The Reborn Witch had a nice 'Tea Time' with the Dragon Queen today-Chapter 46: Frost Queen’s Ultimatum!

The air was strung with a mere thread of tension, as frosty gazes interwined with the silvery calmness. Demond's palm hovered over glitters of ice, staff readied at her summon, Adil's rotted palms both grasping the sceptor, a non-chalent tiny giant whose steadfast frame spoke of an epitaph of countless waiting from a wilted lily.

A beckoning for a fast opening to break the threaded silence, as Demond summoned her staff before its tip hurled a flash of avanlache, with Adil's roots sprung up to meet the blast, the trembling impact sprayed a iced arc to block the druid's vision.

The druid dismissed the dead roots like broken toys as bizarre orchids with large teeth poked from the soil, product from her year-long runes as she merely pointed, her children dashed from the ground to please her master, before meeting iced spears to be grounded into blackened dusts carried by the wind. Ancient and fresh seals orbited Demond, icicles bristling like machine-gun barrels.

The slight time brought from the swift first strike paid off, as the icicled circles spin like gattling cogs before a flood of large ice shards darted for the druid's rooted walls and vines, each and every impact sent a shivering glacier that impaired the druid's vision, the foggy freshness in her nostril unbearable for the overwhelming barrage. The Druid narrowed her eyes as she blocked and grasped for an opening, before the gnarly roots twitched below the witch answered to her, as they stabbed through the ground and rushed for her face.

But the ice trail beneath the witch's bare feet cackled and sparred the soil an early winter, creeping a frosty lie that chased for the children, the sharpened thorn reached just a hair's breath before her cheek, before succombing to the crept up frost just in time. The witch, however, while shifting her gaze back on Adil constantly at the mercy of the icicle rain, her mana sense tingled of a menacing danger, as her icy eyes darted for the frozen roots, teeth now spawned from the living green.

An innocent chuckle, then a mad shriek pierced her ears louder than any requiem for a soldier's funeral, as the witch covered her ears, gritted her teeth as her palm spawned ice to take over her drumming ears, a temporary relief against the Druid's defiling act as the green's caregiver. The gatling icicles slowed down, a hint of her focused formulas faltering against the Druid, whose roots sprang up again from around her to rush for the witch.

The art of quick weaving, however, came in a mere instant as the witch's quivering finger glid over the air in a straight line, birds of ice slid from the crack and unfurled their wings as they flew to liberate the screeching roots in a deathly freedom, the birds pounding themselves into sprays of dusts that withered the roots' movement, before halting them in their own soil as they nodded in defeat.

As the witch's hasted mind reformed the icicled seals, she gasped at the hazy crack admist the frozen roots. It was too late, as the iced veins around her and in front of her exploded into pollens, an intoixating aroma that smelled of lilies' sweetness purring in the air, contrasted with the sickly greens of fog furling around her. Her throat hitched as she felt pilk stomached in her lungs, the grieves of vampires, demons that suffered at the hands of the druid once again marring her sense of self, as her connection with her own mana wavered.

The druid closed her eyes as her sceptor loosened at the boring end, before her ears heard a tremble on the scarred soil, as her silvery gaze landed upon the gasping witch, both hands' gripping the staff as mana surged to the tip for a blast of icy explosion, before slamming it onto the ground.

The clink set off with a violent release, a split between unyielding frosts and corrupted greens, as as the green fog of hazard was washed over by the blueness of icy gusts, glittering dusts in the air as it swirled around the druid. Adil frowned, as her sceptors once again was clentched before her roots swung a gust that grazed through the fog.

Yet the dense coiling fog defied the wind, drifting and pooling around the druid. Frowning, the druid swung again, observing the same slowness that would spat the wind like a turtle to a hare, the lingering taste of freshly ice dusts that licked at her drippling ache. Illusion, Adil remarked, witnessing the serene scenery that masked the flowerly scent of the garden, and...the distant footsteps which echoed another coming of a barrage.

Strangely, no rains of icicles scattered around her, as the tiny giant stood alone admist the neverending blue fog. Adil sighed, her inability to control mana as precise as Demond, or to be born with an absurd amount of mana to bypass even control like the hero Alice, failing her now, as the fog taunted a vague murmur at the druid's inconvinience for her lacking talents for mana-detections.

However, that did not apply to her runes. She closed her eyes, on her right the soil and mud tapped a whirling wood and ice, among the flowers of the garden. She took a glance, hints of a deeper blueness glowed like a cradle in the dense, enthereal fog. The roots curled up beside her waist, readied at her beck and call to subdue the witch the moment she exposed herself.

And yet...that cradling glow only grew larger, as Adil's eyes widened, a butterfly of ice emerging with delicate and luminous wings. The pollens of icy dusts scattered as it landed softly on her cautious, rotted roots that could crush her body like a raindrop, the surreal beauty a dreamless splendors against the cracking decays of the greens.

Adil trembled, a belated revelation came upon her as she took another glance towards where the source of that butterfly, as her eyes narrowed with the sight of three birds gliding across the fog towards her shoulder. The roots once again whipped them through, swinging faster than sound as two birds exploded, the other detouring above the swing as it curved rightwards to her waist, yet the steady silvery gaze never left as another root splattered the wings, the dusts scattering upon the runes of the ground.

"...I crave a freedom that painted an artistic death."

Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com.

The druid elder trembled, words of power seething into her very soul, as the witch who weaved life now spoke of tales into existence. The fog thinned as it swirled towards the glowing blueness, a coming of a storm the druid must now faced.

"I sang a requiem that silenced an empty stage."

For the first time, the druid raised her staff as her lungs sprawled answers to her rotting children, the roots thickening as more spawned from the ground. The fog collasping into one another to unify a singularity, absorbed by a courage unmatched even against the Tyrant's wrath.

"I swayed a beauty that frenzied a scarlet vile."

Walls of rotting woods clung to the druid, as the now disspaited fog revealed a witch among the seas of flowers, the multiple colors blending....with the giant, icy, rose behind her, the frosty thorns surrounding it pulsing a throne of trascending majesty. The Druid heaved, the rotting biles of roots continued to pulse with fear at awe with the sanctity forever out of their reach.

"For in the court of frozen springs, I am the rhyme that defies thaw."

An ultimatum of a final stand shook the earth as the iced thorns sprung, as Adil's disciplined grip pointed her sceptor, her veined roots giggling with uncanny teeth eagerly dashed to meet the sharpened breathens. A perpetual dance as they meld, entangled, devoured, scattered, sprawled, froze, as the crystaline chimed of a never-ending confrontation. Roots against thorns, giggles against sharp edges, and hatred against resolve. Adil's gaze narrowed at the still-gasping witch, her fragile resistance against the fallen druid's poison would not last long. This is a battle not of equal but of attribution, and Adil had every advantages.

And yet, a revelated chip for freedom sounded from a corner, as Adil's silvery eyes wavered at the clogging taints of ice that weighted down her plump waist. Her silvery eyes finally trembled in shock, as she glanced downwards, a frosty bird, wings shimmering away a transparent cloak as she chewed away at her bloody side, a gaping, cold strike that tugged away her sanity, her control over the roots.

...invisibility magic. The illusion...the words hung in her mind as the druid's roots cowered before the thorns, as the radiated sharpness slipped through the cracks, the teeth no longer clattering of giggles but of a tired grief. And so, a wave of thorns unfolded before the druid, as it engulfed her in a chilling embrace, as if to cold down the tyrant's red flame that still marred her heart.

The ragged edges sunk not into the druid's skin but her cloth, the last mercy by the witch as an old friend, as now the thorned seats wrapped around her legs, limbs, arms, then her neck.

The witch's bare steps wobbled forward as they imprinted on the grass, her usual frosty trail following the lone victor, her straight hair fluttering lightly as the grass was imprinted the liberation that came with solemness. The witch stopped before her old friend, the silvery gaze still emotionaless and steady, as she muttered not plead, not mercy, not bargain, but a cold-hearted cruelty.

"Turn off your runes. Or I will make it hurt enough for you to let go."