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"𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔?" Evylyn asked, barely able to whisper above the howling winds as the specks of dew covering the grass seeped into her skirt. Yet, despite her pitiful murmur, the man in front of her clearly heard what she'd said as he slowly tilted his head.

A taunting smile warped his lips as a shot of lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating his imposing figure as he curled his hands around the hilt of his sword. He stepped forward, and while Evylyn tried to scurry away, she was too slow–he yanked her back by the collar and kept his hold firm as his grin widened.

She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes, though she could feel his harsh gaze staring into her soul. Evylyn nearly whimpered, but restrained herself; she wasn't a fighter, but she was a mage. Escaping him could be easy, if she played her cards right. She'd done it before.

"Look me in the eye, girl," the man said, to which Evylyn discreetly curled her lip. He knew her name, but degraded her to that? When Evylyn refused to look at him, dipping her head in a defiant shake, he snapped her head so she was forced to face him. She met his cruel eyes and nearly shrank away.

She was not showing herself to be the strong woman she knew she was. Pretending to be a weak doe was practically second nature to her by now. Everyone believed a necromancer was only useful when they had runespowder on hand and rotting bodies on standby. But Evylyn was not a typical necromancer, and they'd learn that soon enough.

"My name does not matter," the man continued. "I am your judge, jury, and executioner, and that is all you need to know."

Evylyn nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement, but she kept quiet.

"Now," he said, readjusting his sword so it pressed into the skin of Evylyn's neck, "how would you like to die?"

"There's a bounty out for me, isn't there?" she asked, wincing under his hold as he increased the pressure of his sword. She could feel her skin break, and the warm trickle of blood soon followed. Swallowing shakily, she did not let herself get distracted; after all, this man couldn't kill her, unless he knew how. "They're going to wonder if you really killed me. Why don't you take me back to your... your town, and execute me there?"

"Pathetic," Judge sneered. His lip curled before one side of his mouth rose in a sadistic grin. "I'll simply bring your head back. They'll believe me with the head of a defiant witch in hand."

"You can't kill me with a sword," she pressed, praying he would believe her. Though he truly couldn't kill her with a sword, if he tried, it would result in a very painful couple of hours for Evylyn. "I'm a demigod. It's impossible for you to kill me without the help of a deity or another demigod."

She knew telling him how to kill her was very risky, but if it meant she could buy herself time, she'd chance him coming back with an army later on. She could find herself her own skeletal army in a desolate graveyard in the middle of Fospyae to meet whatever forces this man could muster.

The Judge stilled, though his grip on his sword remained stalwart. A crash of thunder shook the ground as the sky lit up. "Who's to say I don't already have the help of a god?"

Though Evylyn did her best to show no physical reaction, it was clear she had exhibited some sliver of fear as a dark chuckle racked the Judge's shoulders. He pressed his blade further into Evylyn's skin, a sardonic spark lighting in his marmalade gaze as his lips stretched into a grin.

"Right," he cooed, voice low. "You're the famous and powerful Evylyn. No one can kill you, because you know death better than anyone. Sounds about right?"

"And which deity will aid you in killing an innocent soul?" Evylyn hissed, her words broken and forced as a knot of pain twisted itself in her throat. With the pressure of Judge's blade, she could barely swallow without risking the blade running down her skin. "Despite the reputation my species has, we are not all bad. The gods and goddesses know that."

"I could play executioner right now," Judge replied nonchalantly, reaching into his pocket with his free hand, yet his hold against her did not loosen as she breathed out a shuddered sigh. Evylyn could see a rolled up scroll of parchment sticking out of his shirt, likely the bounty placed on her. "What do you say?"

"I'll call your bluff. You know you can't kill me without help."

All Judge replied with was a mere scoff as he pulled a coin out of his pocket. It caught the light of the moon, and Evylyn could clearly see the crest of Costune shining. A Datuy.

"Moon, you die beneath my blade right now," Judge said, enunciating his point by jabbing his sword further into Evylyn's neck. She could feel her skin tear further, and it took all she had not to swallow her rising nerves. With his other hand, he flipped the coin over to display Atix's crest–a sun. "Sun, you're taken to Ensceas and given the execution a filthy witch like yourself deserves. Publicly humiliated and laughed at."

Evylyn said nothing, but as she confidently met the man's gaze for the first time since he'd hunted her down, she knew the message burning within the fires of her eyes was clear: Very well.

The corner of Judge's mouth twitched as he raised his hand. With a flick of his fingers, the Datuy was sent flying into the air, and Evylyn watched with bated breath, her heart rate increasing until it felt like her heart was pounding against her ribcage. And, in one swift motion, the coin fell into Judge's large hand.

His orange gaze fell to the coin, and it felt like an eternity as he slowly dragged his eyes back up to meet Evylyn's. The moment they made eye contact, he forced his sword deeper into her neck. Startled, a squeak slipped past her lips; a fact that apparently was funny to Judge as he tittered.

"Sun," he said, loosening his grip. "Your death is delayed, Delvian."

Evylyn exhaled a sigh of relief, though her comfort was short-lived as Judge hoisted her to her feet harshly. If she was feeling cocky, she would've slapped his hands away. But she knew she needed to conserve her power, and picking a fight with this hulk of a man was not in her best interest. She could have easily fought back, but escaping through a city gave her a few pluses: more concealment, an easier way to perform her magic, and more time to prepare herself, which meant a more powerful Delvianic form. Plus, she could fight with magic, not with her hands. If Judge landed a hit on her, rendering her dazed, she would mostly be defenseless.

But she'd been through this before. She'd be damned if she let it end her the third time around.

Rope bound her hands together, and Evylyn recognized the tingling, tense sensation the bundle sent through her arms: magic restricting technology. She'd never figured out how it worked, as it was new and had only been used against her once. The Dravonic Army, led by the tyrannous god of war, had invented it to silence their magical enemies. It was another thing the army used to gain control over Astania.

Of course, Evylyn was powerless to stop it. She was one person, and her god, Xytyx, worked with the god of war–Xomaldir. So she supposed she could see where the stereotype of her kind being evil, merciless, and all around terrible stemmed from.

Even though Xomaldir had won his war against the goddess of the sun, whom he had slain many years prior, he was still making it his mission to eradicate all of Astania's population. Evylyn didn't know why, and she knew she didn't have the strength to care all too much. After all, the mortals Xomaldir was killing all wanted her dead.

With her magical abilities severed and a thin trickle of blood dribbling from her neck, Evylyn vowed to remain silent until she reached Ensceas. There, they would see Evylyn for the monster they believed her to be–but they deserved it.

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Ensceas: the city of witchcraft, magic, trickery, and all that lies between. But Evylyn knew to not let the winding rivers and colorful foliage, a guise of beauty, fool her; Ensceas was a municipality filled with conniving thieves, corrupt politicians, and god-worshipping fools who took their prayers far too seriously for a deity who couldn't care less about their existence. Black magic controls its stone-lined streets, and connections were the only way to ensure survival.

Of course, Evylyn didn't have connections. Being cast out of every major city would do that to you, regardless of whether it was earned.

"You're lucky, little lady," Judge said, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was barely taller than Evylyn. "They've got a pretty sum on your head. Must be pretty infamous to be racking up that kind of Datuy for your death, yeah?"

He'd led her to a dingy hideout, affectionately calling it 'The Underover', and made sure all his meat headed friends got a good glimpse at the necromancer, as he'd put it. Then, he'd taken her to what was supposed to be her execution spot. It was small, dirty, and everything but the glorious death she deserved.

"I wouldn't call it lucky," she grumbled, looking up at what she refused to let be her end. The frayed noose did not relent its stare as it swayed gently in the breeze.

A small crowd of citizens had gathered around the stage, murmurs rippling throughout the jittering bodies. Many of them looked sickly, with gaunt faces and pale skin. It was clear word spread fast in Ensceas; she and Judge had barely been in the city for two hours, and his plan had been in action for even less time.

Judge jerked his chin up at one of his buddies, a Grixeogian covered in purple scales. The woman's yellow eyes blinked slowly as Judge said, "Pat her down. Make sure she doesn't have any weapons."

"Gladly," the woman said with a malicious smile. Evylyn had to resist the urge to shiver as the woman's slimy hand slowly trailed up her bare legs.

"You can see my legs. I'm wearing a skirt," Evylyn snapped, unable to bite her tongue. "There's nothing there."

The woman responded with a mere breathy chuckle as her hands slid further up. Evylyn kept a dagger hidden under her skirt, fully aware it was more likely she'd drop it out of inexperience rather than be able to stab someone. But this woman was making her think she'd need to use it sooner than she'd planned.

"Citizens of Ensceas," Judge said, voice booming across the city. He smirked, looking at Evylyn out of the corner of his eye. "Today, you will watch a witch perish for her sins."

Sins?

"Necromancy is a blight on our world. No one should be able to raise the dead," he continued. "We will witness justice in action as a dirty necromancer takes her final breath and one less abomination roams Astania."

Evylyn's hands were still bound, and her magic cut, but the Grixeogian handling her was too interested in the smooth skin of Evylyn's legs to have noticed the necromancer reaching for her dagger. Once the small blade was in her hand, she tensed, preparing herself for the worst. Luckily for her, while she could not control a knife as well as she would've liked, she knew how to cut her own binds.

"Now, Liona, lead her to her final resting place," Judge finished, clearly far too confident as he completely turned his back on Evylyn. He spread his arms wide. "W–"

He was promptly cut off as the screech of the Grixeogian woman pierced the air. Evylyn jammed her dagger into the woman's eye before pushing her to the ground, a trail of slime residue remaining on Evylyn's leg. She swiftly used the bloodied dagger to cut through her binds, letting them fall to the wooden floor. With her magic slowly returning to her soul, she wasted no time in activating her Delvianic form.

The illuminations of her bones strengthened as her glowing eyes burned brighter. Her hair floated around her in a black cloud, as if it had become a dark mass of stardust. While there were no dead bodies for her to reanimate, Xytyx wasn't a fool; he'd gifted his children with defenses that weren't reliant on others.

A wave of crimson energy flew from her hands, knocking Judge off his feet before he could reach her. He fell to the ground, sword clattering out of his hands. His other men, who had been just as distracted as he had, tried to rush Evylyn. But as she continued to shoot non-lethal waves, they quickly failed in their mission to stop her.

Her assailants groaned, unable to move as Evylyn's magic temporarily paralyzed them. It was all over in the blink of an eye, and the audience was watching with horror-stricken gazes as they held their breath, likely scared Evylyn would turn on them next. Though Judge did not shift, Evylyn could feel his eyes on her; she met his gaze, raising her chin.

"You may think you have won, witch," he rasped, orange gaze blazing, "but you have not. We will meet again, and I'll be prepared."

"Maybe you should have read up on how to deal with a witch who has a brain," she replied, a smile gracing her lips. "Don't come after me. You'll regret it. I won't be as merciful if we meet again."

And with that, she took off from the stage. Pushing through the crowd, who reluctantly parted for her, she ran as fast as her legs would take her. But as she neared the gates, her heart dropped at the ensuing commotion she could hear behind her.

Rapid pops of what she assumed to be gunfire rang out, along with screams and cries of pain. Bullets whizzed past Evylyn, one grazing the tip of her ear. She picked up her pace, but not before a searing pain clamped at her gut–she was shot.

She stumbled, nearly falling as black spots crowded her vision. She held her side as tightly as she could, her chilly hands growing warm as hot, sticky blood coated her skin. The smell of iron and death plagued the air as she stumbled out the gates and broke free into the wilds.

Her shaking body did not relent just yet, even though she felt her movements growing sluggish and sloppy. She forced herself forward, her breathing coming in ragged pants. She wouldn't die. It was impossible with a mere bullet. But a very good possibility of her fainting and getting captured was presenting itself to her.

Even with this knowledge, she couldn't bring herself to run for too long. She stumbled, tripped, then fell to the grassy floor, the dew from earlier greeting her as her breaths became too quick for consciousness.

And with that, she was met with nothing but black, leaving her to the mercy of any potential pursuers with a thirst for her blood.

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Word Count: 4,863/20,000

A random bolded word in a chapter indicates where I've passed a milestone!

QOTC: What do you think of Evylyn's plan to escape? Do you think she'll be fine now that she has escaped? What do you think of her enemies?

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