Hunters - Bella Forrest Page 0,118
had Ephemeras in their pilfered arsenal, which they’d somehow modified to imbue with a general dose of magical-level Chaos, it was very possible. But I couldn’t focus on that now. I had to get myself, my friends, and my monsters out of here alive.
Eight witch hunters formed a circle around me, while Gren dealt with the first antagonist he’d attacked just outside the doorway. The guy had made the mistake of getting back up again. As for the second guy Gren had swiped, he was nowhere to be seen. The others took nervous steps inward to close the net, weapons glinting with stolen magic. I whirled around on the spot again and again, holding my iron pipe like it was a true Kendo staff, bringing it down on any hands that dared to prepare an attack. As Marcel had taught us: “When ye find yerselves in a tight spot, it’s best to give yerselves as much extra reach as possible. Don’t let ‘em too close.”
Gren… I need you! I called out in my mind, willing him to hear me.
The ground trembled as he answered, and not a moment too soon. The old harpy with the gray hair had just raised another electric boomerang, and I wasn’t sure I had the reflexes to dodge it. Gren thundered through the circle, scattering the witch hunters like bowling pins, and coiled himself around me. The pixies flew down to join him, taking up guard positions along the length of his scaly body.
“Get rid o’ that massive thing first!” The ringleader got to his feet again, pulling out a familiar looking pouch: a hex bag. “Use yer spell sacks and crush that bastard!”
The witch hunters converged once more, now numbering nine once more since Gren’s target had rejoined the party. They slipped into a well-rehearsed formation and, before I could take in what was happening, they began to launch hex bags at Gren. Once the first trio had hurled their magical artillery, they raced to the back, and the next group moved forward to attack, rotating through an endless salvo. Acrid puffs of brightly-colored smoke erupted from the hex bags as they hit Gren, prompting the pixies to dart toward me and conjure up a defensive barrier that would protect us from the incessant hexes.
Gren roared in pain as puffs of emerald green, baby pink, and rusty red bombarded him, unleashing their own unique hexes on my beautiful Purge beast. A liquid fire spilled out of a red hex, scorching him and melting entire patches of his scales. A green hex sent out thick, gnarled vines that constricted around his body, and a pink one expelled a horde of tiny beings that seemed to be made of light. They burrowed into Gren’s skin and, though I couldn’t see what they were doing, I could hear the agony in my beast’s roar as he tried to fight off the relentless bombardment.
Run, Gren! Get out of here! I begged. He looked at me mournfully and simply shook his head, a soft whine emerging from his throat. A second later, it turned into a heartbreaking roar as a black puff of smoke careened into his chest. A horrifying, tar-like substance splattered out, then crawled up to Gren’s throat, where gelatinous fingers scraped around his neck, trying to suffocate him. Please, Gren! RUN! Tears pricked my eyes as I willed him to obey, but he either couldn’t hear me through his own pain or he didn’t want to heed my warning. Just then, in the midst of a shattering roar, a bag with a violet plume hit him square in the face. Glittering tendrils slithered out of the smoke and plunged down Gren’s open mouth, directly into his throat.
“No! Please, no… Please, run! Just run away!” I sobbed as a gut-wrenching gurgle bubbled out of Gren’s mouth, cutting off his roar. His eyes turned to meet mine for the last time, and he pushed his head toward me, not even flinching as more hex bags exploded into him. Gently, he rubbed his cheek against mine with a quiet whimper. It seemed to say, “I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ll be okay. Don’t be sad for me.” I reached out through the pixie barrier and grasped his face, hugging it tight as he rested his chin against my shoulder. My tears dampened his fur as I held on, hoping that if I just willed him to live, then he would. After all, I’d brought him into this