"Who are you? Show yourself if you are brave enough!" Patricia roared at the woman in the whirlwind, raging over the forest of Zebulon.

Laughs hysterically, "You bastard! You shouldn't be in a rush to see me, because you are going to see me for the rest of eternity!"

Patricia groaned in pain as the whirlwind bashed her from every angle. The only thing keeping her alive was her firm grip on the tree beside her.

"I'm going to kill you! You kill witches and werewolves, then you should expect your death!" The woman responded. She was the head of the witches and was on a revenge mission against Patricia.

  "Damn it! Do you think you can kill me? Nah! I have killed a hundred and seven of your kind; you would be the right one," Patricia responded, and with her left hand, she brought out her shiny sword, made of werewolves and witches' blood, from its scabbard. The edges were so sharp that they could slice through a tree.

She took a deep breath and let go of the tree. The whirlwind hurled her around, and the head witch continued to laugh.

Patricia made no sound. She kept basking in it until she neared the enemies, and then, with all her might, swung her sword. It pierced through the head of the witch, who groaned in pain. Her wail pierced through the sky, and thunderclaps responded in approval.

The whirlwind threw Patricia into a corner and then stopped. The enemy was no more. She heaved a sigh of relief as she stood to her feet.

  "Damn it! I didn't kill her!" She exclaimed, dusted her behind, and then yanked her bag from the floor.

It was a dark night, and the sky was void of moons and stars, which were the main sources of light in the city. The bats and owls hovered around her head with a sharp cry as she went.

Patricia was the best werewolf hunter in America. Daunting, brave, and cruel.

Those describe her. At the mention of her name, every witch and werewolf must hide. The governor of the state had specially invited her to help reduce the population of werewolves, and she was doing just that.

 Three days. And he had killed twenty of them.

She was young and pretty, with chubby cheeks that made her older than her age. She clambered along with the twigs of leaves sitting peacefully on the forest floor.

She was exhausted and weary. Two days without rest were something only she could survive. She could hear cries. Long shrills that touched the recesses of her soul. The cries of bats, owls, and wolves graced the night, but one caught her fancy.

The thin cry of a human It sounded so far and yet so near. Her own nose began to sniff around in search of where the cry came from.

 "The east!" She exclaimed and broke into a light run. Clouds formed, and soon there was a heavy downpour of rain, but she relented.

She trudged on heavily as the rain flowed down her body. The sound drew near and nearby for a few seconds, and finally she came to a close.

All went silent, and the rain slowed abruptly.

"Am I hallucinating? I thought I heard some sounds from here." She wondered and was about to leave when she heard a long, sarcastic laugh that sent chills down her spine.

  "Who are you?" She asked, reaching for her small Danish gun in her bag.

No response came.

"I said, Who are you?" She asked with a loud, formidable voice.

"You thought you got rid of me already? Nah! Ask around! They know me. I am the head of the witches in the world, and there's no one above me. I reign supreme," was the shrill response she got. There was still no one in sight.

"Oh, it's you again! Are you scared? I thought you called yourself the head of the witches? I thought you claimed to be powerful."Patrica shot back as she cocked her gun in anticipation of what was going to happen.

  "Scared? And who should I be scared of? You? Nah! You are nothing but a minuscule part of my problem, and I promise to take care of you myself."The head witch responded and raised a wind of dust, carrying twigs, leaves, and others with it. She shoved it at Patricia, who tried to dodge it to no avail. It hit her in the face, and she fell to the floor with a loud shout.

  "My eyes! My eyes!" She screamed as the witch kept on heaping dust upon dust on her until she was six feet covered.

She gave a long, shrill sound and disappeared.

It was dark and blurry. Skulls of all shapes, classes, and weights could be seen hanging from the long ceiling.

A long road led into an enclosure where lay the bodies of kings, long dead. Their remains sat unperturbed, with no one to upset them. It was an offense punishable by death to see anyone lower than a beta, a xyn, and a high-ranking officer in the place.

The wall was covered with red blood that was used in making various diagrams. It was creepy, and creepy means death. It was death-filled.

The long, terrifying cries of witches as they flew adorned the air. The howls of wolves made music in the ear of the listener. "Ooooo."

"Long live King Lucifer! Long live!" The voices of over ten thousand filled the air as they assembled in the large space in the underworld.

"Thank you, my people! All hail! And long live Hades and the underworld," Lucifer responded in a loud baritone voice that shook the place to its foundation.

"I have heard your cries so much that they rented the sky and caused fire and brimstone. I have also met the council, and we decided to head to earth to kill the unpopular witch Hunter, who has for a long time been killing witches and werewolves," he said as he stared into over ten thousand pairs of eyes.

"Long live the king!

 "Long live!

"Long live the underworld!

 "Long live!" Their response filled the air, and the shrill sounds of laughter echoed with might throughout the land.