The land soon became crowded as werewolves and vampires came out of the vehicles. The vehicles alone exceeded 40.
A chill slid down her spine in apprehension. Willow has no doubt in mind that she is not coming out of this harmless. She is brave, not stupid.
She took a few shallow breaths, clamped her back teeth together, straightened her spine as she held a gun in each hand, and faced the enemy staring them straight in the eyes.
From her peripheral vision, she couldn't locate the impersonator nor the mage. They must be watching from one of those vehicles. Enjoying the show, no doubt.
Some laughed, some snickered looking at her all alone in the field. They jabbed each other with their elbows as if they couldn't believe a woman can stand alone before an army of over 100 hard-core mercenaries.
Willow blanked her mind. There is no room for panic, for error. She has to believe in herself. Lothaire is counting on her.
With her powers, she made armor for herself. It is made with thick vines that protrude thick spikes from them. She made them wrap all around her body not even leaving an inch of her skin except for her eyes.
The king's men stood confused. Some snickered thinking, she was trying to hide while others had a frown. A few impatient ones who wanted this to be over soon, stepped forward, breaking the formation.
They sprinted and then ran towards her giving a battle cry.
But before they could come within a 5-meter radius around her, fell into the trap she laid for them.
It was swift, it was effective. They didn't know what hit them. A second, they were running and next they lay dead, their body in the gutter, spikes impaling them.
The next group that came was more cautious but still overconfident. They looked at the ground for any more traps. But what they missed are the thin threads. Just as the first person tripped over them, the sharp poles she had suspended using her vines came blazing forward, taking many of that group down.
The others became alert. They understood she is no weakling. They regrouped with some more mercenaries and stalked towards her. There is still more than half left standing, watching, cheering their mates.
Willow lifted her guns and started pelting them with the bullets. They tried to rain the bullets as well, but with her armor, many didn't pass.
With each bullet, a mercenary landed on the ground, some groaning, some passed out.
Even so, a stubborn one passed her shield and grazed her arm on the side.
Willow hissed through her teeth. She took a few shallow breaths, puffing her mouth out.
So it has begun.
Impatient and angry at her insolence, the remaining ran towards her, joining the others. They are not far from her. And all her traps are gone by now.
Willow knew what she was facing when she saw 50 or so mercenaries running towards her with weapons and bullets raining from them.
She smirked. She couldn't help it.
What a way to leave the world.
The bullets ran out from one of her guns, she quickly bent and took another weapon. And another.
They were cautious, ducking and twisting out of her gun range. Trying to taunt her, toying her.
She let them all in her sight, not giving them her back. However, a few slipped past her guard from the side.
A sound behind her of twig breaking alerted her to her mistake. Before Willow could turn, they were upon her.
Not one, not two. But three werewolves grabbed her and pinned her to the ground even while her spikes were hurting them.
"We got the bitch!!!"
"Fuck man, she is one feisty Fae"
"Ya, I would enjoy rutting that tight ass"
"You won't get the chance. The king wants her dead"
Willow struggled as they discussed her fate.
She tried to twist her arms, her legs, her torso. But she has been well and truly pinned down, like a butterfly trapped in a jar.
They soon quieted when someone stood a foot away from her. The rustling around her stopped.
Everyone cheered and made crude jokes about her. Willow should have feared her fate, but she didn't. She knew very well that there are things far worse than death.
One of the mercenaries grabbed her hair hard and pulled it back, exposing her neck. She is on her knees, her hands each held by a werewolf. She can feel the throbbing pain in her skull, a few strands torn.
The man stood above her, mocking her.
"So, this is whore who killed so many of our men?"
He is not the imposter. That she knew. Because even though the others gave him his due respect to the newcomer, they don't fear him.
Whoever he is, he is trying to make his power known. Trying to show who has the bigger c*ck. A bully.
Clutching her fists so hard that her sharp nails had cut into her palms and blood had begun to seep down her wrists, while her jaw clenched, and her eyes burned with fury Willow looked at the man who was about to end her life. Her eyes held nothing but contempt and hatred.
They might have caught her but they didn't defeat her. If she has to go down she will do it in all her glory meeting the eyes of her executioner.
The smirk slipped from her executioner. He brought his knife down and cut the vines that shielded her face.
He then grabbed her jaw and pulled it up forcefully, his fingers biting hard on her skin,
"Confident, are you? Not for long when the blood drains out of your body"
He opened his mouth wide, his fangs protruding, about to take a bite.
A sudden roar stilled him from behind her, hairbreadth away from her skin. As if alive, the sound passed through her directly, jarring her to her bone.
He is here. The king is here. Her king.
Willow's lifts curved up, drawing back as she mocked the man before her with a taunting smile. Enjoying the fear in his eyes.
Lothaire's hackles rose, his body is coiled so tightly with energy that he is surprised he didn't combust there itself.
Before anyone can blink, it's over. Every single mercenary on the battlefield disappeared. Not even a trace leaving behind. No ash, nothing. It's as if they were never there.
Willow's brow furrowed, not understanding it. Lothaire with powerful strides approached her and lifted her gently.
Willow looked at him and sucked her breath. This man... this man is a king. A real king. How can she ever doubt him to be anything else?
If he was handsome before, now he is stunning. Otherworldly. Regal. His aura is so radiant, it almost blinded her eyes. It's as if a part of his soul has been missing and he is now whole once again. Willow feared if she touched him, she might blemish him somehow.
His stature is strong, his shoulders broad, broader than before as if they are adjusting to accommodate his soul. His chest wide, he looked healthy. Not like the dying vampire she always has to save.
He needs no saving. He is the king. If anything, else she looks puny and small before him. How could she miss this?
"Are you hurt?" Lothaire cupped her face and asked, his eyes scanning her, worried.
Willow opened and closed her mouth. Not knowing what to say. She felt like an amateur before her mentor. The heat, the power he is emitting is making her giddy.
It can be detected around him. No one would dare to cross him if they looked at him like this. So powerful as if the world is at his fingertips.
"I...I..." Willow stuttered, unable to form coherent words.
"Feeling tongue-tied Tinkerbell? What, no words to rebuke?" Lothaire smirked, enjoying her fish-out-of-pond expression.
That brought her down to earth faster than anything.
"Full of yourself, Bones?" Willow scoffed, shedding her vines and making them retreat into the ground.
"You are hurt," Lothaire frowned, his hands itching to grab her arm and investigate. Blood trickled from her upper arm.
"Nothing but a graze. Enough of this. What have you done to them? Where did they go?"
"Dead," Lothaire said with no emotion in his voice.
Willow's eyes widened exponentially. She couldn't believe he killed 50 people in a blink of an eye without even lifting his finger.
What is his power? How powerful is he?
"How?" She asked in disbelief.