Pain had long since become an integral part of Morgana’s life. There’d once been a time where she’d been without it, she believed. Those memories were her one light in the dark place that was her life.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed. She didn’t even know whether it’d been centuries or millennia she’d spent in this darkness. To this day, she still felt the poison coursing through her veins, the pain a stark reminder of the betrayal her goodness had caused. Emrys had tried to kill her long before she knew who he was, long before she’d turned into this. Just because he didn’t want to reveal his own magic. Even the antidote he’d claimed to give had only prevented death. The pain still coursed through her body many, many years later.

  To think she’d once loved him. It had taken many years until she’d realised he’d made her into the villain she’d eventually become. It had been him who’d strengthened her prejudice against magic. It had been him who made her drink the dark poison, that corroded her thoughts to this day. It had been him who’d created the confrontation between Arthur, her, and Uther. She even suspected he’d been behind the manipulations of Morgause, since they behaved like they knew one another. All to have a villain to defeat. Someone who could be reviled and hated, while he consolidated power.

  Oh, she knew he’d claim the power went to Arthur, but his control over the boy was obvious. There was no need to have any title when the king would do as he’s told anyway. Especially since the bastard would no doubt have his fangs in the heir as well. He was still young enough to control at least five generations of the magicless.

  Oh, she knew she wasn’t innocent herself, far from it. Even if she’d been manipulated, she’d still done horrifying things, and she knew it. The power had gone to her head. That combined with the poison had been enough to push her over the edge. It had been her weakness that had caused her to become a greater monster than even Uther.

  Merlin had never made her kill her followers. He’d never caused her to burn people at the stakes. He hadn’t caused her to torture her citizens to death and consume their souls. Those things had been her work. And she’d been proud of it, too. Proud of the families she’d ripped apart. Proud of the lives she’d destroyed. Proud of the hell she’d made her country into.

  Suffice to say, she’d been far from being a saint. (Although she’d been a High Priestess, but that didn’t count.)

  Despite having realised that, she still hated him. Because it had been him who’d made her live in permanent pain and darkness. It was obvious (in hindsight), that he’d underestimated the effects of the poison he’d given her. His expression when he saw her atrocities made that much obvious. Despite that, she also knew he’d known about the other effect a hemlock-valerian-nightshade-concoction had on a witch or a wizard. It was the most used tool to turn someone to darkness, after all.

  It poisoned the spirit and strengthened the darkness immensely. So much so that even the greatest saints of all would fall, if under its effect, for over a year. She’d been under its effect for over a decade, before she truly fell. Oh, she’d fought Merlin and Arthur earlier than that, but it had been just that. She’d fought them, not the civilians, not her own people. Just her enemies.

  She once again gnashed her teeth, knowing very well she wouldn’t even have them any more, were she not a High Priestess of the Old Religion. She was immortal, after all, and that included an immensely powerful regeneration. As such, no injuries were truly permanent for her, except for poisons, apparently.

  Not that it was any good for her. She knew many people pursued immortality, but she’d give everything just to die. To finally be free of this hell of Emrys’ making.

  [Author Style: Flashback no Jutsu]

  She had him dead to ends. He was finally cornered. No more tricks, no more help. His dragons were dead, his knight was unconscious and Morgause was dead. He had no more cards to play and they both knew it. She could already hear the cries coming out of his throat. The smell of his blood, mixed with screams of pain. The broken look in his eyes, the moment she was finally done with him. She could already hear him begging fo—

  “Argh!” Suddenly, an immense pain spread in her stomach, making her scream in pain and fall to her knees.

  Then came the calm. For the first time since the poisoning, she truly felt calm. Her pain was gone, and so was her darkness. It was like a veil fell off of her face. She could finally see again. She could finally feel again. She could finally be herself again.

  But she knew it was temporary. So she ripped the sword out of her body. It had been a sloppy stab. It was obvious he knew next to nothing of swordplay. Despite that, he had caught her with it, and what did that say about her skills? She’d obviously grown rusty, but she would still be able to do better than that stupid brat.

  Smiling, she looked into the shocked eyes of the man who’d just stabbed her, before she finally stabbed the sword she’d just held into her own chest. She instantly crumpled. Her legs gave up, her head hit the ground and her hands grew limp. She could already feel the life leaving her body. It was finally over! She’d gotten out of the hell the poison had put her into! Freedom at last!

  Hands gripped her body, turning her on her back. The face in front of her looked younger than she remembered. It was filled with a kindness she hadn’t seen anyone direct at her in over a decade.

  She chuckled, “This is it, eh? Finally. Please, Emrys, do me a favour and try to reverse as much of the damage I did, as possible.”

  Still smiling her eyes closed, welcoming the darkness of the beyond.

  Only to open them again in a cave, chained to a wall. In front of her stood Merlin. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his normal smile. It was dark, and made her shudder. This wasn’t the Merlin she’d always known.

  “You won’t die just yet, the world will need you again.” She feared what would come next. “You will stay here until you truly repent. Only then will these bindings fall.”

  That had been many, many years ago. So many, in fact, that the only reason she knew people still remembered her existence laid in the images the cave was showing her. All of the horrors committed by humans, against other humans. She’d believed it was there to help her repent, to show her the consequences of her own actions, but…

  Around the half-time, she’d finally started feeling it. Something was siphoning her life force. It had taken her another tenth, until she’d realised it was the chains. They were siphoning her life force and sending it to someone else, effectively making them immortal. He’d turned her into a battery!

  Only then did she realise she wasn’t getting out of there upon repenting. She’d actually believed his nonsense! She stopped even looking at the scenes, instead focusing on attempting to control her life force. It hadn’t taken her long until she managed to find the influence of the chains. And so she’d slowly lowered its output. Slowly enough that her captor wouldn’t notice it until it was too late. Another tenth later she felt the drain suddenly strengthen, before disappearing. It was a success!

  Sadly it didn’t help her in getting out of this place. Especially now that both her hope and will for revenge had disappeared. This had been where the true hell began. She knew it wasn’t nearly as long as the time she’d already spent in here, but it felt like an eternity. The world had turned dark for her, only the horrendous actions of the outside world, to accompany her.

  She saw the witch-burnings. Countless women, both magical and non-magical burning at the stake, not unlike her own reign. She’d thrashed against her chains for many years, wanting to get out to help the innocent.

  She’d torn open her own skin, and broken her own bones, with her attempts to get out of her chains to interfere with the horrors committed to the Circassian people.

  Then… Slowly, but surely, she’d lost her old will. She’d wept at the horrors of what the world called the war to end all wars. She’d wept at the death of the Armenian people. She’d cried for the horrors the Greeks and Assyrians were subjected to under the Ottoman Empire.

  Slowly but surely the world started growing grey. Her feelings started growing more and more muted. She’d still felt sorrow during the Holodomor. Still regretted the deaths of the people who’d gotten subjected to the purges.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  By the time that crazy Austrian wannabe painter had started his massacre, she hadn’t even felt anything any more. There was no crying. There was no thrashing. Hells, there was not even sadness any more. She’d grown jaded. She saw the prisoners working themselves to death in Neuengamme, their bodies giving up in the clay pits. She saw the prisoners gassed to death in Auschwitz. But none of these images elicited any response.

  All she did was lie there. Chained to the wall, hoping for death. Imprisoned with her own thoughts and whatever was the most horrifying thing going on in the world right now.

  That was her state for another fifty long, long years. The darkness took more and more. She was fighting her own mind and losing. Not that she knew that any more. For her, it was all irrelevant now. Her world was dark. Almost entirely. In the very depths of her soul a small part of her had hidden itself. The small part of her that still dared to hope. Hope that maybe someone would find her. Hope that she would get freed.

  But it was growing weaker with every passing year. Now its last traces were fighting against the darkness. So small, that they almost didn’t exist. They weren’t even really traces any more. More like the traces of traces. The darkness had long since won. It had snuffed out the light along with the Circassians, the Armenians, the Greeks, the Assyrians, the Soviets, the Jews and countless others. There was only darkness left now. Just like it had for countless years.

  Suddenly she saw something! She raised her head for the first time in over a decade. There it was! Light! Something had lit the corridor to her cave! It was coming towards her! And it brought light with it! She’d have shed tears at this moment, had her tear ducts not dried out long ago. The traces of the lights traces flared up with never before seen intensity.

  This was the end of her Hell! Freedom at last!

  She squinted her eyes. They had grown unused to the light, but she had to power through the pain. If only to catch a glimpse of her saviour.

  What she saw confirmed her greatest hopes. In front of her stood a woman of good. She’d seen a lot of things, but kept her goodness through it all. A killer for goodness, not unlike the Reapers of old.

  Morgana saw how the woman seemed careful upon entering. Showing the care one should have when entering the residence of someone as dark as herself. She was obviously prepared to fight and maybe even kill her if needed, but as soon as she saw Morgana, the look in her eyes changed. Compassion radiating from her in droves.

  She dashed towards her wall, hand on her sword, before quickly cutting through all of the chains. No hesitation, no doubt, no considerations of the danger Morgana posed to her well-being. Help first, questions later. This person was what she’d once dreamed of being. Before her descent into darkness. Back when she’d still been young and innocent.

  As she was thinking that, she felt the darkness take her. But it was a different darkness. A peaceful one, like she’d once felt under her blanket, and she welcomed it, just like she’d done when she’d stabbed herself.

  As the darkness spread she felt her face contort in a now unfamiliar way.

  The smile on the face of the broken woman warmed her heart. And hadn’t that been a surprise! When it came to Morgana, she’d expected many things. From a raving madwoman, to a repentant woman she’d expected it all. But a woman broken in a way, that could only come from torture? That she hadn’t expected.

  It seemed Merlin had been far from the saint the wizarding world made him out to be. In fact, she was pretty sure he was even worse than Morgana had been. Something like the spells on the chains could only come from the darkest of minds. They showed their prisoner the images that would damage its mind the most. It was almost like it was made solely to break people into useless dolls.

  She let the woman rest for now. She would get more information once she woke up, but she’d already decided she wouldn’t let the woman back into those circumstances. Even death would be better than the fate she’d been subjected to. Until the woman woke up she should be able to get done with her conversation with the goblins.

  A few hours later.

  Something was weird. There was light behind her closed eyelids, almost as if…

  It all came back to her. She’d been freed! The light had found her!

  She sat up so quickly, that she had to lay down again due to dizziness. The imprisonment sure as heck hadn’t been good for her blood pressure.

  It took her another hour until she managed to figure out how to walk again, because while it had prevented atrophy, her regeneration hadn’t prevented her from losing her muscle memory. Luckily for her, or at least her pride, this wasn’t seen by the woman who’d just saved her.

  Despite her success, it was still highly exhausting, so she decided to stay in the room for the time being, while she meditated to regain her old control over her own magic.

  At the same time, somewhere in Italy, a group of dark-clad figures appeared on an empty street. There were over 30-people, all clad in the same garb. A long dark trench coat, with silver trims, black pants and shoes, and a silver-black mask covering their faces. It looked remarkably similar to what the death eaters wore, if a lot more modern.

  They walked with confidence, in the way only people who know their way around less savoury neighbourhoods do. Eyes looking straight ahead, no looking around, no hesitation in the step and their hands on their pockets, no doubt to be able to quickly grab a weapon, should the situation demand it.

  They were, to put it simply, gangsters. Not thugs. No, they were too important for that. But gangsters? That they were, and, like many of their colleagues, they were proud of it.

  Most of them were marked by their choice of profession, scars a common theme underneath their clothing, quite a few even limped. Despite that, no one would have thought them either harmless or powerless. In fact, it was the opposite. These people radiated darkness and danger, like few others did.

  Suffice to say, everyone gave them a wide berth, while walking past them. Or they would have had there been anyone on the street. As it was now, they were completely empty, which wasn’t surprising considering they were in a safe, posh community around midnight.

  No one living in a place like this would ever invite people like these into their house, or even tell them about this street. Sadly for the homeowners, the gangsters weren’t asking. No. They had come with a mission. To remove the threats before they even rose, or to be more precise, to find all of the threats before they did.

  And, while they were just one of many groups, they were in luck today. In front of them stood a house. There was nothing special to it. Just a regular, well-cared for lawn, with a regular house in behind it. Really nothing special. To the untrained eye, at least. But they saw the wards and smiled. Those blood wards were bound to the person they were looking for. This was it…

  “We got it.” One of the hooded figures said. “I’ll go inform Signore delle Tenebrae. You watch the house in case someone tries to leave.”

  Meanwhile in San Jose, California, a very different situation was taking place. While in Italy the darkness worked hidden in the night, here it was in broad daylight. Even in one of the safest cities in the entire USA a group of people, who showed remarkable similarities to the Death Eaters and the Italian group, walked down a street.

  They shared the same dangerous aura, the same dark presence, but they didn’t need to hide. Not anymore. For they had already revived the Ancient One. Even an archmage would have to run, now that he was back, and after today the last person capable of defeating him would be gone as well.

  They started their work. Anti-appariton wards of this scale were not made in a few seconds, no they would need hours for this. Or would have, had they not been accompanied by one of the Blessed.

  Only fifteen minutes later, the wards stood. The entirety of San Jose was now warded against both apparition and disappariton. No one would get in or out. Not with magical means at least. It was finally time.

  The streets immediately filled up with more dark-robed individuals, turning the original group of fifty people into an army of over a thousand. All obviously killers. They were taking no chances with this one. Only an idiot cares about honour, when fighting their prophesied ultimate opponent, but even other Dark Lords would have thought this overkill.

  Over a thousand people for a mother, some servants and her child, with only the child needing to actually be killed. This would be a beatdown. They were sure of it. Despite that they would still fight full force. A mother protecting her child was always something to watch out for. The fall of the British maniac had taught them that.

  Once everyone was in position a loud bang was emitted from the wand of their leader, and everyone started casting. Simultaneously, everyone sent out explosive spells towards the house their target was in. The cumulative power was enough to literally reduce the street to atoms, its inhabitants following. Despite that, they continued casting. The wards were still holding up! Yes, they were flickering, but they were still holding up.

  They only stopped casting after over five minutes. During the casting, the Ancient One had used the opportunity to destroy a part of the ward, making it incapable of stopping humans from passing through. Now their strongest would enter.

  Micheal Smith was vibrating with excitement. They would finally get to play! Gone were the days of hiding! No more watching out for the Aurors! No more fear of Garling! Now it was finally time for them to feast!

  He, along with his fifty companions, passed the ward line, ready to wreak havoc on its inhabitants. Sadly, they were not allowed to play with them before the job was finished, so they would just stun them all now and have their fun later. The Prophesised One came first.

  Even in the house, they encountered no meaningful resistance. Just some regular servants who weren’t even on par with regular aurors. It was obvious they had relied on obscurity for security, and so they quickly arrived in front of the final room. One quick Alohomora and they were inside.

  There they were. A mother in front of her child. Her wand raised in a grand, but futile gesture of resistance. She didn’t even get to cast anything, before she got disarmed and bound. The baby’s eyes widened. Maybe it could guess what was happening, or maybe it was just horrified seeing its mother disappear, but it didn’t cry. It just looked horrified. It almost seemed like it didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of fear.

  The ground creaked behind them. They all turned around. There he was. Their lord, the most powerful being in the world. The last remnant of ancient power. Huitzilopochtli— the ancient sun god of the Mesoamerican civilizations.

  His voice was deep and scratchy, as he spoke.

  “This is where it ends. You have fought for long enough, but now even you are weak. This is your end, heir of the Brujería. Your kind has resisted me long enough, but it finally ends with you, Aria. And you bring me my prophesised enemy as a feast as well. I owe you so much.”

  “You will not win.” She gritted her teeth, resisting to the very end, but she knew it was over. This was the end for all of them. Now there was no one left to carry on the fight. “You will pay for what you did.”