The old church loomed in the night like a corpse left standing, its broken steeple stabbing at the fog-heavy sky. Eden had tracked the coven here, her instincts screaming that this was their nest.
She didn’t even make it through the front doors.
The moment her boots touched the threshold, the ground flared with blood-red sigils. Chains of light shot upward, wrapping her arms, her throat, her legs, and hurling her into the nave. She hit the stone floor hard, the air blasting out of her lungs.
Before she could recover, six robed figures stepped out of the shadows, their eyes glowing with crimson fire.
“Hunter,” one spat, her voice like broken glass. “You think you can undo centuries of work with a knife and a gun?”
Another crouched near Eden, her grin wide and rotten. “We’ve trapped bigger game than you. Your blood will feed the circle. Your soul will fuel her chains.”
Eden struggled, but the bindings held tight. They weren’t physical — they were woven into her very veins. The more she pulled, the tighter they burned.
Above her, suspended in midair, four hunters writhed silently in their chains, faces pale, their life force flickering like candle flames. The banshee hung at the center, screaming without sound, her body shuddering as the ritual drained her against her will.
The witches turned their backs to Eden, convinced she was no longer a threat, and resumed their chanting. The air thickened. Sigils blazed brighter. The banshee’s mouth opened in a soundless, endless scream.
Eden clenched her teeth. Think, dammit.
That’s when she heard it.
A sound that didn’t belong to this world.
A howl.
Low at first, then rising into an eerie, bone-rattling pitch that carried through the ruined windows and into the nave. The sound slithered into the stones, into the witches’ bones, into Eden’s blood.
Every candle in the church guttered. The air dropped ten degrees.
The witches froze.
Their leader’s chant faltered. “No…” she whispered, her face pale beneath the hood. “That can’t be.”
Another witch grabbed her arm. “A hellhound. One of them has been loosed.”
Panic swept through the coven. Their formation broke. They whispered frantically, looking toward the doors.
“It’s here for her,” one hissed, pointing at Eden. “Hellhounds only come for the damned. She’s marked — let it take her!”
“Yes,” another croaked, shoving Eden’s bound body forward like an offering. “Take her soul, beast, and spare us!”
The howl came again, closer now, rattling the glass from what windows still remained. Heavy footsteps padded across the ruined courtyard. The witches huddled together, their confidence gone, their ritual faltering.
The banshee stilled in her chains, her glowing eyes widening in recognition of the predator approaching.
Then the church doors groaned open.
The coven screamed as a massive shadow crawled into the nave, eyes burning like coals, fangs gleaming in the candlelight. The hellhound’s breath filled the space with sulfur and smoke, each exhale a growl that made the floor tremble.
Eden lowered her head, shaking with quiet laughter. The witches stared at her in confusion.
“You think this thing’s here to kill me?” she asked, her voice dripping with amusement.
Her eyes flicked open — one blazing demonic red, the other angelic white. Both fixed on the approaching hound.
“Hello, Eve,” Eden said softly, her lips curling into a smirk.
The hellhound snarled, her tail lashing, and padded directly to Eden. Her massive jaws opened—
And instead of devouring her, the hound nuzzled its smoky snout against Eden’s bound hands, growling like a loyal dog demanding a command.
Eden chuckled darkly. “Good girl. You found me.”
The witches staggered back, horror written across their faces. Their trap hadn’t captured prey.
It had baited the Devil’s own pet.
End of Chapter Four
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