Then Ethan saw it.
Laurel was retreating, step by careful step, edging toward Enid's unmoving body. Each movement was calculated, deliberate. Her hand slid into her pocket, fingers curling around something hidden from sight.
She was going to use Enid again—turn her into a shield.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, the realization hitting instantly.
"Do you think I'm blind?" he said.
He snapped his fingers.
Laurel was ripped off her feet and slammed hard into the ceiling, the impact driving the breath from her lungs.
At the same time, Enid's body was wrenched free, pulled cleanly through the air.
Wednesday caught her instinctively, arms tightening around Enid as she stumbled back a step, keeping her upright.
Laurel hit the floor in a broken heap, gasping, her plan shattered in a single motion.
He hadn't used it earlier for one reason alone.
The needle had been too close to Enid's neck. Even the slightest force, a fraction of a second mistimed, and the poison would have gone in. He wouldn't gamble with her life—not even for certainty.
Now the distance was gone.
So was Laurel's leverage.
Crackstone turned his attention fully to Wednesday, his gaze sharp with old, inherited hatred. Laurel's muffled groans from the floor didn't earn so much as a glance.
Why would they?
He had never cared for his allies-he is the biggest self-centered ashole you can find. Even the one who had resurrected him was already irrelevant. To him, she was expendable.
"I am of your blood," Laurel said, forcing the words out through the pain. "I summoned you to rid the world of outcasts once and for all. And he is the major obstacle." She pointed at Ethan, spite still burning in her eyes.
She was shaking, barely able to stand, but stubborn enough to keep clinging to her revenge. Pain meant nothing to her now.
What Laurel didn't understand—what she had never understood—was that her hero was a self-centered asshole.
Crackstone lifted his staff, his hollow gaze locking onto her.
"Goody Addams," he intoned. "You haunt me still. You will suffer the same fate you bequeathed me."
Ethan didn't flinch. He shifted closer, steadying Wednesday when he noticed the blood at her hairline.
"Bold speech for someone who still has to touch us first," he said flatly. Then, quieter, to her, "You standing, or do you want a medical break?"
Wednesday wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, unimpressed.
"No. I'm far more interested in dismantling this ancestor–descendant partnership."
"Good," Ethan said. He lifted Enid effortlessly, settling her onto his back, protective even now.
Metal shrieked.
A sword tore free from the crypt wall, slicing through the air and landing perfectly in Wednesday's grasp. She didn't question it. She never did.
Crackstone's face twisted with rage.
"You dare ignore me?" he roared, staff slamming down. "You shall burn in hellfire!"
Wednesday tightened her grip on the sword, eyes cold, focused.
"History lesson," she said. "You don't scare me."
Crackstone slammed his staff into the stone.
Fire tore up from the ground in a violent ring, flames spiraling outward and sealing the crypt in a blazing circle. Heat rolled through the chamber. Laurel screamed once, then scrambled backward, dragging herself behind the sarcophagus as embers rained down.
Ethan reacted instantly. His hand snapped up, power flaring, and an invisible barrier curved around them. The fire crashed against it, splitting and curling away like water against glass.
For a moment, Crackstone saw only flames.
Then—
Movement.
A pressure shift at his right.
Ethan burst through the fire, red lightning crawling over his skin, his foot already rising—fast, brutal, aimed straight for Crackstone's face.
Crackstone blocked just in time.
Staff met strike.
The impact detonated in a sharp shockwave, fire ripping apart around them, stone dust blasting outward. Crackstone didn't stumble. He smiled.
"Is that all?" he sneered.
"You forgot something," Ethan said calmly.
From the left,
Steel sang.
Wednesday came out of the smoke, sword arcing clean and precise toward Crackstone's chest. No hesitation. No fear.
Crackstone snarled and unleashed a telekinetic blast.
The force slammed into both of them.
Ethan hit the ground first, boots skidding across stone—but he twisted mid-fall, catching Wednesday instinctively, absorbing the impact with his body. He landed hard, still on his feet.
Enid clung to his back. Wednesday was in his arms.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled except the fire.
Ethan exhaled slowly. "He's stronger than I expected."
That kick had carried almost his full power, laced with blood lightning—but he hadn't expected Crackstone's body to be nearly as strong as his own.
"Yes," Wednesday said, already adjusting her grip on the sword. "And fighting him in a confined space will be inefficient."
Crackstone raised his staff again, flames coiling tighter.
Wednesday's eyes flicked toward the stairway, then back to the monster.
"So we don't."
Ethan stepped backward, deliberate, calculating—drawing Crackstone's attention, his rage.
"Outside," he said.
And Crackstone, furious and arrogant, followed.
"Where do you think you're running, spawn of filth?" he thundered, his voice rolling through the crypt as fire crawled after him. "You will keep burning in hellfire until judgment is complete."
They burst out of the crypt into the woods.
Crackstone followed, stopping just beyond the entrance. He looked around at the trees, the darkness, the open ground—and sneered.
"You are unchanged," he said, his voice heavy with old venom. "In my time, you hid in forests like vermin. You still run. You still cower."
He raised his staff, embers crawling along its length.
"You think this wilderness will save you? I will drown it in hellfire and drag you back for judgment."
Before he could take another step—
A tree tore free from the ground.
Roots ripped out in a spray of dirt, the trunk wrenching sideways through the air and slamming into Crackstone with crushing force.
CRACK—BOOM.
The impact hurled him through brush and stone, bark exploding, the ground shuddering as he disappeared into the woods.
Ethan lowered his hand.
"No," he said evenly. "Who says we're hiding? We're just deciding where you'll die."
*****
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