CH1113 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1113: A Third Wheel

Joe stammered something that wasn’t quite a word. His face moved through several expressions before settling on the one that sits just before understanding.

How? That was the question. How is this possible?

Farrina’s voice steadied first. “You should have been killed during the Months of Demons. And God’s Punishment Warriors are devoted warriors who sacrificed themselves to God. They would never — ”

“Speak?” the woman cut in. She moved to the railing of the bed and leaned against it. “That has nothing to do with faith. They don’t speak because they’ve been brainwashed. Otherwise we can’t use the bodies.”

Use their bodies.

“I don’t understand — ”

“Let me ask you something first.” The woman’s voice was even, neither kind nor unkind. “How did the church describe the God’s Punishment Army?”

Joe answered — he had always been the quicker one, quick to gather and arrange — his voice fervent in the way of someone reciting something important: “Warriors who’d received God’s power. The mortal enemy of witches. The church’s greatest hope. Only faithful and fearless believers could receive the honor.” He paused. “I thought for a long time that saving the world meant stopping the demonic beasts from the Great Rupture. After I read Tucker Torr’s last will, I understood it was the demons. The Battle of Divine Will.”

“So,” Farrina said, completing the thought, “the God’s Punishment Army is the army built to fight demons. Only the Prival Council knew the incarnation ceremony. And now Roland Wimbledon has destroyed everything.”

“Very touching,” the woman said. A smile played at the corner of her mouth, the kind that isn’t amused so much as resigned. “Unfortunately, none of it is true. The God’s Punishment Army was always a tool to suppress witches. The original purpose — saving the human race — wasn’t the church’s idea. It was a witch’s.”

Farrina opened her mouth. Closed it. The woman standing in front of her was Enova. The Enova. She’d built her whole understanding of what it meant to be a warrior around that face in the hall.

Joe said quietly, “Could you tell us more?”

“I’ll satisfy your curiosity.” The woman uncrossed her arms. “Since you asked.”


When she finished, Farrina’s hands were fists.

She hadn’t noticed. She looked down now and saw the blood — her broken fingers had split open again, the wounds she’d been trying not to think about, now seeping through the bandages.

Four hundred years of living in this woman. The Union of witches that had founded the four kingdoms. The church as an offshoot, a corruption, a long slow betrayal of the thing it had begun as. The incarnation ceremony — the process Farrina had yearned for, trained for, held up as the highest possible honor — was a method for providing witches with shells. Empty vessels. Brainwashed. Harvested.

Fight her, said something in her chest. This is lies. This is profanity against everything sacred.

She opened her mouth.

And nothing came out.

Because the story fit. Every anomaly she had filed away and stopped thinking about — the God’s Punishment Warriors who had disappeared, the female bodies drained of blood found near the old Holy City, the large monasteries, the Pure Witches who looked indistinguishable from ordinary witches — all of it arranged itself around this account like bones around a spine.

And the power. Two God’s Punishment Witches had broken Lorenzo’s castle in minutes. An unconscious shell was weaker than a conscious woman. Any engineer of war could see what the church had refused to see: if you needed the strongest possible army against demons, you would arm your witches and put them in the field. Instead, the church had made sure no witch ever received the incarnation. Made sure the warriors were hollow and obedient and owned.

Because the church did not want soldiers it couldn’t control.

The reasoning arrived without her asking for it. She could not unthink it once it came.

Joe asked, voice careful as someone probing ice: “How many like you are there in Neverwinter?”

“Several hundred,” the woman said, shrugging. “We use bodies donated by the church. Don’t be alarmed if you see someone you recognize.”

Farrina understood the question. No witch could inhabit hundreds of vessels simultaneously. The woman was telling them the truth. Not all of the God’s Punishment Warriors were ancient witches. Most were still shells — the original holders long dead, their donated bodies serving a different purpose now.

The world she had built herself inside — the scaffolding of obligation, of being needed, of meaning something — came apart in her chest like a wall that had been wet for years.

There is something I can do, she thought. There must be something.

“The church can rectify this,” she said. Each word cost something. “It can still make things right. You need bodies to create God’s Punishment Witches — the ceremony, the Magic Blood. Only the church could do that. For example — ” She made herself say it. “I could offer mine.”

Joe’s sharp intake of air.

The woman watched her. Not with contempt, exactly. Something more complicated. “You don’t mind losing your mind?”

“If it saves the human race — ”

“Interesting,” the woman said, and the word landed with a flat finality that Farrina recognized as the shape of bad news. “But we don’t need God’s Punishment Witches anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t work.” She spread her hands, a gesture of simple fact. “Four hundred years ago, perhaps. But the demons have advanced. God’s Punishment Witches can’t defeat them. That’s why all of us now support the King of Graycastle.”

Farrina’s mouth was open. No phrases formed.

“Living witches — however weak — become powerful once they find the right path.” The woman rose and moved toward the door. “King Roland discovered that ordinary witches don’t need magic blood or a shell to grow strong. They can learn. Improve. Become extraordinary through practice.” She paused with one hand on the door frame. “No witch would sacrifice herself for your shell now. It isn’t worth it.”

She looked back once.

“Let me be direct with you,” she said. “The church was a mistake from the beginning.”

The door closed.

Farrina heard something crack deep inside — not a sound, not quite — more like the particular silence after a wall comes down.

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