Page 16 of X'nath

GRACIE

The battle raged around me, the swamp filled with the sounds of grunts, roars, and the guttural screeches of the creatures. My eyes darted back and forth as I scanned the chaos—Greag and the others were fighting with all their might, but there was something in the air that told me we weren’t dealing with mere beasts. The swamp crone wasn’t just a woman, she was something far more dangerous.

I’d been suspicious of her from the start. Her words—cryptic, strange—had been a warning that I’d failed to heed. And now, as she raised her arms high, chanting in a language I couldn’t understand, I knew for certain she was a witch.

Her cackles rang through the swamp like nails on a chalkboard, her twisted smile growing wider as she gestured to her fallen minions. And then, as if some unseen force was at her command, the creatures began to move again, their limbs snapping back into place as the magic coursed through them.

“Damn it!” I muttered under my breath. There was no time to waste.

I glanced over at the girls, the younger ones still cowering in fear, eyes wide as they watched the carnage unfold around them. My gut clenched. I couldn’t let them crumble under the weight of this horror. They needed to survive, and I had to be the one to keep them focused.

"Stay close! Don’t let them get you!" I shouted to the girls, my voice cutting through the chaos. They looked at me, wide-eyed, but they didn’t hesitate. The fear in their eyes was replaced by the glimmer of something else—determination, even if it was faint.

I turned back to the battle. The orcs were holding their ground, but they were visibly struggling. Gorruk had been thrown back by the crone’s magic, his hulking frame slamming into a nearby tree. Vakgar was using his massive size to shield the women, keeping the creatures at bay while Greag and the others tried to make progress against the witch herself.

I needed to do something.

I noticed the weasels emerging from the underbrush, skittering across the battlefield with unnatural speed. They leapt at the creatures, tearing into their reanimated bodies, giving the orcs the space they needed. It was then that I saw an opening—an opportunity to strike at the crone.

But how?

I scanned the battlefield quickly. My eyes locked onto Vakgar. He was holding his ground, eyes focused on the swamp witch, but his pistol was strapped to his side. A weapon I was familiar with. I had to get it.

The crone was distracted—she was focused on raising her fallen minions once more, her arms waving in the air as she commanded her magic. The perfect moment.

I moved quickly, silently, dodging between the chaos of battle. I reached Vakgar’s side, my fingers brushing against his thick leather armor as I grabbed his pistol. He was too distractedto notice, and the weapon felt heavy in my hand, but I didn’t have time to think about it.

"Powder—where’s the powder?" I hissed under my breath.

I wasn’t sure if the gun would even fire, but I couldn’t afford to hesitate. I pulled the hammer back and aimed at the witch, but I was no marksman. I needed something more—something to make it count.

"Greag!" I called out, my voice firm.

Greag turned, his eyes narrowing as he understood my plan. He bellowed something in orcish to the others, but the battle was too loud for me to make sense of it. I knew he’d heard me, though.

The crone raised her hands again, her voice rising with another incantation. She wasn’t paying attention. I had my chance. But I wasn’t going to waste it. I had to get this right.

I pushed forward, keeping low, trying to get closer to the witch. The orcs were doing their best to fight back the creatures, but they needed a distraction—something to throw the witch off. I couldn’t rely on them alone.

The swamp stank of decay and magic. The smell made my stomach churn, but I focused. I had to. My hand tightened around the pistol, my knuckles white with the force of my grip. I didn’t hear the battle around me anymore—the roars, the clash of weapons, the screams. My own breathing was the loudest thing in my ears, ragged and uneven as I tried to steady myself.

I zoned out everything else, narrowing my focus until the only thing that mattered was the crone. The woman who had unleashed this madness on us. She was still chanting, her voice a low, eerie hum that twisted through the air. I could feel the power gathering around her like a storm.

I took another breath, trying to ignore the tremors in my fingers. The pistol was heavy, and every time I shifted it, theweight felt more like a burden. But I couldn’t afford hesitation now.

I concentrated, willing my pulse to slow, willing myself to calm down. Slowly, I raised the weapon, my eyes locked on the crone.Focus.

My breath hitched, and before I could second-guess myself, I squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, the sound sharp and deafening in the midst of the battle, but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look away. I didn’t let myself doubt.

I kept my eyes on her, waiting.

The crone let out a screech, spinning around in a wild fury as the shot slammed into the ground beside her. The shot didn’t hit her, but it sent a surge of power through the air, enough to disorient her.

I felt a surge of panic as she began to chant once more. Her hands twisted through the air, dark magic swirling around her fingers like smoke. I had barely registered the movement when she turned toward me, her eyes burning with malice.

"You think that will stop me?" she hissed, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

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