Raid Invasion of Rioginna - Attack of the Ladies

[Christopher C. Fontenot]

Christopher Cain Fontenot, Guildmaster of the Ladies in Waiting, begins his one-man invasion against the province of Rioginna with an unholy fury. A towering figure with eyes burning like molten embers, he strides across the landscape, a living incarnation of fire and wrath. The air around him ripples with heat; each step he takes chars the earth beneath his feet, leaving blackened footprints that smoke and smolder long after he passes.

The first town, a sleepy hamlet nestled against a forested hillside, never sees him coming. He arrives at dusk, silhouetted against a blood-red sunset, his mere presence causing the temperature to spike and the winds to shift. With a casual flick of his wrist, a torrent of flames erupts from his hand, engulfing the nearest homes in an instant. The thatched roofs ignite with a roar, turning the twilight sky into a hellish orange. The wood crackles and pops, splintering under the intensity of the heat as Fontenot moves deeper into the town, his expression calm and unreadable amidst the chaos.

Panic spreads like wildfire among the townspeople. Mothers scream for their children, dragging them from their beds and into the streets, only to be met with a wall of searing heat that drives them back. The air is thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning wood and flesh. Fontenot moves among them like a force of nature, his body radiating a ferocity that melts iron and turns stone to slag. Those who see him up close swear they can hear a low, rumbling laughter beneath the roar of the flames.

He raises his arms, and the fires leap higher, fueled by an unseen magic that makes them dance and coil like living serpents. His voice, deep and resonant, cuts through the crackling blaze: an incantation in a forgotten tongue. The flames respond to his words, growing hotter, more intense, as if driven by a hunger only he can satiate. A pyre of brimstone explodes outward, and with it, the entire marketplace vanishes in a conflagration that shakes the ground for miles around.

Within minutes, the town is reduced to little more than glowing cinders and ash. Only a handful of survivors manage to escape into the surrounding woods, their skin blistered and clothes singed, eyes wide with terror. They speak of a devil in human guise, a figure wrapped in a cloak of flames who walked through their town like a god of destruction. Some claim his face is twisted into a permanent, malevolent grin; others say his eyes burn with the fires of the deepest hells. But all agree on one thing: Christopher Cain Fontenot is not human.

His invasion continues with grim purpose, each town he approaches meeting a fate worse than the last. Fields of crops wither and ignite before he even arrives, animals flee in blind panic, and rivers evaporate into clouds of scalding steam. The skies above Rioginna darken with smoke as Fontenot, the Fire Elemental in human flesh, brings his unrelenting inferno ever closer to the province's heart.

 

[The Night Court]

Agatha stood at the edge of the smoldering village of Rioginna, the acrid scent of burning wood and ash heavy in the air. Flames crackled, consuming what was left of the once-thriving town. The crops, which had once stood tall and golden, were now reduced to charred ruins. She narrowed her eyes, her face a mask of determination. The war master Nepheli had entrusted her with this task—to defend the province against the man who brought such destruction.

Christopher Cain Fontenot, the Guildmaster of the Ladies in Waiting, was no ordinary raider. He worked alone, wielding fire as a weapon to reduce entire towns to cinders. Yet, he was just one man. Agatha knew that no matter his power, she would stop him.

Drawing on her arcane energies, Agatha summoned the elemental forces she commanded with ease. Dark clouds swirled above her, rolling in from the horizon. With a flick of her wrist and a whisper in the language of the elements, the heavens answered. Rain began to pour in torrents, quenching the hungry flames that devoured Rioginna. The inferno hissed as the fire was reduced to steam, extinguished before it could consume the last remnants of the town.

But the Guildmaster wasn’t finished.

Agatha could sense him just beyond the village, his fiery presence looming like a shadow. With another surge of her magic, she called upon the winds. Gale-force winds roared through the streets, picking up debris, dust, and ash in their path. The mages she brought with her began their own work, chanting spells to restore the land, the crops already showing signs of new life as their magic intertwined with Agatha’s.

Christopher Cain Fontenot stepped into view, his eyes glowing with the heat of the flames he had summoned. He raised his hand, ready to unleash another wave of destruction, but Agatha was faster.

“Enough!” Her voice echoed through the storm as her winds howled louder. She channeled her magic into the gusts, sending a powerful blast toward him. The wind struck like a hammer, throwing him backward, away from the village. He skidded across the ground, struggling to stand against the elemental force Agatha had unleashed.

“You will not burn Rioginna to the ground,” Agatha declared, stepping forward, her rain continuing to pour, her winds swirling around her like a living shield. “This raid ends here, Christopher.”

Nepheli had sent her to deal with the threat, and she would not fail.

The storm raged on, as Agatha stood resolute, prepared to stop the Guildmaster at all costs.

Tag: @Christopher C. Fontenot

 

[Christopher C. Fontenot]

Christopher felt a grim satisfaction as the enemy arrived to counter him. The rainfall smothered his flames and left a large cloud of steam, shielding his presence on the edge of the latest charred settlement. He found himself forced to squint as the magical wind swept through and cleared the steam. Even through the steam and wind, the Guildmaster could easily spot the group of Red Magi. He felt an inkling of respect as they worked to undo the damage that he had wrought upon the settlement. Magic would not fix everything, of course.

Survivors of the event would need to replant their crops. Builders would need to construct new homes. Livestock would need to be replaced. It went to show that the mystical arts were not a perfect solution for everything. In hindsight, Fontenot should have salted the fields that he had destroyed. Nature would then need to repair that itself.

Amusement danced across his face.

Christopher stepped into view, eyes burning like malevolent coal. He raised a hand to start the counterattack but found himself surprisingly outpaced. The gust of wind sent him skipping across the ground like a stone. Struggling to right himself physically, the man quickly grew frustrated and used his flames to balance and right himself. Twin flames burned at his back and worked to help him stand against the tempest. He leveled a half lidded gaze toward Agatha, appraising her.

“Dhampir…” the man rumbled. “And Magi as well. Interesting.”

He had dissected a few of them over the years and learned everything he could from the corpses. Enough to know that the Magi in front of him, specifically Agatha, could pose a challenge. Not enough to warrant concern but enough to give him a good exercise. Excitement coursed through his veins at the thought. It had grown rather tiresome to simply wipe out entire settlements. He applauded them for their response time if nothing else.

Time to get to work.

His infernal flames continued to burn in the rain, causing rain to evaporate the second it came in contact with him. It cast quite the imposing figure to the average civilian. His mouth stretched wide in a grin as he channeled his magical energy. Cain would need to deal with the backup first before dealing with the main combatant. The last thing he needed was to keep his head on a swivel for random potshots.

The slightest shift of a leg, the tiniest increment of movement, is all the warning that they would receive.

Beneath the gathered Red Magi, a bright orange glyph appeared. It burned with the same intensity as the rest of his flames. They would have all of a minute to escape. All hell would break loose as a large geyser of flames erupted from the center of the glyph and expanded up and out to create a burning pillar. He did not wait to see the results, the twin flames at his back working to propel him toward the leader.

Christopher cocked a fist back and slammed it down in front of Agatha, kicking up debris that shielded him from view. Taking a step forward, the Guildmaster slammed a hand into each uprooted clump of earth. They shot forward like a volley of canon fire and raced toward Agatha.

“I was hoping to see the King himself. You will simply have to do in the interim. Try not to die so quickly!”

Tag; @The Night Court

 

[The Night Court]

Agatha’s breath caught the moment the orange glyphs flared beneath her and the surviving mages. The intricate sigils pulsed with raw energy, their ominous glow foretelling destruction. She didn’t hesitate. The sheer charge of magic in the air was like a whip to her senses, urging her into motion.

“Move!” she screamed, leaping backward with all the speed her dhampir nature allowed.

Two of her mages followed her lead, their instincts sharp enough to react in time. The others, however, froze—whether from shock or lack of awareness, Agatha could not tell. The explosion followed an instant later, and where her allies had stood was nothing but ash, scattered in the rain now pelting the ground.

Agatha landed, sliding across the slick earth, her crimson eyes fixed on Cain. Her heart pounded as she took in the devastation, the air still crackling with the aftershock of his attack. Her jaw tightened. He had executed such precise destruction without even an incantation, a testament to the sheer level of his control and power. What would happen if he did use one?

The thought chilled her, but she pushed the fear aside.

As Cain stepped forward, his presence menacing and unrelenting, Agatha shifted into a defensive stance. She wasn’t untrained—Marcus and Caiden had honed her instincts well. So, when Cain slammed his fist into the ground, sending debris and dust skyward, she knew what was coming. The obscured battlefield was a trap, one designed to catch her off guard.

Her hands moved instinctively, channeling her arcane energies. With a sharp motion, she summoned her winds, forming a barrier that whirled around her in a protective cyclone. The force of the winds caught the debris, slicing and hurling it away. Yet, the attack wasn’t entirely negated. Sharp fragments tore through her defenses, leaving gashes on her arms and legs. The sting of pain grounded her, but she remained standing.

Agatha wiped the blood from her cheek, her fingers trembling but her resolve steady. “Then you’ll be disappointed,” she replied, her voice low but firm. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

She raised her hands to the storm above, summoning the winds once more. The air twisted and roared as a massive tornado formed, barreling toward Cain with unrelenting force. The gap between them needed to widen—she wouldn’t win this fight in close quarters.

The storm raged, and so did Agatha’s determination. If this was to be her fight, she would see it through to the bitter end.

Tag: @Christopher C. Fontenot

 

[Christopher C. Fontenot]

The glyphs flared brightly beneath her feet as the magic discharged, a perfect symphony of destruction orchestrated from afar. Christopher Cain Fontenot stood at a distance, a lone silhouette against the backdrop of the inferno he had unleashed. His figure was a stark contrast to the devastation he wrought, standing still and composed as the earth around him burned. He watched, arms crossed, as the explosion consumed Agatha’s comrades, the violent light of his spell reflecting in his crimson eyes. For the briefest of moments, he admired her reflexes. The Dhampir moved with precision, her instincts sharp enough to spare her the fate of the others—though barely. The others—barring two—well, they had proven why the weak fall in times of fire.

Ash scattered into the rain, falling like snow over the battlefield. The smell of burnt flesh and ozone hung heavy in the air, a metallic tang Christopher savored as he stepped forward. Every footfall was deliberate, slow, and menacing, his body exuding a heat that made the falling rain evaporate before it could touch him.

His smoldering gaze met hers through the haze of dust, ash, and rain, watching her slide into a defensive stance. Her movements were precise, a credit to her training under Marcus and Caiden. But they had prepared her for the wrong kind of enemy. Marcus had honed her to face the shadows, the subtlety of their vampiric world. Christopher was no shadow. He was an inferno, and subtlety had no place in his war.

When he slammed his fist into the earth, shattering it into a cloud of debris, he saw the slight hesitation in her frame. Not fear, but caution. Clever girl. She was adapting. Her winds countered the worst of his trap, spinning shards of stone and ash away from her. Yet even through her defenses, he saw blood streak her skin, her wounds a canvas for the storm. She was still standing. Good. A lesser adversary would have fled or fallen by now.

Christopher tilted his head, smirking as she wiped blood from her cheek.

“Disappointed?” His voice was a low rumble, thick with condescension. “You mistake me, little Dhampir. You’re not here to entertain me—you’re here to burn.”

As she summoned the winds once more, calling forth the raw power of a tornado, Christopher’s grin widened. The storm roared toward him, its force a testament to her will. He felt the currents clash with the heat radiating from his skin, the air crackling with opposing energies. A beautiful display.

But storms could be consumed.

He raised his hand, the air around him shimmering with impossible heat. With a snap of his fingers, flames surged to life, spiraling upward like a hungry serpent. The tornado met the fire in a violent clash of elements, wind fueling the inferno instead of quelling it. The roaring firestorm spiraled outward, lighting the battlefield with an unnatural glow.

“You fight well, little Dhampir,” he said, his voice carrying over the chaos. “But you fight like prey—always looking for a way to escape.”

Christopher stepped through the firestorm, his form wreathed in flame yet untouched by it, a living embodiment of destruction. His smirk deepened as he gestured lazily, sending a streak of fire slicing toward her. She dodged—as expected—and he followed, closing the distance with frightening speed. His hand lashed out, a whip of fire curling toward her like a living beast.

“You’ll never win by running,” he hissed. “If you want to live, stop defending and fight me.”

The fire coiled back toward him, obedient to his will, as he stood just outside her reach. His arms were outstretched, daring her to come closer. His burning eyes gleamed with sadistic anticipation. He would push her until she broke—or until she became something worth his time.

Tag; @The Night Court

 

[The Night Court]

Agatha clenched her fists as Cain advanced, the flames of his whip dancing in the rain-soaked air like a predator ready to strike. The heat was oppressive, clashing with the cool winds she summoned. This man was relentless, each step closer a reminder of his overwhelming strength. If she didn’t play this right, she wouldn’t last long enough to make a difference.

Closing her eyes for a fleeting moment, Agatha reached out with her mind. “Contact the Night Court immediately,” she commanded the first surviving mage through their telepathic link. “Tell them what’s happening here. We’ll hold him off as long as we can.”

The mage hesitated for only a second before darting away, vanishing into the storm. Agatha turned to the second. “Stay close, but be ready to move if I need you.”

Her ally nodded grimly, gripping her staff tightly as the fiery Guildmaster strode forward with deadly precision.

Cain’s whip cracked, sending a wave of heat that sizzled against the rain. He was fast—too fast. Before Agatha could fully react, he closed the gap between them, his fiery weapon lashing toward her. Instinctively, Agatha snapped her fingers and pushed downward with both hands, her magic coursing into the earth. A surge of wind blasted from her feet, launching her backward just as the flaming whip carved through the space she had occupied.

Cain snarled, his frustration evident as he swung again, but Agatha stayed light on her feet, propelling herself further away each time he tried to close in. His taunts rang in her ears, but she didn’t bite. Close combat would mean certain death, and she wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

Once she had created enough distance, Agatha planted her feet firmly on the wet ground. Her crimson eyes burned with resolve as she raised her hands to the storm-charged sky. Words of power spilled from her lips in a rhythmic chant, the air around her crackling with energy.

Above and below Cain, glowing glyphs flared to life, pulsating with her arcane might. The intricate symbols spun faster and faster, forming an intricate lattice of power designed to crush him under the wrath of the elements.

“Let’s see how you handle this,” she muttered, her voice carrying the weight of her determination as the glyphs converged, a high-level lightning spell ready to unleash devastation. The storm roared in harmony with her magic, the skies answering her call as she prepared to strike Cain down.

Agatha’s voice rose above the howling winds, steady and commanding as she wove the incantation into the storm. Her words reverberated with raw power, each syllable infused with her arcane focus.

“From the skies above and the earth below, I summon the fury of the storm. By the will of air and the breath of the gods, descend with judgment unrelenting! Fulminis Arcanum, let your wrath be known!”

The glyphs surrounding Cain flared brighter with each word, their glow intensifying until they were almost blinding. Tendrils of lightning crackled between the symbols, forming a lattice of energy that encased him. The storm itself seemed to respond to her command, lightning branching from the sky to feed the growing power of her spell.

Agatha’s hands trembled slightly from the effort, but she held firm, pouring every ounce of her concentration into the incantation’s completion. “Strike now, by the law of destruction!”

With her final words, the glyphs imploded, unleashing a torrent of lightning that surged downward with explosive force, aiming to obliterate Cain in a storm of pure energy.

Tag: @Christopher C. Fontenot

 

[Christopher C. Fontenot]

Christopher didn’t flinch as the glyphs around him pulsed brighter, the lattice of Agatha’s lightning spell ready to collapse upon him. He stood motionless, his arms at his sides, the rain evaporating into mist as it neared his superheated frame. The raw energy building around him would have sent most mages scrambling for a counterspell, a barrier—anything to stave off the incoming devastation. Christopher simply smirked, crimson eyes fixed on Agatha as if daring her to strike.

The lightning fell.

The world erupted into blinding light and deafening noise as the spell detonated, tendrils of energy ripping through the air to converge on him. The first strike carved through his body, searing flesh and sending shockwaves of pain coursing through him. Then came another, and another, each bolt digging deeper into his skin, leaving charred lines across his arms, chest, and face. Smoke rose from his body, and the ground beneath him cracked and burned under the assault.

Still, he stood firm. His body jerked with each impact, but his gaze never left Agatha. When the final bolt struck, leaving the air thick with ozone and ash, Christopher straightened, the storm’s fury finally abating. His clothes were in tatters, his exposed skin blistered and bleeding, but his expression was unshaken. If anything, his grin had widened.

“Magnificent,” he said, his voice cutting through the storm’s aftermath like the edge of a blade. He took a step forward, his boots crunching against the scorched ground. “Do you have any idea how rare it is to find someone who can hurt me? You’ve earned my respect, Agatha. Few ever do.”

He lifted his hand, blood dripping from his fingertips, and gestured to the battlefield around them. “But respect doesn’t mean mercy. No…you’ve also earned my curiosity. And that means I can’t let you die just yet.”

Christopher’s expression darkened as he began to chant, his voice resonant and commanding, each word laced with an ancient, primeval power. The aria was unlike anything Agatha had ever heard, the syllables twisting the air itself, pulling the battlefield into a realm of nightmares.

By the eternal flame that forges destruction,

By the ashes of gods who dared defy the void,

From chaos to inferno, from shadow to flame,

I sever the veil of this mortal plane.

The pit calls, the pyre hungers, the abyss awakens.

Let the realm of despair become our stage,

Where truth is unbound and fire reigns absolute.

Come forth, Aeterna Pyrothantos.​

The world twisted. Reality itself groaned in protest as the air around them shimmered and tore, the battlefield dissolving into swirling embers and dark, crackling energy. The rain ceased; there was no sky, no ground—only an endless expanse of molten rock and searing flames. The heat was oppressive, the very air heavy with despair and malice.

At the center of it all stood Christopher, now illuminated by the hellish glow of his creation. The fire burned brighter around him, coiling like living serpents. His injuries seemed almost irrelevant in this place, his presence towering and unrelenting.

Then Agatha saw it—his soul laid bare. A grotesque form loomed behind him, a towering shadow of writhing flames and smoldering ash. Its shape was indistinct, monstrous, and horrifying, as if every sin and cruelty he had ever committed had taken physical form. Its crimson eyes glowed with the same intensity as his, and its jagged maw twisted into a grin identical to his own.

“Welcome,” Christopher said, his voice carrying a resonance that shook the very ground beneath her feet. He gestured to the molten pit surrounding them. “This is my domain—a fragment of my soul. Here, the rules bend to me. Here, the truth of what I am is undeniable.”

The monstrous form behind him leaned forward, its presence oppressive and suffocating. Agatha could feel the weight of its malice pressing against her mind, threatening to crush her will. Christopher tilted his head, watching her reaction with unnerving calm.

“You’re not leaving this place until I decide it,” he said, his tone almost casual, though the threat behind it was undeniable. “And I’ve already decided you’re worth keeping alive—for now. Fight, resist, do whatever you like. It’ll make no difference.”

The fire around him roared, the molten ground shifting beneath them as if the dimension itself were alive, responding to his every whim. “You wanted to see what you’re up against, didn’t you? Well…here I am.”

Tag; @The Night Court

 

[The Night Court]

The world around Agatha twisted and broke apart, dragging her into Cain’s domain. She gasped as the familiar rain and charred battlefield gave way to suffocating heat and molten rivers. The air burned her throat, the oppressive weight of the magic pressing down on her chest like an iron hand. She stood atop a jagged platform of obsidian, surrounded by rivers of lava that pulsed like the lifeblood of the realm.

Her crimson eyes darted across the hellish landscape, taking in the jagged spires that jutted from the ground like blackened teeth and the eerie red light that flickered against her pale skin. This wasn’t just magic—it was a piece of Cain’s very soul, raw and consuming.

A soul domain… Her stomach turned. She had heard of such forbidden magic but never imagined she would face it firsthand. The cost of creating such a place was fatal, a piece of the caster’s soul burned away with every moment it was sustained. Yet here Cain was, wielding it as if it were nothing.

Her grip tightened on her staff as she steadied her breathing, willing herself not to falter. She felt small, insignificant even, in the presence of such raw, personal power. Yet she had a duty, one she would fulfill even in the face of this.

The words left her lips before she could stop herself. “Why?” Her voice echoed through the suffocating heat, calm but laced with urgency. “Why go to such lengths? Why wage this war against the Night Court?”

Silence pressed in, broken only by the bubbling of molten rock in the distance. Agatha’s mind raced as she waited, her heartbeat quickening in the unbearable quiet. He doesn’t have to answer. He could kill me now. But if he doesn’t… if I can draw him out…

Her eyes flickered to the ground, the faint shimmering lines of her remaining magic keeping her balanced, keeping her alive. She couldn’t waste time dwelling on her fate. She had to focus, to gather anything she could for the Court before this place consumed her.

The heat clawed at her skin, beads of sweat forming despite her dhampir resilience. Her breathing steadied again, though the searing air fought to choke her resolve. Her thoughts turned briefly to Marcus. If I fall here, will he understand what I’ve learned? Will it matter?

Agatha raised her chin, eyes narrowing as she waited for Cain to speak or strike. Either way, she would use her remaining strength to make every moment count. This isn’t the end—not yet.

 

[Christopher C. Fontenot]

Christopher stood at the edge of the jagged platform, flames curling around his frame like living serpents. The molten rivers pulsed with his emotions, their currents shifting and twisting as if in mourning or rage. He gazed at Agatha with an intensity that threatened to break her resolve, his crimson eyes glowing faintly against the hellish light.

For a moment, the realm was silent save for the crackling of fire and the distant rumble of molten flows. Her question—why?—hung between them, fragile and insignificant in the oppressive heat.

“Why?” he repeated, his voice quiet but laced with a bitterness that reverberated through the suffocating air. He took a step forward, and the obsidian beneath his boots groaned, cracking and melting beneath the weight of his power. The monstrous shadow of his soul loomed behind him, its form contorting with anguish and fury.

“Because I have nothing left.” His words were raw, not an answer but a confession. “Do you know what it’s like to have your entire world ripped away? To have everything you’ve built, everything you love, reduced to ash?” He stopped, his gaze piercing through her. “Her name was Anaïs. She was a woman of no title, no wealth, no power. Just a quiet voice and a steady heart. And she was everything to me.”

The flames around him flared, licking the air with a ferocity that mirrored the agony in his voice. “She wasn’t meant to be part of this war between immortals. She was an innocent—a bystander who caught the ire of the wrong people. Your precious Night Court, your beloved Abhartach. They didn’t see her as anything more than collateral damage.” His voice cracked, but his posture remained unyielding. “But I saw her. And I’ve lived every moment since her death reliving the second they took her from me.”

Agatha’s chest would tighten at his words, the oppressive weight of his grief pressing down on her. The domain shifted subtly, the rivers of lava bubbling higher, their heat intensifying as his emotions surged.

“I burned through the years searching for an answer. For something that could undo the cruelty of this world. And do you know what I found, Agatha?” His voice grew colder, the flames around him dimming, their light replaced by a haunting shadow that crept across the obsidian. “Godhood. The power to defy death itself. To rewrite the laws that bind us all. That’s the only way to bring her back. And Marcus Aumont—your King—holds the spark I need to begin.”

Christopher extended a hand, and the realm seemed to shudder, the molten rivers surging as though they, too, cried out in anguish. “Do you see it now? This isn’t vengeance. It’s not war. It’s a reclamation. I will take what he has, tear it from his divine spark if I must. Because I will not live in a world where she does not.”

He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him scorching even her dhampir skin. His gaze softened, though the fire within him remained unrelenting. “And you… You stand here in defiance, casting your spells and brandishing your resolve, as if you can stop me. Why, Agatha? Do you believe in your King so much that you’d die for him? Or is it simply duty that keeps you standing?”

His voice lowered, heavy with a mix of curiosity and regret. “If you’d ever lost someone the way I have, you wouldn’t stand in my way. You’d be at my side.”

Christopher’s hand moved in a subtle gesture, and the platform beneath them shifted, groaning as it rose higher into the oppressive skies. The monstrous shadow of his soul loomed larger, its fiery eyes fixed on her. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of sorrow in his gaze.

“Tell me, Agatha,” he said softly, the flames around him pulsing in rhythm with his voice. “What would you give to bring back the one person you couldn’t live without?”

Tag; @The Night Court

 

[The Night Court]

The suffocating heat of the domain pressed harder on Agatha as Cain’s words reached her, cutting through the oppressive air like a dagger. His voice, raw and filled with longing, spoke of love—love lost, love desired, love that drove him to madness. She watched him, bruised and battered, his blood mingling with the ash beneath their feet, yet his resolve unbroken.

The revelation struck her harder than any blow he could land. He wanted Marcus’ demigod spark, a fragment of the divine, to revive his lost love. It was desperate, tragic, and for a fleeting moment, Agatha felt a pang of something she didn’t recognize. Pity? No—empathy.

Then he turned the question on her.

“What would you give, Agatha, to bring back the one you love most?”

She froze. The question hit her like a blade to the chest, cutting through her resolve. Her grip on her staff tightened as she felt the weight of his words sink into her very being. The one she loved most? Her mind grasped for an answer, clawing at fragments of a past she could barely remember.

Images flashed briefly in her mind—a hand reaching for her as a child, faces blurred and indistinct, voices long since lost to the void. She couldn’t remember them, couldn’t even recall their names. Her family, her home—whatever they had been—were gone, stripped from her when she was too young to understand.

Her chest tightened as the realization sank in. She didn’t have anyone to love. She had been taken, trained, shaped into a weapon. From the moment she could walk, there had been only Marcus. He was her King, her mentor, her everything.

But love? No. Loyalty, reverence, awe—those she felt in abundance. But love? She didn’t know if she was even capable of it.

Agatha’s voice trembled when she finally spoke, her eyes locking with Cain’s, who waited with an almost mocking curiosity. “I… I don’t know.” The words tasted foreign on her tongue, raw and exposed. “I have no memories of a past to cling to. No faces to mourn, no names to call out in the dark.”

Her gaze hardened, though her heart still ached with the void his question had unearthed. “All I have ever known is my King. Marcus is the only constant in my life, the only one who shaped me into who I am. If that is what you mean by love… then I would give everything to serve him.”

The words rang hollow in her ears, yet they felt true. She didn’t know love, not the kind Cain spoke of. But she knew devotion, unwavering and absolute. That would have to be enough.

She straightened, her voice firming as she met Cain’s gaze once more. “But you misunderstand something, Cain. The power you seek isn’t born of love—it’s born of loss. And that kind of power will never be enough to undo the past.”

The weight of her words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in Cain’s expression. Regret? Doubt? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t allow herself to falter, not now.

 

[Christopher C. Fontenot]

Christopher’s expression darkened as Agatha’s words settled into the air, heavy and unyielding against the suffocating heat of the realm. His crimson gaze bore into her, searching for cracks in her resolve, for a weakness to exploit—but instead, he found something else.

Emptiness.

Her admission hung between them, raw and unguarded. She spoke of loyalty, of devotion, but Christopher could see the void in her words. She spoke as someone who had been forged into a weapon, not as someone who had chosen her path out of love or purpose.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, echoing across the molten rivers of his domain. “You don’t know love,” he said, his voice low and cutting, laced with an edge of pity. “You’ve never known it. You’ve only known service. Blind loyalty wrapped in chains so tight you’ve convinced yourself they’re your purpose.”

He stepped closer, the platform trembling beneath his boots as if the realm itself recoiled from his pain. “And yet you speak to me about the futility of loss? Of undoing the past?” His voice rose, anger lacing every word. “You, who have never felt the weight of true love, dare to lecture me about its limits?”

The flames around him surged higher, a reflection of the storm within. His monstrous shadow loomed over her, its form distorted by the pain and fury in his soul. “You’re wrong, little Dhampir,” he said, his tone softening but no less resolute. “Love is the only power that matters. It is the force that drives us to defy gods, to tear down the laws of creation itself.”

His voice cracked, and for a fleeting moment, the fire in his eyes dimmed. “You say I misunderstand the power I seek? Perhaps I do. But let me tell you what I do understand.”

Christopher gestured to the realm around them, the rivers of molten despair, the jagged spires of obsidian. “This place… this is my soul. Twisted, broken, consumed by her loss. Every moment I stand here, I burn away what’s left of myself. And I would do it a thousand times over if it meant bringing her back.”

He took another step closer, his towering form now only feet away. “I have already sacrificed everything, little Dhampir. My humanity, my sanity, my very soul. I will not stop until I see her smile again.” His gaze bore into hers, his voice now a whisper. “Can you say the same for your King?”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of his words.

Then, with a flick of his hand, the domain shifted. The rivers of molten rock surged, drawing closer to the platform as the oppressive heat grew unbearable. “You don’t have to answer,” he said, his voice cold and distant. “I’ve already decided.”

The air around her shimmered, and she felt the pull of magic closing in—a spell, far more intricate and insidious than any she had faced before. “You will live, little Dhampir,” Christopher continued, his tone almost regretful. “Not because you deserve it, but because I want you to see. To understand what true power is, and what it means to wield it for something greater than yourself.”

The ground beneath her trembled as the domain began to collapse, its heat and fury withdrawing into Christopher’s form. The shadow of his soul loomed one last time before fading into him, its anguish imprinted in her mind.

“I’ll find Marcus,” Christopher said, turning his back to her. “And when I do, you’ll understand why I will never stop. Not for you, not for your King, not for anyone.”

With a final surge of magic, Agatha was expelled from the realm, the searing heat replaced by the cold rain of the battlefield. She landed hard on the scorched ground, the echo of Christopher’s words haunting her as she gasped for air.

The hellish domain was gone, but its master remained, his presence a promise of what was to come.

Tag; @The Night Court

 

[The Night Court]

Agatha’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as she lay crumpled on the scorched ground, her crimson robes stained with ash and blood. The oppressive heat of the battle weighed heavily on her, but she refused to falter. The destruction around her was a cruel testament to the chaos she had sworn to stop. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, her defiance burning brighter than any flame that had ravaged the land.

She could feel the weight of her failure pressing down on her shoulders. The raid had left its scars, and she hadn’t been able to stop it completely. But this wasn’t over—not yet.

Her mind raced. She couldn’t allow the devastation to spread further. Summoning a pulse of magic, she reached out telepathically to the Night Court, her thoughts sharp and precise.

The raids continue. Reinforcements are needed. The enemy is stronger than anticipated, but I will hold them as long as I can.

Agatha straightened, her crimson cloak fluttering in the searing winds, determination etched into her every movement. She focused her magic, weaving an intricate illusion around the battlefield. The scorched earth shimmered, transforming into a chaotic maze of shadows and mirages. Any attempt to follow her movements would be confounded by the warped reality she created.

She slipped into the heart of her illusion, her mind calculating her next move. Her magic flared once more as she summoned rain to douse the lingering flames, the downpour a small but crucial victory in reclaiming what the enemy had sought to destroy.

The air grew heavier, her body protesting against the continued strain of channeling so much power. But stopping the raids was more important than her own safety. If she could buy even a few more moments, it would be enough.

“This land will heal,” she muttered under her breath, her voice steady despite the weariness creeping in. “And so will I. But you’ll find no victory here.”

Agatha clutched her staff tightly, the glow of her magic illuminating her determined face. She would not bow. She would not falter. For the Night Court, for Marcus, for the land she had sworn to protect, she would stand defiant until the end.

Tag: @Christopher C. Fontenot