The poor, sweet, innocent humans that currently inhabited the town had no chance. It was the moral 1920s when wealth and status were everything. A militant, propriety was expected if one was to survive their human world. In their time, they believed skin color determined the value of the human soul, who went up, who went down. If only someone told them souls were color and light, regardless of the shell they wore, all souls were colored.
The rich and the greedy who abused what they deemed ‘lower class’ were the first to feel the flames of hell lick their feet. All those countless hours they spent in their churches made no, never mind.
Even if their God was around, the constant weekly sins condemned them. He or She would have been insulted by the lie they maintained. The extravagant buildings they erected in God’s name, while fellow humans waste away on the street, disgusting. Though Raveena had no love for the species of man; she held some compassion for life.
The witch, like God, could see everything. Every lie they told on Sunday and the games they played throughout the week.
Some small part of her pitied them for their ignorance and fragility. The immortal part of her hated them and was disgusted with their materialistic stupidity. Greedy, empty, shells of flesh, bone, and sinew. Regardless of how her kind and the kind of others like her, presented themselves, they continued to deny their existence. Even the times of active infestation, she had seen humans deny what was happening. It puzzled her though because they preached about a belief in a higher supernatural power but denied the existence of evil. Universally these opposing forces have always been; good and evil.
No wonder it was easy for humans to create and peddle mass genocide. The years she had watched the uncivilized ways they planned to eradicate one another and often did, masquerading it behind some political agenda.
Were they so arrogant to believe it was their idea? The implements of torture, death, and war. These were given to mortals; whispered in their ear during the night. When the world was harsh and cold; behind stone walls, they whispered. Humans were smarter during the medieval era. They were rightfully superstitious and at least mildly aware of the evil beyond the reach of the light.
A few evil things had made their way to the Terra Realm. Fortunately for the human race, they were corporeal evil. Nothing like the pack. Until she eradicated them, she had no way to intervene in their undoing.
The humane race, so young, nieve to the facts of realms. They truly believed their world was the only reality. The monsters of their stories paled in comparison to the reality of some of the realms. Things that made the pack look friendly. Even if could break their glamour, and reveal their true form; none of it would matter.
King Solomon was the last mortal to come close to discovering the truth. If man had continued their fascination with Alchemy and ritual magic, they may have armed themselves from the demons. Though their power would be weak in comparison. As a whole, they may stand a chance.
A few mortal witches; though their knowledge is diluted; knew enough to keep them out. The Terra witch’s collection of sigils, oils, herbs, crystals, and spells, were enough to bar them for a moment. Provided they kept up on everything, they could keep safe. Crosses and the Bible of the Christian faith had no effect.
For the pack. This was the slaughter of the innocent. However, no blood on the door would save them from death. They were taking more than the firstborn. Unlike the angel of death, their deaths were not peaceful. It was the twenties and man was in the early years of technology. Their morals were defined by the tome of the false god-words written and twisted by man. These blind fools judged only by what they could see and touch.
The witch glided across the Medial, her movements as if flowing through water. They were slow and fluid. That was the rule of physics in the realm. Man called it gravity; here it was as if she was living above a black hole and every small movement was inhibited by its pull. The opposing force, one she had no way to describe; made the bottom of her cloak hover just above her feet as she moved. Her power made no difference against these forces.
Raveena she could sense an imminent attack on the horizon. The familiar feel of fish hooks lodged in her stomach, digging into her as it pulled. Her body began to vibrate as if a hornet’s nest had been stirred. Raveena felt the cold pass across her back as if winter was coming suddenly. She turned on her heels, locating the source of the cold; her mirrors having been tuned to sense their energy. Raveena moved toward a mirror in the southern quadrant. A blanket of dark clouds moving across the top of the mirror.
Raveena sighed, knowing what was about to happen and she passed her hand across its liquid surface. Her iron gauntlet clinked lightly as she moved. The surface rippled and a new image was conjured. An intricate sign at the edge of a quaint town, Maryvale, established 1808, population 1200.
Every soul would be dead by morning and no one would ever know what happened or even that Maryvale had ever existed. It was the same as all the other towns and civilizations-wiped from memory. Perhaps it was the reason that the pack had ensured the burning of Alexandria. Only specific documents and writings of the places they once inhabited. The pack did the same thing to this day, burn the crops and salt the earth. A process she was forced to watch in abject horror. It was her self-punishment for her role in their escape from Demornacte.
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