Ignis Ultionis

It was the night after Halloween. The autumn air was bitter, contrasting against the stars twinkling in the dark, clear sky. The moonlight illuminated the lone cat's black fur as she trotted through the woods, weaving between deciduous trees. Fallen leaves barely got the chance to be crushed under her paws, practically gliding across the forest floor as light as a feather. She moved with purpose, a desire to complete a mission which had been burning in her soul since the previous year's night of tricks and treats.

“Not every witch is wicked.” That was what her witch, Hestia, always used to say. The woman believed in kindness with all of her heart. It never stopped her from pulling harmless pranks or cooking more dangerous potions - albeit only for emergencies - but it kept her away from the lifestyle many witches around the world abided by. She was lucky to have been taken in by such a loving soul.

The night she was found curled up under a lone streetlamp, shivering in the cold, before being brought to a fireplace within a cozy home... it was the most hopeful she had ever been in her life. Her name was set in stone while she gazed into the flames, inspired by the peculiar red blaze marking on her face: Pyrrha.

And now, those very flames raged on in her heart, sparking with every step she took.

Finally, the wretched hut came into view. Pyrrha leapt into the branches of a pine tree, as her path led into a clearing where the hut was situated, complete with wooden fencing surrounding all but the front side. She perched on her branch of choice, glaring at the structure with fierce copper eyes. It was the home of the witch responsible for her lonely state, the one who left her wandering alone just as her life started.

She was once told by Hestia not to worry about her; that she wouldn't hurt them, no matter what she said. The witch opposing them was a jealous sort, hoarding recipes with her lion familiar. She was known to bluff often, being too much of a recluse to act on her threats. Pyrrha only wished it remained true. There was duality to nighttime, for it was on another night she watched as Hestia closed her eyes for the last time.

The witch's lion was pacing in front of the entrance; from past observations, Pyrrha surmised the witch was away. It was the perfect opportunity to carry out her plan. It didn't matter if she couldn't use the front entryway. She was armed with knowledge, stealth, and a soulful blaze brighter than the sun.

She gracefully traveled from branch to branch, her tail lashing about as she set her sights on the back of the hut. Her paws barely made a sound; any noises she made were drowned out by the incessant chirping of crickets. She paused every now and then, observing the lion whenever it did the same. She wouldn't move until it was none the wiser. She crept closer to the back of the hut, closing in with her eyes narrowed-

-Until one of the branches nearly snapped in two.

The lion's head snapped to the side like a whip. She curled in on herself, relying on the shadows to hide her. Her breath caught in her throat and her tail fell limp. There was a brief moment in which she thought it would be over, when the lion's eyes drifted up to the exact branch she was perched on. She quickly braced herself for a confrontation, eyes narrowing when she thought the lion would approach... only for it to remain where it was, turning its head back around.

Flooded with relief and renewed focus, Pyrrha crouched and leapt to the next branch. Her instincts kicked in when she heard a loud cracking sound behind her. She darted away, ears twitching as heavy paws thundered towards the source of the sound. It felt as though her heart was hammering in her chest. She didn't spare a single glance behind her, hopping down to the ground once she had gone all the way around to the back of the hut. Without hesitation, she squeezed through an unpatched gap in the fence before making her way into the building.

Once she was certain she hadn't been detected - it turned out the mishap with the branch outside worked to her benefit - she lifted her head and sniffed at the air. A tangy odor filled her nostrils, pointing her towards the left side of the hut's interior. With a satisfied flick of her tail, she trotted in the direction of the scent, keeping her steps as swift and quiet as possible. An illuminated doorway lay in wait up ahead, the sight of which enticed her to pick up her pace. There it is.

With her front paw, she pushed the door open, and sure enough, she had found the witch's room of brews. This was where she created her potions; rather, stolen versions of Hestia's potions. One of the first things she laid eyes on was a book once belonging to her witch, sitting on a nearby bookshelf as if it had been there the whole time. It mocked her with its presence. How dare it be anywhere else but her witch's home?

Right next to the bookshelf was a display of various potion bottles, filled with different concoctions. She was right where she needed to be. The cat crouched for a moment, eyeing a smaller bottle with a pale green liquid inside. She pounced onto an empty spot, right in between two potions. Using both front paws, she carefully shifted each potion around until she could reach the one she needed.

Perfect, she thought, hissing with glee. I would know this one anywhere. I remember Hestia saying we needed it to defend ourselves. A paralytic meant to last for up to three hours. I wish we could've used it in time... oh Hestia... my Hestia...

Her jaws wrapped around the neck of the bottle in an iron grip. With a graceful leap, she reached a rafter tie above. After setting the bottle down on the wooden beam, she returned to the bottle shelf to pick up another one. It was a slightly larger container than the first potion she took, and the liquid inside held mesmerizing colors. If she wasn't so focused on her mission, she might have gotten lost in it, just as she did when she first saw Hestia brew it.

A couple more potions were added to the rafter, and then she was ready. It was something cats were known to do, and she would play her part to perfection. With another quiet hiss, Pyrrha swiped at the bottles. One by one, they crashed to the ground, painting the monochrome tiles with their colorful contents. A few of them sizzled when they hit the floor, causing her ears to twitch on instinct. That was how she knew the lion would hear it too.

Once she heard a brief roar outside of the hut, she jumped out of sight, perched on the exact rafter tie holding the exceptions to her destruction of the witch's potions. Her copper eyes were trained on the spillage below, tail lashing as she awaited the lion's arrival. She unsheathed her claws the second a flash of gold entered her vision. Sitting up on her haunches, she expertly unscrewed the top of the smaller potion, as taught by her witch, and tilted it until the liquid spilled out.

She was right above the lion, and she could pinpoint the exact moment it made contact with its shining fur. A startled yelp left the creature, its head lifting to see the potion being spilt all over its back. Before it could properly react, its limbs went slack. Every ounce of strength progressively left the wild cat, and just as it had stumbled towards the room's exit, it collapsed.

With the loud thud pricking Pyrrha's eardrums, it signaled the paralytic taking full effect. Moving another potion closer to her side, this one filled with a bright orange concoction, she popped the cork off of the opening. She could see the lion's gaze following the cork as it plunged to the ground, bouncing right in front of its face. Instead of pouring this potion, she spitefully knocked it over, directly into the mouth of the cauldron below.

Within an instant, an inferno was ignited. Hungry flames seared the inside of the cauldron and all around. She hopped down from the ceiling beams, revealing herself to the paralyzed familiar. She traveled to a cabinet containing various ingredients before proceeding to launch each and every one of them into the fire. Smoke filled the air, enveloping her with a strong sense of power just the same.

She made sure everything the witch owned was burnt to ashes, including the stolen recipe book. If Hestia couldn't have it, then no one else would ever get their hands on it. A pang of regret resonated with her as she watched the book tumble into the flames. She forced herself to keep going until all of it was gone. The only pieces of evidence left behind were shards of glass and splattered liquid. The witch's lion was left as the only witness, and it would never be able to reveal what really happened. All the better for her.

Do you see what it's like? She hissed internally, glaring daggers at the incapacitated familiar looking on with shrunken pupils. Do you feel what I feel? It's all gone. Everything you and your sorry witch worked for. Everything she stole. GONE.

With that, it was time for the finale. With her soul still burning in her being, Pyrrha took the last potion she had stored away. She took her time, pouncing over the lion with efficiency and grace. She took the front entrance this time, gradually making it all the way to the roof. Once she was perched on the tiles, she gripped the bottle's neck before violently shaking it back and forth. The colorful liquid bubbled up, eager to be unleashed. As soon as she removed the cork, its wish was granted.

The brew shot up into the night sky in the form of fiery streaks. At the height of their ascent, they exploded into booming fireworks. She reflexively folded her pointed ears, a spectrum of color filling her eyes as she watched with slit pupils. Everyone living in the area knew of the rule banning fireworks from use. Officers of the law were bound to investigate, and that would be the witch's downfall.

The clock was ticking now. All Pyrrha had to do was return to the forest's shadows and await the show. She aimed for a tree on the same side she entered the clearing from, right next to the spot where the snapped branch once was. She didn't care how long she had to sit there, watching the vibrant explosives go off in the air while the cauldron went up in flames. Her goal would be achieved, her purpose fulfilled after weeks of planning.

Eventually, the sound of sirens blaring filled her ears. She spotted a hunched figure dashing towards the hut from the opposite side of the forest, carrying an overflowing basket of herbs. A hateful hiss was all the cat could give her now, and she didn't even hear it. All the witch did was barge into her hut, and Pyrrha couldn't help but perfectly picture each second of her reaction to the retribution left behind.

A police unit arrived shortly after, with their canine units in tow. It wasn't long before Pyrrha witnessed the witch being dragged out in cuffs, left with no spells or potions to defend herself with. After all, everything she made was never hers, and without the books she claimed from other witches, she was helpless to fight the consequences. She could soon hear blades whirring as a helicopter honed in on the hut, carrying a group of people with equipment made to transport large objects... or in this case, creatures.

The lion would be rehabilitated elsewhere. The witch would pay for her crimes. Hestia would be given justice at last, even if her name was never spoken by anyone.

Little by little, the flames in Pyrrha's soul flickered away. She leapt down from her perch, turning away from the hut to see a familiar face in the distance. Dressed in a red gown and a distinct velvet hat, the woman spread her arms wide. With a tearful meow, the black cat sprinted towards her, jumping right into her embrace. Her body was weightless, as was Hestia's. Pyrrha lost all feeling, all senses, as her spirit finally joined the spirit of the witch she avenged.