The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis Chapter 9: How Wrong They Were

Screams tore through the forest as the fire I lit behind the army consud everything that I wanted.

The n, now long dead, dissolved into ashes as others, those on the outskirts, tried to run uphill, only to land in one of the pits that Shadow had dug, breaking their legs or their necks. I could hear them calling for others to co out and save them, but they had their own hardships to deal with.

With a glance over my shoulder, making sure that the route back to Yelan was well and truly blocked, I made my way further up the mountain where the remaining army unknowingly waited.

tal threads so fine that a spider would be jealous of the webs I weaved were placed between trees so that when n ran away from the burning woods, they were sliced and diced before they even realized that they were dead.

Piles of limbs and torsos started to form between trees even as the silver thread twinkled under the sunlight. Now behind , the sun illuminated the carnage on the mountain like my own special spotlight.

Each of my steps was unhurried as blood sprayed around like a fine mist.

The soldiers, not knowing what was going on, started to turn on each other, each one thinking their brother in arms was attacking them.

And through all the chaos, I ca to a standstill, leaning against a tree with Shadow at my feet.

Finally, one of the generals spotted . "There!" he bellowed. "Whoever kills her will get an extra 10 pieces of gold when we return." The others looked around frantically, trying to figure out where the general was pointing.

To make their lives easier, I stepped away from the tree and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The n froze, their bodies automatically turning toward the sound.

I knew what they saw... a little girl. Barefoot. Black dress torn. Blue eyes glowing faintly in the smoke. I didn’t know if I looked all that threatening, based on their reactions, but they really should have learned by now not to judge a book by its cover.

Determining that I wasn’t a threat, they all lunged at . So of the n let out a string of curses as they tripped over their own feet, trying to get to first, pushing their comrades to the side. I guess ten pieces of gold was a lot... or at least, enough to die for.

However, they, too, paused when they saw a halo of dark mist curled around , pouring from my fingers, thick and suffocating. The air took on a sweet scent, one that I recognized as my toxic powers. You would think that, given how deadly it was, it would sll like death or rot. Instead, it slled like a freshly baked apple crumble. The scent of cinnamon, apples, and just a touch of vanilla floated through the air, and I couldn’t help but smile as the n in front of willingly breathed it in.

One man was pushed forward, his armor heavier and more ornate than the others. His lips parted to speak—maybe a command, maybe a prayer—but I was done playing with my food.

The sun was starting to set, and I wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight.

With a flick of my fingers, the toxic mist that was as a part of as my very own limbs, crawled into his mouth, making its way into his lungs. He collapsed, his eyes wide as blood bubbling from his mouth.

The mist was slow but deliberate, but death always made sure to take its ti. It rolled through the trees like fog at dawn, seeping into mouths, eyes, cuts. Their skin began to lt. First, the face, then down to the neck, chest, arms...hands.

Sure, they tried to run, but their bones gave out long before their muscles and skin did.

So tried to cut themselves open to stop the spread. Others begged for rcy, wondering why they were being punished like this.

They didn’t get it, but that was fine.

The ground drank their blood until there was only silence.

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All that remained of the bodies were puddles of black sli that even the mountain refused to consu.

I walked through the ruins, inspecting the dead. So, those who didn’t get as much of my toxic powers as the others had, had tried to shield their faces. But it didn’t matter.

The mist didn’t care.

I raised my hand, drawing the last threads of black vapor back toward . The mont it touched my skin, it vanished—reabsorbed and waiting for the next ti I called on it.

Shadow padded to my side, licking at a scratch on his paw. I crouched and healed it with a brush of my fingers.

"Good boy," I whispered, rustling his fur.

Behind , sothing moved, a twig snapped.

Expecting an attack from behind, I spun around.

It was a child, no more than eleven. He looked at with fear, his dirt-streaked face had tears running down it as he stared at with wide eyes.

He had been hiding behind a rock near the tree line, watching everything that happened.

He didn’t speak. Just turned and ran—fast, stumbling, his breath hitching as he raced to my side of the mountain.

I didn’t bother to chase him. Rule number one of the Devil’s Playground was that children were not to be hard, under any circumstances. I might not obey all the rules, but Hattie’s? Those I listened to.

Shrugging my shoulders, I snapped my fingers, calling the fire to my palm. With a slight flick of my wrist, I sent it out, sweeping through the side of the mountain like a second wind, erasing the last traces of the bodies, bones, and blood. Only the supplies, my supplies, were left untouched.

What could I say, my powers knew well.

Tonight, I would get a good night’s sleep in my own bed, surrounded by my new supplies. And tomorrow? Tomorrow I’ll set up my own traps on this side.

This was my territory now. Not Yelan, not Daiyu. Mine.

And if either side thought it would be easy to take what was mine? I had no problems letting them know exactly how wrong they were.