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The Black Witch 4
🕑 Added 2025-10-05 07:24:08 +0000 UTCChapter 4 (~8000 words):
– Amara –
I stood completely naked in front of the three trembling men, my bare body fully on display beneath the dim candlelight. The shadows played gently across my creamy skin, emphasizing the generous curves of my large, perky breasts and the rounded swell of my hips and ass as I slowly sauntered forward. My breasts bounced softly with each smooth step, my hips swaying seductively as I walked, fully embracing my new succubus nature. Behind me, my slender tail flicked eagerly, and I let my small, bat-like wings unfurl slightly from my back, stretching in anticipation.
Despite my utterly naked form and the raw sexuality radiating from me, none of these three men seemed pleased at their current situation.
Oh, they looked at me, yes. They couldn't help but stare between my thighs at my smooth, completely bare pussy, their gazes occasionally drifting upward to admire the fullness of my chest. But lust was mixed with unmistakable fear in their wide, panicked eyes.
They shivered in terror, whimpering and struggling weakly against the thick ropes binding them to the stone sacrificial altar.
Good. Let them tremble. It served them right.
Earlier, I had walked through Gotham, pretending to be innocent and naive, trying to get men to attack me.
Each of these men had, thinking I was an easy target—just another beautiful, helpless girl wandering lost through the dark streets of Gotham. Morgana hiding nearby had captured them. I had put my foot down saying I wouldn't ever use innocent people for a ritual like this. And these guys certainly had no innocent intentions so it was fine.
Now they were mine, and they would serve as fuel for this ritual.
Morgana stood off to the side, silently observing my approach toward the three captives. She inclined her head slowly, giving the signal to begin.
I nodded subtly in return, gripping the ornate ritual knife tightly in my hand. At my feet, the pentagram drawn on the stone floor shimmered darkly with crimson runes, painted carefully from my own blood in preparation for tonight's ceremony.
"Please!" one of them cried, his voice breaking pathetically, his eyes wide and pleading. "Please don't do this! I'm sorry—I swear, I'll never hurt anyone again!"
I tilted my head slightly, studying him with cold detachment. "I know you won't," I said softly, almost gently. "Not after tonight."
He whimpered desperately, shaking violently as I approached. His two companions screamed and begged loudly, their voices blending together in more pathetic pleading.
Irritated by their desperate cries, I stepped decisively forward, my patience thin. The candlelight danced over my flawless skin as I raised the knife high above the first man's chest, directly over his heart.
Behind me, Morgana began chanting in Latin, her voice smooth, melodious, and powerful. Dark magic began to stir in the air around us, crackling like distant thunder.
As her voice echoed sharply off the stone walls, I plunged the knife downward without hesitation, piercing deeply into the screaming man's chest. He arched violently, a ragged, broken scream ripping from his throat. Hot blood gushed from the fresh wound, splattering down to splash thickly onto the runes at my feet.
Immediately, the pentagram flared to life, greedily absorbing every drop of crimson liquid. Dark red magic pulsed beneath my bare feet, surging with sinister energy.
Ignoring the agony etched on the dying man's face, I twisted the knife sharply before pulling it free, splattering droplets of blood across my bare breasts. Warm blood trickled slowly down my chest and belly, painting my pale skin in delicate crimson streaks. Without pausing, I swiftly stepped to the next man, plunging the blade forcefully into his heart, silencing his pleading cries mid-word. Then the third, even quicker, efficiently dispatching him with a practiced motion.
Their combined blood pooled steadily beneath my bare toes, spreading across the ritual circle as Morgana's chanting rose louder, more fervent. A deep, hungry glow surged upward from the pentagram, surrounding my naked body with crimson radiance.
Morgana completed the final lines of her chant, her voice ringing sharply through the chamber.
I gasped loudly as raw, primal power exploded upward from the blood-soaked pentagram, pouring into me in overwhelming torrents of pure magical force. It flooded every fiber of my being, penetrating deep into my muscles, my bones, and my very soul. I threw my head back, eyes wide, body trembling violently beneath the ecstatic sensation. My large, heavy breasts heaved rapidly with my ragged breaths.
I felt myself changing subtly—my already considerable strength growing even greater, muscles tightening and becoming more defined beneath my flawless skin. My body tingled sharply as I felt my natural magic greatly amplified, swirling eagerly within me, wild and hungry. My senses heightened dramatically, and I instinctively realized I'd just gained a powerful supernatural healing ability, the knowledge seeping directly into my mind through the ritual.
My wings shuddered and stretched outward and my tail lashed excitedly behind me at the intoxicating flood of demonic magic filling me. When the flow finally slowed, then ceased altogether, I stumbled slightly and fell to my knees.
Morgana slowly approached, her emerald eyes gleaming with pride and dark satisfaction. "Beautifully done, my dear apprentice," she praised softly, cupping my flushed cheek gently. "You didn't hesitate. Not even once."
I smiled weakly, still catching my breath. “Thank you, Morgana,” I whispered softly, voice trembling slightly with emotion. “Thanks for creating this ritual for me.”
She hadn’t been happy that only luck had allowed me to escape nightwing. This ritual—sacrificing three corrupted souls—gave me three new boons. Enhanced strength, enhanced senses, and a healing factor.
Good things come in threes after all…
I slowly pushed myself back onto unsteady legs, my knees still weak and trembling slightly from the powerful magic that had surged through my body moments ago. My tail flicked lazily behind me, swaying gently as the last waves of sensation receded.
Before I could regain my full composure, Morgana stepped closer and reached out swiftly. Her slender, warm fingers wrapped snugly around my sensitive tail, just above the tip, instantly sending a sharp, delicious bolt of pleasure racing up my spine.
"Ah!" The soft, involuntary moan slipped from my parted lips before I could stop it, my eyelids fluttering shut for a brief second at the sudden stimulation. Her touch was practiced, her fingers gently squeezing and sliding along the velvety length of my tail in a sensuous caress that nearly left me breathless. Heat rushed to my core, pooling low in my belly as my nipples hardened instantly into tight, aching peaks.
But instead of melting completely into the overwhelming bliss—as I usually did—I forced myself to remain present, to stay cognizant. My muscles tightened, determination flooding my mind, and with effort I managed to twist and tug my tail gently but firmly out of Morgana’s grip. It slipped smoothly from her warm hand, leaving behind a tingling ghost sensation on my sensitive skin.
She let out an amused, playful pout, her eyes dancing with satisfaction even as she feigned disappointment. "My, my, Amara," she murmured softly, running the tip of her tongue slowly across her lower lip as she admired my bare, flushed form. "I’m impressed. You didn't completely lose yourself to pleasure this time either. You are improving everywhere!"
"Thank you, Mistress Morgana," I breathed shakily, cheeks slightly flushed as I tried—and failed—to hide my embarrassment. I pouted back at her teasingly, thinking with an inward sigh of how many times she'd practically brought me to my knees these past few days with nothing more than her skillful hands exploring every sensitive inch of my tail. She'd known exactly how to touch, stroke, squeeze, and caress to send me spiraling into helpless ecstasy again and again, teasing me to the brink until I could hardly form a coherent thought.
Not that I hadn't thoroughly enjoyed every exquisite moment of it…
Morgana's gaze trailed lazily down my naked body, lingering appreciatively on my ample breasts and shapely hips before drifting slowly lower, taking in every soft curve and sensitive detail. I saw hunger flicker briefly behind her emerald eyes before she regained control, gracefully stepping back.
"Now, my dear apprentice," she purred softly, a smirk tugging at her full lips as she gestured toward the doorway leading deeper into our quarters. "Go clean yourself up in the shower. You've earned your rest tonight."
With a nod and a lingering glance of my own at her seductive form, I turned slowly and made my way toward the bathing chambers, acutely aware of Morgana's heated gaze on the gentle sway of my hips and ass with every step I took away from her.
…As I stepped beneath the gentle, cascading warmth of the shower, I closed my eyes and sighed softly in relief. The steaming water flowed over me slowly washing away the crimson blood stains from tonight's ritual.
With gentle care, I began running my hands through my long, silky black hair, rinsing out the remnants of blood. My fingertips softly massaged my scalp.
As my muscles gradually relaxed beneath the hot stream, my mind drifted back over these past few days.
You'd think becoming the apprentice of a famously evil witch would be scary, but honestly, my experience was anything but. Morgana treated me with surprising kindness, a tenderness I'd never expected from someone so powerful, feared, and ruthless. When I made mistakes during my training sessions, she never struck me, never chastised me harshly.
I reached for my shampoo to start washing my long hair.
Tomorrow, Morgana said I would finally be allowed to wander Gotham again. With the new fire spells I'd mastered and my now even more enhanced succubus body—stronger, faster, with keenly sharpened senses and regenerative healing—I should be a lot safer in this town.
I should be a lot more dangerous.
Perhaps I'd even encounter Nightwing again. The thought of him brought a wicked smile to my lips…
Even more exciting was the promise Morgana had made me earlier. We would soon begin forging my very own wand. And thanks to the mysterious [Soul Bound Wand] perk, it would become permanently bonded to me—an unbreakable, inseparable extension of my very being.
Name: Amara Black / Formerly Heather Potter-Black
Age: 19
Race: Succubus-Witch
System Spells, Talents and Magic Powers:
[Ritual Magic: Peak Performance!] You have performed an incredibly dark blood ritual—sacrificing the lives of three mortals to grant yourself the three boons of enhanced strength, enhanced senses, and enhanced recovery.
[Adept Flames] You can use adept fire magic at will. No incantation needed, only intent. Costs slightly more magic and is slightly less powerful if used without your [Soul-Bound Wand].
[Disciple of Dark Magic!] You can now learn dark magic 100x faster than you can learn light magic!
[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch!] By making direct skin-to-skin contact with another being, you can channel dark mana into their body, gradually increasing their sexual arousal. Prolonged, continuous contact can even drive them to orgasm.
Perks:
[Daughter of a Succubus]. Your great-grandmother, or an even more distant ancestor, was secretly a succubus. That demonic bloodline has skipped multiple generations until it has awoken inside of you, granting you enhanced magical power and beauty far beyond what the average human could hope to achieve. Men and women alike will find you nearly irresistible when they gaze upon you.
[Blessed by Fire]. Fire magic is significantly easier for you to learn and master. You can even cast low-tier fire spells instinctively, without needing a wand.
[Soul-Bound Wand]. When you finally acquire your wand, it will be eternally soul-bound to you. Indestructible, and summonable to your hand at any moment!
Drawbacks:
[Major Sin of Lust]. You get aroused far easier than normal and stay aroused far longer. You will find it very hard to sexually satisfy yourself and will almost instinctively find yourself seeking out partners to fulfill your needs.
[Cursed Knowledge]. You have been cursed with the complete knowledge and memories of your past life—and all the existential crisis that comes along with them.
[Simmering Fury]. Your anger now simmers and lingers much longer than it would for anyone else. It becomes extremely difficult—nearly impossible—for you to forgive those who've wronged you.
Inventory:
[Minor health potion!] A potion that will refill every three days, able to restore most common wounds. Cannot heal missing limbs, or cure diseases.
[Basic Handgun] - 10 shots
…
The next day…
From the outside, our new home was the perfect disguise—a crumbling, grimy old warehouse nestled deep within the heart of Penguin's territory. Rust covered the metal walls, and the windows were either boarded up or shattered, lending an air of neglect and abandonment that kept curious eyes away.
Nobody would suspect such a decrepit building concealed our secure hideaway.
Inside the rusted exterior was a beautifully appointed safe house with polished wooden floors, plush velvet furniture, and modern appliances and amenities.
I strongly suspected this had been Penguin’s main secret hideaway before Morgana strode in and simply bullied him out of it…
He apparently still had a fancy nightclub though, so it's not like we made him homeless.
I opened a small door at the side of the building to greet the two men who were waiting nervously outside. Both were large and imposing in stature, dressed in dark clothes, yet they shuffled anxiously on their feet.
Their eyes widened slightly when they saw me, surprise flickering across their faces.
"Hello there," I greeted them warmly, flashing a gentle smile as I leaned casually against the doorway. “I'm not actually Morgana, I’m her apprentice, Amara. I know we look a lot alike.”
The two men visibly relaxed, relief washing over their rugged faces. I supposed being mistaken for Morgana was more terrifying than flattering around here.
“Thank fuck!” the taller one blurted out in sheer relief, instantly blushing and averting his eyes as he realized his slip-up. “Uh, no offense. It’s just…that woman is fucking scary as hell.”
His friend vigorously nodded in agreement. “Seriously. We’ve never seen Boss Penguin so rattled before. Usually, nothing fazes him, but Morgana…?” He trailed off with a nervous shudder.
I laughed softly, nodding understandingly. Morgana truly had that intimidating effect on people—commanding obedience and fear simply by walking into a room.
“I completely understand,” I reassured them kindly, letting amusement color my voice.
The two men exchanged glances, subtly but obviously sizing me up. I could feel their eyes drifting appreciatively over my current outfit—a tight pair of jeans hugging my hips and ass, and a snug black tank top that showed off my flat stomach and generously curved breasts. Lately, I'd been experimenting with clothing styles, trying out different looks to discover what suited me best. Today I felt especially attractive and confident, and judging by their lingering gazes, these men clearly agreed.
"So, uh…are you Morgana's daughter or something?” the shorter man finally asked, an attempt at subtle flirtation evident in his awkward smile. “You two look crazy similar."
Before I could respond, the taller one elbowed him sharply and chuckled. “Nah, no way man. This chick’s way hotter—and definitely looks way nicer.”
I laughed softly at their clumsy attempts at flattery, amused but also slightly touched. Honestly, Morgana and I looked nearly identical—equally seductive, with eerily similar features, raven hair, and emerald eyes. Claiming one of us was objectively more beautiful than the other was absurd. But perhaps I was a bit softer in demeanor, kinder around the eyes and lips, giving an impression of innocence Morgana certainly didn't share.
Which, considering I was literally a succubus, was deeply ironic.
“Thanks, you’re both very sweet,” I said with a playful smirk. I decided to get straight to the task at hand. “...The bodies are downstairs in the basement,” I informed them casually. “Sorry about the mess down there.”
The shorter one swallowed visibly. “Uh, yeah, Penguin said something about cleaning up some kind of ritual?”
I nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah, Morgana helped me with a little project last night. I might’ve gotten just a little…carried away,” I admitted sheepishly.
I guided them through the hallways of the safehouse until we reached the sturdy wooden door leading down to the basement.
They hesitated slightly, glancing uncertainly at me before descending the stairs first.
As soon as they reached the bottom step, both men froze instantly in shock. I followed behind and saw their jaws drop, their eyes wide as they took in the blood-stained floor, the crimson pentagram still vividly painted across the stone tiles, and the three lifeless bodies sprawled grotesquely atop the altar. Dark blood had pooled and splattered messily in every direction.
“Jesus fucking Christ…” the taller one muttered weakly, looking pale as he stared down at the grisly remains.
The shorter man just shook his head, clearly disturbed.
I stepped beside them with an innocent shrug, a soft smile on my lips as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. “Like I said—sorry about all the blood,” I murmured casually, almost playfully. “I got a little excited cutting into these guys. Probably made more of a mess than I needed to.”
Both men stared at me now, jaws slack and speechless, clearly reevaluating their initial impressions of my kindness. I chuckled lightly and gently patted the shorter one reassuringly on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you guys to the cleanup. Thanks a lot for your help!”
As I turned to gracefully ascend the stairs, I overheard their whispered exchange of disbelief and resignation behind me.
“Why the fuck,” the taller man groaned miserably, “are the sexiest bitches always secretly batshit crazy? Now there's fucking two of them…”
“Penguin warned us,” his friend hissed back bitterly. “Said Morgana was nuts! Guess it runs in the fucking family. I bet this chick is her secret daughter or twin sister or some shit…”
The truth was, we could have cleaned up this scene ourselves with magic—but we chose not to. By having the Penguins men come and clean up for us, they would both report this grizzly scene back to him. It was another way of showing that “we’re absolutely crazy, don’t fuck with us!”
Morgana told me supervillains had to put on grisly displays like this once in a while or they’d lose the respect of their peers. And despite the fact that she’d prefer to just be a dark witch, she was classified in this country—and the world—as a supervillain. Although, from what I read about her on the internet, most people actually didn't believe that Morgana was over a thousand years old. They didn't believe that she was the original Morgana La Fay, the witch that destroyed camelot. They thought she was just a Meta-human villain with powers that resembled magic, trying to imitate a make-believe famous witch.
Surprisingly, most people still didn’t think magic was real despite the Justice League having members that used magic…?
I wondered if that was because my world was a Harry Potter crossover and the Statute of Secrecy—despite hanging by the thinnest of fucking threads—was still in effect. Barely.
I shrugged to myself. Seeing as those two would be busy down there for hours and Morgana was busy herself today, I decided to go outside into Gotham instead of sitting around uselessly on the couch all day.
– Daphne Greengrass –
Daphne Greengrass shifted slightly in her seat, the supple leather of the limousine’s plush interior creaking softly beneath her. The tinted windows shielded them from Gotham's notoriously dreary sky. Glancing briefly at her reflection in the window, Daphne meticulously tucked a loose strand of platinum-blonde hair behind her ear. Her features, often called aristocratic by her peers at Hogwarts, were composed, graceful, and coldly beautiful. She exuded a calm confidence, an aloofness that often intimidated those who didn’t know her well.
Beside her, however, was an entirely different story.
Astoria Greengrass, her younger sister, could barely contain herself. Newly turned eighteen, Astoria was bubbling with youthful energy, her excitement palpable. Her eyes sparkled eagerly, her cheeks flushed with barely restrained enthusiasm, and she fidgeted in her seat—constantly adjusting the neatly tailored black business suit that hugged her slender form and emphasized her blossoming womanly curves. Her matching blonde hair, slightly brighter and more golden in hue compared to Daphne's cool platinum locks, cascaded down her shoulders in soft, luminous waves.
Resting on each of their laps were a pair of delicate owl masks—the masks they'd soon don to conceal their identities when they arrived at their destination.
Unable to contain her boundless excitement any longer, Astoria twisted in her seat to face her sister. “Oh, Merlin, Daphne, I just can't believe it! I’m so excited! You and Dad never talk openly about our family's secret club, and now I’m finally getting to officially join!”
Daphne immediately shot her younger sister a stern look, ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly as she placed a warning hand upon Astoria's gently bouncing knee. “It's not a ‘secret club,’ Astoria,” she corrected sharply, her voice soft yet firm. "I’ve told you repeatedly—this is a gathering of the most powerful men and women in the entire business world. Both magical and mundane. They meet only a handful of times each year, always here in Gotham. These people aren’t some rich brats like Malfoy. These are dangerous, powerful individuals. You don’t want to fuck with them.”
The dark side of the business world runs thick with blood…
Truthfully, she had mixed feelings about bringing Astoria to the Court of Owls meeting. She adored her younger sister more than anything in this cruel world—yet she wished desperately to protect her from this shadowy side of their family’s dealings. But the Greengrass family’s cursed bloodline left them with little choice.
Astoria bore the terrible curse that ran within their family—one that invariably killed its bearers shortly after their thirtieth birthday. It was a constant weight upon Daphne's heart.
Their father had joined the Court of Owls nearly 20 years prior—before either sister was even born—hoping desperately to leverage the Court's vast influence, power, and resources to finally break the ancient Greengrass curse. But despite decades of service, careful maneuvering, and political intrigue, they'd yet to discover a permanent solution.
Now that Astoria had come of age, their father had finally decided to involve her more openly, hoping that his beautiful daughters could succeed where he failed. Maybe even use their beauty to seduce some powerful members of the court into helping them….
Daphne had argued against the decision fiercely, yet their father's resolve was unshakeable. He was sending them alone this time to America, while he stayed in Britain, handling their families' domestic businesses.
"Daphne! Hey, Daphne—guess what?" Astoria chirped excitedly, seemingly unfazed by her older sister's grim warning.
With a resigned sigh, Daphne smiled softly at Astoria. It was impossible to deny her younger sister when she became like this—so earnest, vibrant, and optimistic in the face of their family’s dark history. "What, Astoria?" she asked patiently, allowing the corners of her lips to lift ever so slightly.
"I divined our fortunes for today!" Astoria declared proudly, beaming happily.
Daphne suppressed an exasperated groan, instead opting to roll her eyes gently. She couldn’t fathom why Astoria insisted on choosing Divination as an elective at Hogwarts. It was, by far, the most impractical and useless magical discipline. Everyone knew the professor was half-insane, and the prophecies almost never came true. Yet, despite Daphne's constant teasing, Astoria absolutely adored the subject, always enthusiastically pouring over crystal balls, tea leaves, and tarot cards, convinced she could unravel the future.
"Again, Astoria?" Daphne asked wryly, humoring her sister nonetheless. "Very well—tell me. What exactly did the stars reveal about today's events?"
Astoria’s expression turned suddenly serious, a hint of genuine earnestness entering her eyes as she leaned closer to Daphne conspiratorially. “It’s different this time, Daphne! I used a brand new deck of special tarot cards I bought in Knockturn Alley. The witch who sold them said they were powerful—imbued with real prophetic magic!”
Daphne lifted a skeptical brow, amused at her sister’s enthusiasm. "And?"
Astoria drew a breath dramatically, eyes wide and glittering with delight. "Today is going to be super exciting and maybe even a little dangerous," she explained eagerly. "But most importantly—we’re both going to meet someone new! A new friend—or maybe a new mistress? The cards weren't perfectly clear on that last part."
Daphne nearly choked at her sister’s unexpected phrasing, her elegant composure slipping for just an instant as she let out a surprised laugh. "A mistress, Astoria? Really now, you might be getting carried away with those ridiculous cards of yours."
Astoria huffed playfully, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "Don’t mock the cards, Daphne! I'm telling you, this reading felt real. We’re definitely meeting someone important today. You'll see!"
Daphne reached out affectionately, gently squeezing Astoria’s hand. Despite the absurdity of divination, she couldn't deny the warmth that filled her heart every time Astoria smiled. Her sister’s positivity and hope were so deeply refreshing, a beacon of innocence and joy Daphne vowed silently to protect at any cost.
And that was about to be tested right now…
CRACK!!
Before she could register what was happening, a bullet sliced violently through the supposedly bulletproof glass of their vehicle. The window up front shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, glass fragments flying inward.
Daphne and Astoria both screamed involuntarily, clutching each other instinctively as the projectile found its mark.
Blood sprayed the windshield in thick, crimson splatters, accompanied by chunks of gore and brain matter. The limo driver jerked violently backward in his seat, head lolling grotesquely as he instantly went limp. The limo, suddenly without a conscious hand to guide it, swerved erratically into the opposite lane, accelerating alarmingly toward the oncoming traffic.
“Daphne!” Astoria screamed, eyes wide in absolute terror, her fingernails digging desperately into Daphne's forearm.
“Hold on!” Daphne snapped sharply, tightening her grip around Astoria’s trembling form and bracing herself just seconds before impact.
The limo slammed headlong into another vehicle with a bone-jarring crash, sending both sisters hurtling violently to the floor. The collision reverberated throughout the limo’s reinforced frame, metal buckling and twisting with a screeching protest of tortured steel.
Daphne and Astoria landed painfully in a tangled heap of limbs upon the lush, thickly padded carpeting that lined the vehicle’s floor. Daphne groaned softly in pain, feeling the violent impact reverberate painfully through her body. But thankfully, despite neither of them wearing seatbelts, neither had sustained any serious injuries. The limo’s interior, luxuriously plush and richly cushioned, had softened the blow significantly.
It helped too that witches were naturally hardier than Muggles.
“What—what the hell just happened?” Astoria whimpered, struggling to right herself, eyes glazed with panic as she clung to her sister’s arm for dear life.
“We’re under attack,” Daphne growled bitterly, pushing herself up onto shaking legs.. “The Court—one of them has turned against us.”
Astoria’s terrified gaze shot toward the ruined front compartment, the lifeless corpse of the driver slumped grotesquely across the steering wheel, blood pooling thickly over the dashboard. She whimpered, pressing trembling fingers to her lips. “Merlin…they actually tried to kill us—”
“No, Astoria,” Daphne corrected harshly, regaining her wits swiftly and gripping her wand tightly as she took rapid stock of their increasingly dire situation. “They’re still trying. They won’t stop until we’re dead. We need to move. Now.”
Already Daphne’s mind raced ahead. This attack was deliberate, orchestrated with ruthless efficiency—the hallmark of their fellow Court members. She knew full well how the Court operated. Its members were ambitious, power-hungry, willing to spill blood to maintain dominance. Their father had warned them time and again about the precarious nature of their family's position. Their family’s power and wealth had bred envy, greed, and hatred among rivals. Especially, considering the fact that they were “new money” when it came to the Court. their family had only joined two decades ago, their position not secure.
Daphne bitterly realized someone had clearly decided they no longer wanted the Greengrasses around.
Quickly pulling herself together, Daphne reached out firmly to steady Astoria, whose breathing was erratic with mounting panic. Daphne's calm gaze locked fiercely with her sister’s frightened eyes, her voice firm and resolute. “Listen to me, Astoria. Follow my lead and stay close.”
Astoria nodded shakily, visibly pulling herself together, forcing a mask of resolve onto her pale face. “I—I understand, Daphne. I trust you.”
Heart swelling with love and fierce protectiveness, Daphne aimed her wand decisively toward the damaged limo door. “Depulso!” she snapped crisply.
An invisible wave of magical energy exploded outward, tearing the reinforced limo door violently from its hinges and sending it flying several feet away onto the busy street. The harsh cacophony of Gotham immediately flooded their ears—blaring car horns, startled shouts from pedestrians, and the distant wail of approaching emergency sirens.
Without hesitating another second, Daphne seized Astoria’s hand and pulled her urgently forward, stepping out into the chaos of Gotham's bustling street. Cars screeched sharply to sudden stops around them, enraged drivers honking furiously, shouting angry curses from rolled-down windows. Daphne ignored them all. Nothing mattered now except getting her sister somewhere safe.
She didn’t dare slow her pace, pulling Astoria roughly along beside her as they sprinted through the maze of stopped vehicles. Her high heels clicked sharply on the pavement, but Daphne barely registered the discomfort.
She risked a glance over her shoulder and her blood turned to ice in her veins.
Emerging swiftly from nearby cars and alleyways were a group of heavily armed Muggle mercenaries, their tactical gear clearly identifying them as well-trained, elite soldiers-for-hire. They were already closing in, raising high-powered assault rifles and automatic weapons, faces obscured by dark tactical masks and tinted goggles.
Clearly, whoever had orchestrated this attack had hired some real pros...
“Move, Astoria!” Daphne barked urgently, forcing her legs to carry them even faster, desperately weaving through the dense crowd of startled pedestrians. Fearful screams erupted around them as innocent bystanders finally caught sight of the advancing armed mercenaries, scattering desperately in every direction.
Bullets cracked sharply through the air around them, shattering shop windows, ricocheting off metal surfaces. Daphne cursed savagely under her breath, gripping Astoria’s hand so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her wand clenched fiercely in her other hand, ready to unleash magic at a moment's notice.
But Daphne knew they couldn’t afford an open magical firefight here—not in full view of dozens of Muggle witnesses. The Statute of Secrecy still tenuously existed, and the Ministry’s American counterpart, MACUSA, wouldn't hesitate to come down brutally hard on blatant exposure of “Wizarding magic” to the Muggle population. Not with the statute hanging by a thread as it was with all the magical heroes and villains running around in capes nowadays.
Astoria stumbled slightly, gasping with exertion as they veered sharply into a narrow alleyway, temporarily out of sight from their pursuers. Daphne pulled her close against the alley’s grimy brick wall, pressing a finger urgently to her lips. “Quiet,” she whispered harshly, senses hyper-aware of every distant shout, every pounding footstep closing in on their location.
Astoria nodded breathlessly, visibly terrified but forcing herself to remain silent and still.
Daphne carefully peered around the alley’s edge, heart pounding wildly. Mercenaries shouted harsh commands, quickly regrouping to continue the chase. It was only a matter of seconds before they discovered their hiding spot.
With steely resolve, Daphne drew her sister protectively closer, whispering urgently. “When I say run, you run—don’t look back, don’t stop. If anything happens to me—”
“No!” Astoria whispered fiercely, eyes wide with desperate refusal. “Don’t even say that, Daphne. You promised to protect me. We’ll get out of this together.”
— Amara –
‘Well, that was certainly interesting,’ I mused silently, pulling my lips away from the straw of my mango smoothie. The icy sweetness lingered on my tongue as I watched the chaotic scene unfolding in front of me with detached curiosity. Without bothering to find a trash can, I carelessly tossed the half-empty smoothie cup onto the grimy Gotham pavement.
Not my problem. Gotham had far bigger issues than a littered smoothie, after all.
From beneath my oversized hoodie, to hide me from all of the security cameras, I quietly observed the scene playing out across the busy street. The vehicle that had just been attacked—an ostentatiously luxurious black limousine—sat crashed against a smaller sedan, smoke and steam billowing from its ruined front end. The smell of burned rubber, gasoline, and blood lingered heavily in the air. Panicked bystanders screamed and scrambled in every direction, cars skidding and honking as their startled drivers reacted frantically to the sudden violence.
Emerging from the wrecked limousine, two stunningly beautiful blondes had stumbled out onto the chaotic Gotham street.
I raised an eyebrow appreciatively as I watched them sprint through the traffic. Even from a distance, their figures were undeniably enticing, their curves accentuated perfectly by those tight-fitting business suits.
Yet even their obvious allure wouldn't have been enough to make me linger in this dangerous, chaotic scene. Gotham was a brutal city, and I'd already learned from Morgana that sometimes survival meant minding my own damn business.
At least, it would have—until I'd noticed the object gripped firmly in the older blonde's hand.
A wand. A wizarding wand.
I'd spent enough time around my real FATHER, Sirius Black, now to instantly recognize one.
They were witches. Why were two magical women wandering Gotham dressed like muggle executives? Who had hired armed mercenaries to brazenly attack them in broad daylight? And more importantly—did their presence here hold any interesting implications for me or Morgana?
Well. Only one way to find out.
I quickly assessed the situation as I got closer. The mercenaries, disciplined and organized, were already regrouping from their brief confusion, moving swiftly through the stopped vehicles as they chased after their fleeing prey. The blonde witches had disappeared down a narrow alleyway, clearly hoping to lose their attackers in the labyrinthine side streets of Gotham’s inner city.
Instead of doing the sensible thing and fleeing with the rest of the screaming pedestrians, I simply shrugged to myself, the edges of my lips curling into a wicked smile beneath the shadow of my hoody. Morgana had spent days teaching me how to defend myself with both magic and my succubus nature—now seemed like the perfect opportunity to test my newfound skills.
Keeping my face carefully concealed, I calmly walked forward across the busy road, smoothly weaving through the panicked mob of Gotham citizens. Ahead, the mercenaries had paused momentarily at the alley entrance, weapons raised cautiously as their leader barked terse instructions.
The mercenaries were completely focused on their mission, entirely oblivious to my casual approach from behind. My sensitive hearing, recently enhanced by Morgana’s blood ritual, easily picked up their hushed voices.
"Targets cornered down this alley. Watch your sectors—engage with extreme prejudice. Client wants no survivors."
No survivors? I frowned thoughtfully beneath my hood, curiosity deepening further. Someone wanted these witches dead very badly, indeed.
My footsteps were practically silent as I drew closer, blending effortlessly into the loud background noise of Gotham. I paused only long enough to quickly gauge my best course of action, taking a deep, calming breath. Then, with cold determination flickering through my veins, I flexed my fingers experimentally and allowed magic to gather at my fingertips.
Time to see if Morgana’s lessons had truly paid off.
I decided not to reveal my demonic traits—my wings and tail stayed carefully concealed inside my body, figuring I wouldn’t need to expose my true nature to deal with these mercenaries. Morgana had taught me well over these last few days.
Subtlety had its uses. But subtlety didn’t mean harmless.
I glanced down briefly at my slender fingers and smirked as my nails suddenly lengthened, rapidly growing sharper and harder, transforming into wickedly lethal claws. A pretty basic demonic ability.
Not stopping there, I summoned my newly adept fire magic, focusing intently. Instantly, my claw-like nails burst into life, glowing with intense, molten heat.
My lips curled into a satisfied smile. I stepped closer, stalking silently toward the unaware mercenaries clustered at the alley’s entrance.
They still hadn’t noticed my approach.
Picking my target, I casually walked up behind the nearest mercenary—a tall, burly man in black tactical gear, clutching his rifle tightly, his attention completely focused down the alley.
“Excuse me?” I purred sweetly, letting my voice drip with innocence as I spoke softly from just behind him.
He jolted slightly at my voice, stiffening in surprise before turning quickly to face me. "Fuck off, you dumb bitch—" he growled irritably, swinging his weapon around to point it directly at me.
Too slow.
I lashed out swiftly, my glowing-hot claws slicing effortlessly across his throat, cutting deeply into vulnerable flesh.
For a single, glorious moment, his eyes widened in pure, stunned terror—realization dawning on his features a heartbeat too late. Warm, sticky blood sprayed liberally across my outstretched hand, spattering crimson droplets onto my sleeve and cheek. A wicked thrill surged through my core, and I couldn’t suppress the satisfied grin tugging at my lips as I watched the mercenary desperately clawing at his ruined throat, gurgling weakly, falling to his knees, and finally collapsing limply at my feet.
His rifle clattered noisily to the pavement beside him.
Feeling mischievous, I bent gracefully and snatched the fallen rifle, quickly tossing it into my inventory. I smirked inwardly, amused at my growing collection of random weapons. I probably wouldn't use most of them, but there was something undeniably fun about accumulating shiny new toys from the enemies I’d slain.
But before I could dwell on my newfound weapon-hoarding habit, the sharp noise of the mercenary’s rifle hitting the pavement had drawn unwanted attention. Three other mercenaries whipped around sharply, weapons raised. Their eyes widened comically beneath their tactical masks as they spotted me standing casually over their fallen comrade’s corpse.
“Fuck—!”
Smiling coldly, I called upon my fire magic again, allowing two burning-hot lances of bright orange flame to manifest instantly in the palms of my hands. I admired the fiery projectiles for a fraction of a second, feeling their comforting heat, before flinging them forward with pinpoint accuracy.
Enhanced strength, enhanced senses, enhanced magic. Morgana’s ritual really was the gift that kept on giving.
The flaming lances rocketed through the air with blazing speed, sinking deep into two mercenaries’ chests. The magical fire pierced effortlessly through their body armor, plunging directly into their hearts and erupting violently inside their ribcages. I watched with wicked satisfaction as both men shrieked in agony, convulsing helplessly as their torsos rapidly ignited, their screams quickly fading into dying, strangled gurgles as flames devoured their organs and flesh from within.
The third mercenary, standing further back, cursed frantically into his radio, finally understanding what was happening. "We’re under attack by a fucking META!" he roared desperately. He raised his assault rifle, aiming at me wildly.
Oh shit!
With a surge of panic-laced excitement, I swiftly dove behind a nearby dumpster just as bullets erupted in a loud, deafening hailstorm around me. I gasped softly as rounds impacted the metal surface of the dumpster repeatedly, harsh metallic clangs reverberating painfully through my sensitive ears.
I winced, but thankfully the steel was thick and sturdy enough to keep me protected. A few jagged dents appeared, but mercifully no bullets penetrated my cover. Still, I wasn’t eager to test exactly how good my newfound healing factor really was. Getting shot probably hurt like hell, and my succubus nature certainly preferred pleasure over pain. No thanks.
The mercenary’s rifle finally clicked empty, followed immediately by his furious swearing as he frantically fumbled for his sidearm.
Without giving him a chance to reload, I rolled quickly out from behind the dumpster, springing smoothly back onto my feet with feline agility. He looked up in shock, eyes wide behind his goggles as I rushed straight toward him, claws blazing brightly once again.
“Stay back—!” he screamed in panic, raising his pistol hastily.
Too little, too late.
I slammed bodily into him, sending us both crashing to the ground heavily. Straddling him instantly, pinning him beneath me with my supernaturally enhanced strength, I grinned wickedly down at his struggling form. “Sweet dreams…” I whispered softly, almost tenderly, before plunging my burning claws viciously downward into his wide-open, screaming eyes.
His terrified shrieks pierced my ears briefly, before abruptly cutting off. My searing-hot nails sunk deeply through his eyeballs and plunged into the soft, vulnerable tissue of his brain. His body instantly seized beneath me, twitching violently for a heartbeat, then abruptly fell limp.
With a satisfied sigh, I slowly pulled my bloodied, glowing claws free, eyeing my handiwork appreciatively. My chest heaved slightly, breathing fast with adrenaline and excitement as the mercenary’s corpse lay utterly still beneath me.
Gods—that had felt amazing.
The final two mercenaries at the far end of the alley, dangerously close to the two cornered witches, rapidly spun around. The commotion I’d caused had finally caught their attention. Both men locked onto me with wild, hate-filled eyes as they raised their weapons threateningly.
“You fucking bitch!” one screamed, his voice shaking with fury. “You’ll pay for murdering our friends, you disgusting Meta-human filth!”
I blinked, momentarily stunned by the venom in his voice. Was "Meta-human" some kind of racial slur in this world?
I almost felt offended—oddly mislabeled as well. I was a scuccubus-witch, thank you very much!
Still, despite the absurdity of the insult, their guns looked distinctly less amusing. My muscles tensed, readying to launch myself aside as soon as I saw their fingers tightening around the triggers.
But I never had the chance.
From behind them, two feminine voices suddenly rang out loudly and clearly.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Stupefy!”
The mercenaries had made the fatal mistake of turning their backs on the witches. Twin bolts of vibrant magical energy streaked forward from the shadows. A flash of emerald death struck one mercenary squarely in the back, his body seizing violently before collapsing lifelessly to the ground without so much as a twitch. At the same instant, his companion crumpled bonelessly beside him, stunned unconscious.
For a moment, silence hung heavily in the alleyway.
That was the first time I'd seen the infamous Killing Curse up close. Its ruthless efficiency was impressive. I doubt it would work on me though—or Morgana.
My gaze lifted from the bodies to finally settle upon the witches I’d saved.
Two beautiful blondes cautiously stepped from their hiding spot behind a stack of wooden crates, wands still gripped tightly in their hands. Now that I could study them closely, I saw they could have easily passed for twins, although subtle differences set them apart—one was slightly curvier, her platinum-blonde hair lighter, nearly silvery in the alley’s dim lighting. The younger-looking one had hair slightly more golden and shimmering.
"A-stor-i-a." The older sister spoke slowly, each syllable carefully enunciated, clearly irritated. Her stunning ice-blue eyes narrowed sternly as she turned to her younger sibling. "Why are you using stunning spells? These bastards were trying to murder us. Don't hold back against people who wish us dead!"
The younger girl blushed furiously under her sister’s sharp rebuke, fidgeting nervously in place. Her eyes darted downward shyly as she murmured softly, “I—I’m sorry, Daphne. I’ve never killed before. You know I'm... not very good at dark magic..."
The older girl—Daphne, apparently—let out a frustrated but affectionate sigh, expression softening visibly. Reaching out gently, she touched her younger sister’s shoulder reassuringly, comforting her in a surprisingly tender gesture despite the grim circumstances. "It’s alright, Astoria,” she soothed quietly. "You're safe. That’s what matters most." Only then did Daphne slowly turn to fully acknowledge me. Her gaze immediately became wary once again, caution shimmering in her eyes as she regarded me silently. Her wand still clenched tightly by her side, but she notably made no move to raise it in my direction. “Thanks for the assistance,” she finally said, voice measured and cautiously polite. “Whoever you are…”
I could practically see her mind racing, uncertain if I posed further threat or salvation after what she’d just witnessed.
Before I could reply, though, Astoria suddenly brightened dramatically beside her older sister as she tugged insistently on Daphne's sleeve. “See, Daphne?” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I told you our fortune would come true! This has to be the person the cards foretold we'd meet today—a new friend here to save us!” She hesitated momentarily, chewing her lip thoughtfully, before eagerly adding with startling earnestness, “Or maybe she’s our new mistress?”
… What?
I stood there in stunned silence, my mind temporarily short-circuiting as I blinked dumbly at Astoria, processing her words slowly.
Did this gorgeous, seemingly innocent young witch seriously just imply…? My cheeks flushed involuntarily beneath my hood, an unexpected surge of heat rushing through me. Okay, admittedly, I'd been thinking earlier that both girls were undeniably attractive—but I hadn’t anticipated one of them openly suggesting a relationship quite that intimate just moments after we'd met!
Daphne turned bright red at her younger sister’s blunt declaration, eyes widening in mortified horror as she spun sharply toward Astoria. "Astoria!" she hissed sharply, clearly scandalized. "You cannot say things like that! Merlin's sake—have some decorum!"
Astoria merely shrugged, unrepentantly grinning at her sister's embarrassment. "But that's what the cards said, Daphne! And look at her—she's obviously powerful and brave. It could definitely happen! And we can't see her face because of that big oversized hoodie she's wearing, but I bet she's really beautiful underneath it! And I know that you like girls more than you like boys because I've seen you and Tracy in your bedroom kissing more than once…" the younger one rambled more and more.
I couldn’t help it and started laughing!
This was not how I was expecting this to go at all! I'd never actually had any female friends before, but if I did I think I would have liked them to be bubbly and energetic like the younger blonde here…
…
“I'm Astoria Greengrass, and this is my older sister Daphne. Thank you for saving us, stranger. Who are you?”
Greengrass?
The name resonated sharply in my mind, triggering a vague yet insistent memory. Sirius had mentioned it before, hadn’t he? Back during one of his lengthy explanations about pureblood families in Wizarding Britain—his attempt at giving me some sort of education about my heritage. Yes, definitely—the Greengrasses were a pureblood family from Britain.
Also, that crisp, unmistakably posh British accent was unmistakable—the same accent I had of course.
I felt an odd, nostalgic tug deep in my chest.
Deciding I’d kept the hooded, mysterious savior persona going long enough, I slowly reached up with one slender hand and tugged my oversized hoodie backward, finally revealing my face fully to the two witches standing nervously before me.
As my silky black hair cascaded freely around my shoulders, I carefully studied their reactions.
Daphne’s initial suspicion and wariness abruptly gave way to wide-eyed shock. I could practically feel the heat radiating from her flushed cheeks as she hastily averted her gaze again, eyes widening in embarrassment at her obvious reaction. Cute.
Astoria’s reaction was far less subtle.
“Oh, Merlin, look, Daphne!” the younger blonde exclaimed delightedly, practically bouncing in place as she eagerly tugged once again on the sleeve of Daphne’s impeccably tailored business blouse. She continued babbling happily, seemingly oblivious to her sister's mortification. “See? I told you, Daphne! She’s absolutely stunning, just like I said she’d be! Oh, wow—she’s got such pretty green eyes! And look at her hair—it’s gorgeous!”
Daphne shot her sister an exasperated glare, face flushing an even deeper crimson as she hastily swatted Astoria’s excited fingers from her sleeve, hissing under her breath in embarrassed annoyance, “Merlin’s sake, Astoria! Can you please try to have just a little bit of decorum and dignity?”
Astoria simply laughed merrily at her older sister’s mortification. She boldly ignored Daphne’s scolding and turned her cheerful attention fully toward me. “Ignore my grumpy older sister! She acts all mature and sophisticated, but secretly she loves pretty girls—”
“Astoria!” Daphne snapped sharply.
Gods, these two sisters were adorable in their playful back-and-forth teasing. Even amid the carnage littering the alley around us, I found their sibling banter strangely charming, refreshing even.
“Nice to meet you too,” I finally interjected smoothly, allowing an amused smirk to curl at my lips as I watched Daphne’s blush deepen at my confident gaze. Deciding to have a bit of playful fun at her expense, I winked flirtatiously in her direction before finally offering them both a genuine, friendly smile. “My name is Amara Black.”
XXX
Comments
Romen Martin
I mean shes still new to her magic right? So while she has some training in combat I highly doubt she has any training in utility
WhatAFungi
Wtf, why did you make her litter. That like the most evil thing she’s done so far. And for what? Does it make her cooler, because she can’t be bothered to throw something away? It would have been cooler if you had just written her throwing it away from a distance and making the shot. Or how about just using her magic to just instantly incinerate the garbage. Wtf is the point of littering here?
redhawktiger
Wonder if Amara will bring them to Morgana, she could probably heal the blood curse
