Jaegar ran towards Veronica and Ewen after giving a brief glance towards his grandmother. He was worried that she might have trouble dealing with Elsbeth. But he listened to her and left.
Jaegar had reached the Arcnytes duo swiftly, and he shot a laigur with a lightning bolt, which was attacking Ewen as soon as he reached.
Veronica looked at Jaegar and exclaid, "Jaegar!!"
"We can talk later; first, we need to deal with them," Jaegar snapped his fingers and said to her. When he snapped, two bolts of lightning struck the two n who were attacking them.
Veronica nodded, and Ewen groaned in frustration.
Elsbeth and Angelina now stood opposite each other. The shadow creatures were no longer present, as Elsbeth retracted them a while ago when the black amalgam was killed.
The marketplace trembled as two of the most formidable witches in generations prepared to unleash their full magical might upon each other.
Angelina Blackwood, forr Reverend Witch of the Spire, stood with the poise of years of refined mastery, while Elsbeth radiated the wild, unpredictable energy of revolutionary magical innovation.
The very air between them seed to thicken with anticipation, reality itself preparing for the collision of arcane forces that would reshape the battlefield.
Angelina’s hands began to weave intricate patterns in the air, each gesture carrying the weight of decades spent mastering the fundantal principles of witchcraft.
The space around her shimred as she drew upon the deepest wells of her arcane knowledge—arts that predated the modern magical academies, techniques passed down through generations of Spire witches who had guarded arcane secrets for millennia.
"You always were too conventional, Angelina," Elsbeth taunted, shadows coiling around her arms like living serpents. Her magic was chaos given form, breaking rules that had stood unchallenged for centuries. "Too locked in the dusty traditions of your precious Spire."
Angelina’s response ca not in words but in pure magical expression.
Silver light erupted from her fingertips—not the crude, destructive force that lesser witches might employ, but refined energy that sliced through the very concept of Elsbeth’s shadow armour.
The attack forced the witch to retreat several steps, her confident smirk faltering as she reassessed her opponent.
"Your grandson, did you tell him the truth about his birth?" Elsbeth taunted.
The whole bande de serpents was aware of the relationship between Angelina and Augusta. They were aware that Augusta was the daughter of Angelina.
Angelina’s expression twisted. She was angry.
Eradarin, who was fighting the blackhound wizards, suddenly sensed sothing and turned to look at Angelina.
"Oh no, this is bad!" he said.
Ironshade, who was by his side, followed his gaze and asked, "What happened?"
"Angelina is angry. And it is not a good thing," Eradarin said, feeling extrely tense.
Angelina’s voice changed, and it dripped with a heavy aura. "You took my daughter away."
The aura around her changed, too; everybody could sense the change in the atmosphere, and their individual battles had halted.
They were looking at Angelina, and they could tell that she was dangerous.
Jaegar turned to look at Angelina and was surprised to see the look on her face. It was his first ti seeing her angry.
Angelina continued, "Now you co and try to take my grandson away too."
"I’ve had enough of your gas, and I will finish you all myself."
Her arcane energy instantly shot up as soon as she finished talking.
The council of witches—they were all looking at her with bewildernt. And even the ones up in the spires, on the high floors, could see the arcane energy amassing in the streets.
Evanore and Yasmine called out, "Mother." It had been a long ti since they had seen their Reverend witch use her full power.
Elsbeth was cracking. She was amused, seeing the look on Angelina’s face.
The true battle began with Elsbeth’s counterattack.
Darkness erupted from every surface around her—not rely the absence of light, but living shadow that possessed its own malevolent intelligence. The shadows writhed and twisted, forming tentacles of pure void that lashed out toward Angelina with devastating speed. Each tendril moved independently, creating a web of darkness that sought to ensnare the forr Reverend Witch from multiple angles.
Angelina’s response was poetry in motion. Her hands traced linear patterns that seed to exist in dinsions beyond normal perception, each movent creating barriers of crystalline light that intercepted the shadow tentacles. Where darkness t her conjured barriers, neither force imdiately prevailed—instead, they engaged in a fundantal struggle at the molecular level of magical reality.
But Angelina was not content to rely defend. As her left hand maintained the protective barriers, her right hand began weaving an offensive spell of breathtaking complexity. The incantation she whispered was in the ancient tongue of the First Witches, words that had not been spoken aloud for over two centuries. The syllables themselves seed to carry weight, each one reshaping the magical landscape around her.
The spell manifested as a spiral of pure white fla—not fire in any conventional sense, but the essence of purification given destructive form. It cut through Elsbeth’s shadow network like a blade through silk, unmaking each tendril it touched. The fla sought not to burn but to restore, returning the corrupted darkness to its original state of neutral magical energy.
Elsbeth’s eyes widened as she recognized the magnitude of what Angelina had just accomplished.
"The Purification Spirity lights," she breathed, genuine respect creeping into her voice despite their enmity. "I thought that art was lost when the Seventh Spire fell."
"The Spire rembers what others forget," Angelina replied, her voice carrying the weight of institutional mory. But even as she spoke, she was preparing her next assault. The Purification Spiral had been rely the opening movent of a magical symphony she intended to conduct with devastating precision.
Elsbeth responded by abandoning subtlety entirely. She threw back her head and uttered a primal scream that resonated not with her vocal cords but with the very fabric. The sound created ripples in the air—visible distortions that spread outward like waves on water. Where these distortions passed, the fundantal laws of magic began to break down.
Gravity beca negotiable.
Light bent in impossible directions.
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