Gladian stepped forward, rolling her shoulders, voodoo doll already dangling from one hand. "Took you long enough to call, darling. We were starting to think you enjoyed getting your ass handed to you."
Gortrius followed, cracking her knuckles, eyes glowing corpse-green. "Please. She's been stalling so we could make a dramatic entrance. Classic Hecate."
Glinda stepped forward lastly, trailing half a dozen shirtless, blank-eyed love slaves on silver leashes. She blew a kiss toward the Witch. "Hello, gorgeous. Mind if we crash your little hate-date?"
The Witch snarled, soul-whip lashing toward the newcomers. Gladian sidestepped lazily and jammed a pin into the doll's shoulder. Twenty feet away, the Witch's real shoulder exploded in black blood as though stabbed by an invisible spear. She staggered back.
"Oops," Gladian said, twirling another pin. "Did that hurt? My bad."
Gortrius knelt, slammed both palms to the drifting shard, and laughed. "Rise and shine, you lazy corpses." Every drop of spilled blood (starlight and grave alike) bubbled, coalesced, and stood up as shambling, snarling undead warriors wearing the faces of both goddesses' wounds. They charged the Witch in a wave of rotting fists and snapping teeth.
The Witch's soul-whip scythed through the front rank, severing torsos, but the pieces simply crawled back together and kept coming. "Annoying gnats," she hissed.
Glinda snapped her fingers. Her love slaves moaned in unison and sprinted forward, muscles rippling, eyes empty of everything but adoration. They leapt onto the Witch like wolves on a bear, kissing, biting, clawing, wrapping limbs around arms and legs in desperate, worshipful embraces. The Witch roared and tore one in half; the body kept hugging the severed half to her thigh.
"Down, boys," Glinda cooed. "Mommy's busy."
Hecate used the distraction. She drove her staff, now pieced together again into the shard and twisted. Violet-black chains erupted, wrapping the Witch's torso, pinning two of the love slaves in place like obscene decorations. The Witch flexed; chains groaned but held.
Gladian danced closer, pins flashing between her fingers. "Let's play acupuncture." She stabbed the doll rapid-fire: knee, elbow, throat, spine.
Each pin drew a corresponding explosion of blood from the Witch's body. One pin in the doll's heart made the Witch cough a fountain of violet fire.
Gortrius directed her undead like a conductor. "Left flank, darlings! No, the other left, yes, there, bite the whip!" The corpses swarmed the soul-chain, teeth grinding through screaming souls, weakening the links.
The Witch roared and detonated her armor outward in a ring of shards. Love slaves were shredded. Undead were pinned like insects. Gladian flipped backward, doll clutched to her chest, laughing. "Someone's cranky."
Hecate closed in, torch blazing. She struck high; the Witch blocked with a forearm that bled molten seals. Glinda's remaining slaves tackled the Witch's legs, dragging her off balance. Gortrius leapt onto the Witch's back, hands sinking into shadow-flesh, pumping necromantic fire that forced black veins to bulge and burst.
The Witch spun, whip lashing. It caught Gortrius across the chest, carving her open to the ribs. Gortrius grinned through blood. "That all you got, grandma?" She jammed both hands deeper and yanked. A chunk of the Witch's spine came away in her grip, trailing violet light.
Gladian pinned the doll's head. The Witch's real skull split down the middle with a wet crack. Hecate drove her torch into the fissure. Flame poured inside, burning from within. The Witch screamed, voice shaking the void, and backhanded Hecate across the battlefield.
Glinda blew another kiss. Her last two slaves moaned and climbed the Witch's torso, kissing exposed bone, slowing regeneration with raw devotion. "Be gentle, sweeties. She bruises easily."
The Witch tore one slave's head off and used it as a club to batter Gortrius off her back. Gortrius landed laughing, ribs exposed, already knitting. "Rude. I was enjoying the ride."
Hecate rose, staff spinning. She and Gladian moved in tandem: torch strike high, pin strike low. The Witch parried the torch but took three pins in the thigh that exploded muscle in black sprays. Gortrius directed her remaining undead to swarm the soul-whip, chewing through links until the chain snapped in half.
The Witch staggered, armor cracked, seals flickering. Blood poured from a dozen wounds that refused to close fast enough.
Glinda leaned against nothing, fanning herself. "Look at that. Four against one and she's still standing. Either she's stubborn or we're slacking."
Gladian twirled the doll. "Speak for yourself. I'm just getting warmed up."
Gortrius cracked her neck. "Round two, anyone?"
Hecate stepped forward, torch and staff both blazing. "Together."
The four witches advanced. The Witch of Grim rose taller, wounds steaming, violet eyes promising murder.
The void trembled as they closed again, blood already raining, laughter sharp as knives, magic and fists ready to tear the dimension apart one more time.
Neither side fell. The fight raged on, endless, vicious, alive.
The Witch of Grim detonated her seals in a violet nova, hurling everyone backward through the burning void. Gladian tumbled laughing, pinning the doll mid-spin to stab its chest; the Witch's real torso erupted in black gore that rained like tar. "Bullseye! Someone buy me a drink later."
Gortrius landed on a drifting corpse-shard, slammed both hands down, and raised an army of fresh undead from the nova's fallout, twisted amalgamations of Hecate's starlight blood and the Witch's grave ichor. "New friends! Go bite the grumpy one's ankles."
The horde swarmed, clawing at the Witch's legs, tearing away chunks of shadow-flesh that screamed as they died again.
Glinda's surviving love slaves moaned in ecstasy, crawling through the chaos to wrap around the Witch's arms, kissing exposed bone, slowing every strike with mindless devotion. "That's it, darlings, smother her with affection. Choke on love, you old hag."
Hecate rose through the storm, torch blazing white, staff spinning. She nodded once to her allies, grateful, grim, and drove forward. The four witches converged.
Gladian pinned the doll's knees; the Witch buckled, howling. Gortrius' undead climbed her like ants on a carcass, ripping seals free in wet strips. Glinda snapped her fingers; the slaves tightened their embrace until obsidian armor cracked.
Hecate delivered the final blow of the wave: torch through the Witch's open mouth, flame bursting out every orifice in violet-white fire.
The Witch exploded outward in rage, scattering allies again, blood and laughter filling the void. She rose taller, wounds steaming, ready for more.
The witches regrouped, grinning through gore, magic flaring brighter.
"Round three?" Gladian asked, twirling a fresh pin.
"Make it four," Gortrius said, cracking her neck.
Glinda winked. "I'm just getting started."
Hecate said nothing, only advanced.
The void shook with fresh war.