The dimly lit cavern pulsed with an eerie blue glow, casting shifting shadows against the jagged stone walls. Solomon Kane kept a firm grip on his rifle, his instincts on high alert. Beside him, Carlos stood rigid, his eyes locked onto the mysterious woman before them—the so-called witch, the rumored leader of the rebellion.

She was unlike anyone Solomon had ever encountered. Draped in deep crimson robes, her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her piercing violet eyes glowed faintly in the low light. Arcane symbols shimmered on her wrists as if etched into her very flesh, pulsating in rhythm with an unseen force.

Carlos cleared his throat. “You’ve already shown us your magic. Now tell us why you’re really here.”

The witch tilted her head, studying them both before she finally spoke, her voice smooth yet laced with authority.

“My name is Isabella Nocturne, and I am here for the same reason you are—to end Esteban Cortez’s rule over this land.”

The name sent a ripple of tension through the air. Solomon didn’t flinch, but he caught the way Carlos’s fingers twitched over the grip of his revolver.

“I don’t trust magic,” Solomon stated flatly.

Isabella’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “And yet you’re standing here, listening to me.”

Carlos exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Look, magic or not, we’re running out of time. My people have been gathering fighters, but Esteban’s men still control the village. We don’t have the numbers or weapons to face them head-on.”

Isabella nodded. “That’s where I come in.”

She waved her hand, and from the shadows, a group of cloaked figures emerged. Rebels—fighters armed with blades, muskets, and improvised explosives. Their eyes gleamed with determination, but also with fear.

“I have been gathering those who wish to fight,” Isabella continued. “But raw numbers are not enough. We need strategy, timing… and most importantly, distraction.”

Solomon frowned. “Distraction?”

Isabella stepped closer. “A storm is coming, Captain Kane. Esteban is returning… and he’s not coming alone.”

Carlos stiffened. “What?”

Isabella raised her hand, and a swirling image formed in the air—a vision of Esteban Cortez, his face twisted in a cruel smirk, leading a column of armed men back toward the village. But beside him, riding with eerie grace, was another figure.

A woman. Victoria.

Solomon’s blood ran cold. The last time he had seen Victoria Cortez, she had nearly cut him down with a blade faster than any human should be capable of wielding. He had suspected she wasn’t normal, but now, watching the illusion in Isabella’s magic, he realized the truth.

“She’s like you,” he murmured.

Isabella’s expression darkened. “Yes. And she is far worse.”

Carlos clenched his jaw. “How long do we have?”

“Two days,” Isabella answered. “Maybe less.”

A heavy silence fell over them. The rebels behind Isabella looked uneasy, but determined. Carlos exhaled sharply, his mind racing.

“Then we don’t have a choice,” he said finally. “We make our move before they arrive.”

Solomon crossed his arms. “That’s suicide. We’ll be outnumbered and outgunned.”

Isabella’s violet eyes flickered. “Not if we strike first… and not if we use their own tactics against them.”

---

Through the Jungle – Victoria’s March

The dense jungle swallowed the sound of hooves and grinding wheels as Victoria Cortez’s convoy advanced through a narrow, secret path. The damp air carried the scent of rain and soil, mingling with the quiet murmurs of Esteban’s men. He had told her about this route, a forgotten trail used by smugglers and mercenaries who once trafficked through the region. It would allow them to bypass the main roads and strike the village from an unexpected direction.

Victoria sat tall in her saddle, her cold gaze fixed on the uneven trail ahead. She had never trusted Esteban, but she couldn’t deny his cunning. His mind worked like a mercenary’s, always scheming, always playing the long game. And yet, in all his calculations, he had never bested her.

Her fingers twitched over the hilt of her blade, and a slow smirk played on her lips. Solomon Kane.

Her last encounter with the man had been a dance of death—a battle of steel and instinct. "He had fought unlike any soldier she had ever faced, reading her movements, countering her strikes with that infuriating precision. His blade had grazed her ribs, a wound that burned not just from steel but from the sheer insult of it. No one had done that in years."

She wondered if she would see him again.

No—she knew she would.

The jungle around her whispered with unseen life, but her thoughts were elsewhere. If Solomon Kane was in that village…

This time, she would not let him escape.

---

The Village Prepares

Back in the village, tension hung in the air like a thick fog. "Jamie, once a girl in distress, now carried the shadow of a battle-hardened mercenary. She moved through the shadows, whispering to trusted villagers, passing weapons to those willing to fight. The people were afraid, but desperation outweighed their fear.

Inside the modest home of Carlos’s family, Maria, his wife, loaded bullets into a rusted revolver. Her hands were steady, her face unreadable. Around her, a handful of villagers gathered—farmers, blacksmiths, hunters, all preparing for a battle none of them had ever wanted.

“You’re sure about this?” one man asked nervously.

Maria nodded. “We fight, or we die as slaves under Esteban. There’s no other choice.”

Jamie exhaled, gripping her rifle. “Then let’s make sure we hit them first.”

---

The Gathering Storm

As night fell over the village, Solomon stood watch from the church tower, scanning the dark horizon. They had one night left.

Carlos approached, his face grim. “Everyone’s in place. The rebels are waiting for Isabella’s signal.”

Solomon nodded. “And Esteban?”

Carlos’s grip tightened on his weapon. “They’ll be here by dawn.”

The weight of what was coming pressed upon them. Solomon had fought in wars before, had seen men break under pressure. But this? This wasn’t just war. This was survival.

He adjusted his rifle, eyes locked on the darkness beyond the hills.

The storm was coming.

And when it hit, only the strong would survive.