The Witch's Hunt by Misty Cogburn (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

Sleep took him in a dark world of fear and guilt. Nightmares that had plagued him since he was only a child driven helpless to his fear and unwanted magic.

He had been gifted a curse, a curse set to kill everyone who resided inside his heart.

For to find his Chosen was the greatest wish in his life, but to do so would damn his Chosen to die; alongside everyone else unfortunate enough to involve themselves in Trávn's life. Where was hope for those guaranteed and given the power to obtain all a mortal could ever want, at the price of countless lives…?

He was just as evil as the Witches themselves, he thought. Trávn then drifted to sleep in shame of his existence, his soul wrenched with guilt.

~*~*~*~

"I order you to bring the soul of the one who will uphold our God's great and powerful name… and what do you bring back before the Coven, Sister?" Asked a delicate figure shadowed beneath the new moon and a thicket of long branching limbs.

She turned to look over her shoulder, a wispy tendril of colorless hair falling down her bare shoulder. At her feet a raven haired beauty lay completely nude and grotesquely carved open for display. Positioned where her abdominal cavity was pinned open by large blades, showing the jittering organs of the young Witch's innards.

All around the pair, Witches gathered expectantly around the green fire that burned beyond them, their excited murmurs filling the air as the field full of nude women waited for their tortured sister’s reply.

A gasping croaked silenced the others' excitement, as the vivisected Witch dared to speak to the High Priestess. Her wounded words came out in only a whisper, but they traveled to each and every ear.

"Forgive me, Sister," the bleeding beauty begged. At her pleas, a tender look passed over the High Priestess' face as she raised her thin colorless brows.

"My beloved, Sister. It isn't I who can forgive you," she said apologetically. "T’was not my name you tarnished, our dear Acolyte," the delicate woman finished with a terse frown at her fallen companion.

Motioned forward by a wave of the High Priestess’ hand, the Summoner was pushed forward by the surrounding Coven to approach the Circle, where inlay the two figures.

Though only a trembling child, the Summoner swallowed harshly, resolving herself to fulfill her role. She shakily began to chant from the ancient text held tightly against her budding breasts, even as the grounded beauty began to sob.

"Please, Mersa," the dark haired Witch cried out, tugging her limbs though her hands and ankles were pierced to the ground much like her flayed open stomach. At her cries the Summoner’s words paused frightfully, until the High Priestess placed a comforting hand on the small girl’s shoulder.

Seeing she would receive no pity, the raven haired Witch became near hysterical in her pleas, "Sister, do not use my blood to Summon our Father," she cried.

"The Sirens, it was the Sirens, that's why I captured the girl… they know where the boy can be found..." the dark haired woman screamed for the first time that night. She had endured the entire ordeal of her punishment without flinching, even as she was carved apart. Yet, as the Summoner's word grew louder amongst the chanting of the nude Witches, she had now lost her icy composure.

Forebodingly, the wind around them began to swirl, the green flames of the Circle’s fire grew tall and then vanished, leaving the Coven sightless in the awaiting darkness.

Silence met the Sabbath's partakers as a scream and guttural snarl filled their blind senses. Those outside the circle observed nothing, yet the two witnesses within the magical border gazed upon the inner horrors.

The Summoner's large eyes widened in terror, she backed away, even as the High Priestess approached the grounded pair.

With her text clutched desperately to her chest, the young Summoner watched helplessly as her raven haired sister was brutally raped beneath the form of their God.

Though it seemed impossible, her sister was still alive and screaming madly, pleading for their help. Yet, both the Summoner and High Priestess did nothing to aid their Sister as she was ravished. Even as their God tore her pinned feet from their pierced blades, carving each small foot in half.

Rvea could only stare at the blood, watching in horror as their God’s thrusts ripped apart her sister's organs. She was sickened by the look of pure enjoyment that crossed the figure’s face. The small Summoner trembled, disturbed by the glee he clearly received from the open window he was given to peer within the bleeding vessel.

When her sister's cries became no more than silent sobs, the Demon then reached within her gut fondling each innard as if they were breasts. His mouth lowered onto her Sister, lapping at her liver with a lovers tongue.

Behind him the High Priestess kneeled, bestowing the Obscene Kiss as the Demon finished himself by reaching inside the dying Witch to tightly grip her cervix.

Rvea watched as the Demon's seed splattered with in her Sister's open gut. Then the Demon suddenly thrust his arm elbow deep under her Sister's ribs, ripping her heart from its place with a single jerk.

The High Priestess, Mersa, sat behind the Demon, unabashed by such shows of carnage. She sat on her knees like a slave lapping at her God's anus, thoroughly performing the Obscene Kiss, as the other ate the now dead Witch's throbbing heart.

The Summoner’s grimoire landed on the ground as the tiny bobbed haired Witch hit her knees, overcome by her terror. How could she worship such horrors, she thought in revulsion. Is this what it means to be a Witch? Rvea questioned horrified.

The Demon stood, yet Rvea watched sickened as Mersa climbed up his form still tonguing the Demon's orifice. The High Priestess’s small hands clenched the Demon's muscled cheeks to hold them apart, even as the Demon's scorched wings fanned heavily around the pair.

Rvea hiccupped loudly…

At the sound, Rvea’s hands instinctively covered her mouth, hoping to hide the nervous habit she thought she had lost when she was still a mortal child. Yet, tears began to fill her eyes as the sound now brought the Demon's eyes to her.

In the red masses of the Demon’s eyes, Rvea saw Hell for the first time.

As he met Rvea's gaze, the Demon stepped away from Mersa, leaving her reaching for him in an undignified manner. The closer the Demon came the colder Rvea's soul burned. Until he stood just before her, then he reached down, tenderly offering a hand to help her stand to her feet.

She was compelled to accept, cringing as the Demon's skin touched her own. He held her around her waist, cupping her cheek with his bloodied hand.

Their gaze was locked, until he looked down at her lips, then her throat, before cupping her bare breast. Rvea flinched as the Demon lowered his face to nuzzle her throat, licking a trail just behind her ear, as he whispered into it…

"Virgins… I adore," then he was gone.

Upon the Demon’s disappearance, Mersa broke the Circle, and the awaiting Coven flooded to them excitedly. Gasps rain down from all around, as the corpse of their fallen Sister sucked in a ragged breath once more.

The High Priestess wasted no time, joining their wheezing Sister’s side almost instantly with a tearful embrace. "All was forgiven," Mersa cried happily as their sisters removed the blades that pierced the now living being.

Then, before their eyes, the morbidly inflicted wounds healed till no trace of them could be found. Once she was entirely healed, Mersa hugged Sister Delali's stunned form to her frail chest sobbing with joy.

"The Sabbath's Acolyte has been forgiven." Mersa announced, clearly overjoyed by the news, "What a benevolent God we serve, my fellow Sisters."

Thankful cries filled the night air as the fellow Witches gathered round. Rvea looked on knowing she, as all the other apprentice and novice Witches, should see this as the mark of a powerful God.

She should be consumed by it, to lust for it, want to beg for it… yet, instead she feared it. Just as she feared the Demon's final words to her…

"I'll want you next."

Trávn’s first conscious thought longed for sleep. For he, in no sense of the word, wished to waken from his contented dreams. However, within him his magic was already stirring with an almost aching impatience.

In his chest his magic shifted remorsefully, directly affected from the half-moon’s steady descent. Trávn gradually was awakening with the disappearance of the moon, as dawn was coming to him in an array of scents. Each of which, was working with a persistent eagerness to rouse him unwillingly from his dreams.

However hopeless it was, Trávn struggled to keep his senses depraved.

He knew if he moved, or even attempted to open his eyes, he would be unable to return to his tranquil bliss.

He deadened himself, ignoring his senses of touch and sight; yet, under his nose he smelled a floral scent. It drafted upwards from the freshly laundered linens. Rising from the course linens of his beddings to infiltrate his lethargic nostrils.

Though the fragrance itself was rousing, Trávn was not disturbed.

At its pleasant scent, Trávn’s magic chimed.

Within him, his magic danced at the familiarity of the flowery scent. He found he could not help but feel the relaxing effects of the peaceful odor. After all, how long had it been since he had last basked in the scent of a woodbine’s blossom?

The smell brought to mind forgotten, yet fond, memories of his foster Mother.

Upon happier days, the woodbine’s scent had filled the household of his foster family. He had spent many late summer hours aiding his foster Mother in collecting the sweet smelling blooms for their home. While abundantly found in the regions of his home land, it was a scarce flower so far North. Offhandedly, he wondered how the people of this Northern isle had procured woodbine so late in the summer season.

Yet, the thought disappeared from his mind with very little thought…

Trávn sighed tiredly, somehow feeling at peace where he lay.

Having never once opened his eyes, Trávn nestled deeper inside the warm comforts of his bedding. Wishing for sleep to claim him once more, and nearly on the brink of slumber, Trávn found he was completely contented where he lay. The warm confines of his bundled bedding put him at ease...

That is, until a gust of Kalsilk’s putrid breath blew heavily across his face.

Recoiling in disgust, Trávn awoke with a start, cringing at the odor that now plagued him. Then, ragingly, he cast a heated glare of ire in the other’s direction as he flipped over onto his other-side to face away from Kalsilk’s drooling mouth.

Once more comfortable in his bed, Trávn tossed his beddings overtop of his head.

Despite his dawning tribulations, he was still unwilling to fully awaken from what had been a most surprising sleep. It was such a rare gift to sleep as soundly as he had the night before… not even once had he been plagued by his many late night demons.

Even now, his chest felt so light without the mare’s added weight, and after such a night’s rest Trávn found he barely cared for his situation. He was, at this very moment, entrapped by the