She goes on a mission

The moon hung low in the sky over the High Mountains, its pale light illuminating the frost-covered peaks and casting long shadows across Morgan's imposing palace. The structure was carved into the mountainside, its spires reaching into the clouds like the talons of some ancient beast.

Athena Starr crouched in the shadows just beyond the gates, her heart steady as a drumbeat. Her tactical suit clung to her body like a second skin, the black leather glistening faintly in the moonlight. The tight material accentuated her every curve, but it was more than a seductive design—it was armor, flexible yet resilient, built to enhance her natural agility and speed. She moved like a shadow, silent and deliberate, her violet-blue eyes scanning the grounds as she approached the palace.

Athena knew Morgan would be alone in her court tonight. The timing was perfect. The Witch Queen’s power was undeniable, but without her guards or the protection of her inner sanctum’s wards, she would be ****.

Slipping through the grand arched doorway, Athena's boots made no sound on the polished obsidian floors. The chamber she entered was cavernous, lit by torches that cast flickering shadows on the walls. At the far end of the room, seated languidly on a throne carved from black stone, was Morgan herself.

The Witch Queen.

Morgan was strikingly beautiful, her crimson hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of fire. Her emerald-green eyes glittered with an unnatural glow, her lips curled into a knowing smile. She wore a dark gown that clung to her slender frame, the fabric shimmering like oil on water.

“Ah,” Morgan purred, her voice a silky whisper that echoed in the chamber. “The goddess herself, sneaking into my domain like a common thief. How flattering.”

Athena froze for a moment, her sharp gaze locking onto Morgan's. She had been careful—too careful. How had Morgan sensed her?

“Spare me the pleasantries, Morgan,” Athena replied, stepping out of the shadows with a confidence that belied the tension in her muscles. “You know why I’m here.”

Morgan rose from her throne, her movements fluid and deliberate. In one hand, she held a long, slender cane, its tip glowing faintly with runes etched in blood-red light. Coiled at her side was a whip of braided leather, its surface shimmering with a magical aura.

“Oh, I do,” Morgan said, a smirk playing on her lips. “You came to take me, didn’t you? How bold, how arrogant. Tell me, Athena, did you really think you could outwit me in my own palace?”

Athena lunged forward, her movements swift as lightning. She aimed for Morgan’s throat, her hands ready to disable the witch with a single blow, but Morgan was faster than she looked. With a flick of her wrist, the whip snapped through the air, striking Athena’s arm and forcing her to retreat.

The goddess hissed in pain, clutching her forearm as the leather left a searing mark on her suit.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Morgan taunted, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I expected more from a goddess.”

Athena didn’t respond. Instead, she shifted her weight, circling Morgan like a predator stalking its prey. The Witch Queen mirrored her movements, the whip coiled loosely in one hand while the cane rested in the other.

When Athena lunged again, she anticipated the whip, dodging to the side and closing the distance between them. But Morgan was ready. She swung the cane in a tight arc, the glowing runes flaring as it connected with Athena’s ribs. The blow sent the goddess stumbling back, a sharp pain radiating through her side.

Morgan’s laugh was rich and mocking. “Did you really think you could win this, darling? This is my court, my rules.”

Athena gritted her teeth, her mind racing. She couldn’t afford to let Morgan dominate the fight. With a burst of speed, she surged forward, dodging the whip’s strike and grabbing the cane mid-swing. The two women grappled, their bodies pressed close as they struggled for control of the weapon.

“Impressive,” Morgan murmured, her breath warm against Athena’s ear. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”

With a surge of magical energy, Morgan pushed Athena back, sending her sprawling onto the cold floor. Before Athena could recover, the whip lashed out again, wrapping around her wrist and pulling her arm taut.

Morgan loomed over her, the smirk on her lips turning predatory. “Poor little goddess,” she cooed, tightening the whip’s hold. “Did you really think you could take me?”

Athena’s eyes blazed with defiance. Despite the pain, she planted her boots firmly on the ground and yanked hard on the whip, pulling Morgan off balance. In a flash, Athena was on her feet again, her fist connecting with the Witch Queen’s jaw in a powerful uppercut.

Morgan staggered back, her lip split and her expression no longer amused. “You’ll pay for that,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

The fight continued, a deadly dance of whip and cane against raw strength and agility. Athena’s leather suit gleamed with sweat under the flickering torchlight, her body a blur of movement as she dodged and countered Morgan’s attacks.

Morgan, for her part, was relentless, her whip cracking through the air with lethal precision, her cane glowing brighter with each strike.

The two women were evenly matched, their battle shaking the very foundations of the court. But Athena knew she couldn’t afford to let this drag on. She needed to end it—fast.