As Jack approached the altar, he nodded politely to the goblin bridesmaid. She returned his gaze with undisguised misery. Turning to the witch, he forced a warm smile, gazing adoringly into the void of her hollow eye sockets.

  Inside, he screamed.

  Somewhere in the shadows, an organ groaned to life, its keys grinding out a dark and sinister melody that grew deeper with every note. The dirge vibrated through Jack’s chest, a slow, deliberate descent into dissonance that made his teeth ache. The music stopped with a final, jarring chord, leaving a suffocating silence.

  Only Kleo’s muffled protests broke the stillness.

  The officiant readjusted his monocle, cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak.

  Jack moved before the first word left the creature's lips. With all his strength, he drove the dagger into the witch’s chest, directed straight at the spot where her heart should be.

  For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath.

  The witch barely flinched. Her hollow sockets lowered to the blade embedded in her chest, and she tilted her head with detached curiosity as though studying some peculiar insect. With deliberate ease, she gripped Jack’s wrist, plucked the blade from her body, and dropped it to the floor.

  Jack’s grin of triumph faltered, then crumbled as her other hand shot out like lightning, landing a bone-crunching blow to his throat. He stumbled to his knees, wheezing, his lungs desperate for air.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  The witch’s spell shattered, its unseen threads unraveling with an audible crack. The rats in the pews shrieked in unison, scattering in a chaotic frenzy, heading for the exits. The officiant vanished in a puff and stench of sulfuric smoke, his hefty tome hitting the floor with a dusty thud. The bridesmaid screamed, yanking off her corsage and tossing the bouquet over her shoulder as she sprinted for the door.

  The world twisted around them as the illusion dissolved. The pews vanished, the crimson carpet faded, and Jack and Kleo hit the cold stone floor with unceremonious thuds. Jack clutched at his throat with one hand, the other scrambling for his dagger. His vision swam as his lungs fought for air, but he jerked his head, gasping, his body rebelling against the void of breath.

  Kleo's gag and bonds melted away, and she sprang to her feet with practiced ease despite her initial disorientation. Her hand instinctively found her dagger, and with a twirl of her fingers, she summoned a radiant blue sheen that wrapped her body like armor.

  A discerning eye would have noticed the faint shimmer also extended to Jack, a flicker of protection born from their bond. But Jack, still struggling to pull air into his empty lungs, was far too preoccupied to notice.

  Kleo’s eyes locked onto the witch, who now stood at full height, her grotesque form radiating dark energy. Her lips curled into a blackened smile as she raised one hand, dark tendrils snaking outward toward them.

  “Get up, Jack,” Kleo growled, her voice sharp and commanding, as she adjusted her stance. Her free hand formed a sigil, its light growing with intensity.

  “Your new girlfriend is about to get put in her place.”

  After being caught in the spell and dragged down the aisle, Kleo sat writhing against the restraints, fury boiling beneath the surface of the spell’s control. These weren't ordinary bonds—they were an intrinsic part of the spell animating this grotesque parody of a wedding. Her mana pulsed within her, undiminished yet ineffective against the web of enchantment. It was as if her role in this charade had been stitched into the spell, forcing her into passive submission.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  She stole a glance at Jack, standing on the alter. She was still upset about the dopey grin locked on his face when she’d been dragged past him. She wanted to scream at him, demanding to know how he could be so complicit in this madness. But deep down, she knew better. This wasn’t Jack. The spell had him, too.

  That would be bad, she thought. Goddess, I hope he is faking…

  Her focus wavered as she caught the beady eyes of the rats sitting in the pews across from her. They stared with expressions of harsh disapproval—as if she were the one ruining their special day. She might have stuck her tongue out at them if her mouth hadn't been bound. Although she didn’t want to stoop to Jack’s level of antics, sometimes maturity felt overrated.

  Behind Jack, the bridesmaid caught her attention—a pitiful, goblin-like creature whose wide, pleading eyes flicked toward Kleo. She was mouthing the same two words, Help me, over and over. Despite the grotesque scene, Kleo couldn’t help but find the bridesmaid’s dress—a tasteful combination of crimson and black, wonderfully charming.

  The officiant at the altar cleared his throat, a deep, rumbling sound reverberating through the silent hall. As he opened the ancient tome and prepared to speak, Jack moved. The dagger gifted by the Woog chieftain appeared in his hand, the polished blade catching the dim light as he thrust it into the witch’s chest. Kleo’s heart leapt into her throat, a fierce surge of triumph washing over her.

  Eat that bitch.

  But the witch barely reacted.

  Her pale, deathly face tilted downward, examining the blade with mild curiosity, then faint disgust. Slowly, she pulled it from her chest as though it were no more than a minor inconvenience. The moment stretched unbearably long as her lifeless black eyes turned to Jack. His victorious grin melted into an expression of dawning horror.

  The witch struck with speed, her bony hand a blur, slamming into Jack’s throat. The impact was so brutal that Kleo winced involuntarily. Jack staggered to his knees, clutching his neck, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for air.

  Part of her ached for him—her instincts to protect him flaring—but another part, darker and less forgiving, whispered that maybe it was a lesson he had coming. The thought burned her with guilt even as it flickered through her mind.

  Then, without warning, the spell shattered.

  She felt the restraints vanish, along with the pew, leaving her to drop flat and hard onto her backside. Around her, the choreographed illusion unraveled. Guests scrambled in every direction. Rats squealed, fleeing the pews, as their elaborate outfits unraveled into nothingness. The bridesmaid screamed as her elegant dress faded, revealing endless rolls of bare, glistening flesh. Without hesitation, she bolted for the door, tossing her bouquet over her shoulder in panic.

  Kleo’s instincts kicked in. Her hand shot out, catching the bouquet mid-air without thinking. She studied it for a moment—a macabre arrangement of black roses and twisted thorns—before tossing it to the floor with a shrug.

  "I liked your dress," she called after the fleeing bridesmaid, her tone sincere. Then, shaking off the absurdity of the moment, she stood.

  Her dagger came to hand, and with a whispered incantation, radiant blue armor shimmered to life around her. It clung to her like a second skin; this aspect of her Demana magic refined into an art form. She could feel its protection seeping into her, steadying her breathing, sharpening her focus.

  Jack still sat on the floor, his face pale and strained as he clawed at his throat. His breaths came in shallow, rasping gasps, his body trembling with the effort.

  “Jack,” she said, sparing him a glance. “Get up when you can. If not—well, don’t die, okay?”

  Her focus returned to the witch. She wove a second spell with her offhand, channeling her mana into the blade. The dagger began to glow with an intense, angelic aura that illuminated the room with a stark white light, a brilliant contrast to the dark force of the witch.

  This wasn’t a mere blade anymore—it was a tool of judgment, infused with Demana magic and able to pierce through the essence of darkness itself.

  This ends here, Kleo thought, her eyes narrowing as she took her first step forward.

  The witch turned, her lips curling into a hideous smile. This wouldn’t be easy, but Kleo felt hope for the first time. She had Jack—broken and breathless but alive—and in her hand, the radiant power of her blade.

  Jack’s new girlfriend was about to get shanked.

  She hoped it would be enough.

  It had to be enough.