The last tower of Camelot's fringe stood like a rotting fang against the gray sky, its stone walls split and bleeding dust into the cold wind. Once a proud pillar of the witches' craft, it now reeked of iron and rot. The floor was slick with blood that had long turned black, thick enough to cling to the boots of any who dared step inside.
Bodies—if they could still be called that—hung in the air. Witches, torn and mangled, their flesh slashed into ribbons but kept alive by strands of shimmering silver thread. The strands pulsed faintly, drawn from the limbs of a colossal arachnid beast crouched in the shadows.
She was female, though not in any human sense—her long, spindly legs ended in barbed tips, her thorax swollen with egg-like lumps that squirmed faintly beneath the skin. Her eyes—dozens of them—glimmered red in the gloom, all fixed on the circle of corpses below her. Each corpse twitched in rhythm, their lifeless mouths mumbling incantations without will, forcing the small, trembling portal before them to stay alive.
That portal—once wide enough to swallow armies—was now no larger than a carriage wheel, flickering with unstable light.
Two figures stood before it.
The first was tall, hunched, and covered in mottled brown fur that glistened with oil. A weasel-like muzzle twitched constantly, teeth sharp and wet. His narrow yellow eyes darted about as if everything might be prey.
The second was regal and still, with the body of a lioness and the wings of a great eagle folded neatly against her back. Her face was that of a woman carved from golden stone, expression unreadable but eyes sharp enough to cut.
"...Hnh," the weasel-beast sniffed, voice low and rasping. "Didn't think it'd be this small. Makes sense now why the call was so urgent."
The sphinx's gaze didn't shift. "Can you pass through it in this state?"
"For sure, for sure," the weasel chuckled, baring too many teeth. "Don't worry about that. Just tell me the job."
"The witch," the sphinx said, her voice deep and measured, "went to the human realm. She seeks to bring back a knight. I see no point in such a venture, but the order came from the One High."
The weasel's grin widened. "So… go in, kill the witch. Sounds easy enough." He rolled his shoulders and stretched, claws scraping the stone.
"Do not grow arrogant," the sphinx said sharply. "We do not know which witch was sent. The human realm lacks magic—yes, she will be easy to find—but so will you. Detection will come quickly. Do not underestimate it."
The weasel waved a claw dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I'm not worried about all that. Just make sure I'm paid handsomely when I get back." He crouched, ready to leap. Then paused. "…Wait. How exactly am I supposed to come back?"
The sphinx stared at him for a long moment. Then, without a word, she stepped forward and drove a single, powerful kick into his chest.
The weasel's yelp was swallowed by the portal's light as he tumbled through.
Behind him, the dead-living witches twitched on their strands, and the spider-beast kept them dancing, her many eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
**********************
Irdra stood with the old man a corner away from Jefferson High, leaning against the brick wall like she had all the time in the world. The plan was simple: wait for this "Tony" to walk out, take back her leather, and disappear.
Her original idea had been to storm into the school, find him, and make a scene. The old man had shut that down fast.
"Bringing attention's just trouble," he'd told her. "Easier to wait. You recognize him, you call him over, you're done."
She'd agreed… reluctantly. Still, her eyes kept flicking to the school gates like they might try to sneak him past her.
The final bell rang, and the gates burst open with streams of students. Backpacks, chatter, the occasional skateboard clatter. Irdra scanned each face like she was doing border control.
*************
Charlie stepped out with the crowd, phone in hand. A fresh notification blinked on the screen—Alfred had forwarded him a news link: Another Collision on Elm and Fifth. Same corner where he'd nearly been hit yesterday.
Don't take that road home, Alfred had texted underneath. Place is cursed lately.
Charlie smirked. "Yeah, yeah. No lectures from Mom. Got it." He pocketed the phone and started down the side street.
**************
"There," Irdra said suddenly, her eyes locking on him. "That's him."
The old man didn't even glance. "Then go get your bag back."
She stepped forward, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Tony! Hey—Tony!"
Charlie kept walking, lost in his own head.
A voice behind her answered instead. "Yeah? That's me."
Irdra turned, squinting at a lanky kid with messy hair. "Not you."
"But you called Tony," he said, confused.
"I meant him." She jabbed a finger at Charlie, already halfway down the block.
"That's Charlie."
Her face lit up like she'd just solved a puzzle. "Ah-ha."
She crossed the street, weaving between a pair of parked cars. "Charlie! Hey, Charlie!"
This time, he looked over, slowing to a stop as she approached.