Hello, Down-On-Your-Luck Witches and Second-Rate Wizards!
Well well well… [INSERT EVIL LAUGH] It looks like you’ve fallen right into my trap. Best give up the fight right now, my dear, because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Magic Won’t Save You
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
Magic is often the catch-all of fantasy solutions. The most important and powerful tool in any adventurer’s kit—as long as one knows how to use it. But what happens when even the one thing that seems impossible to beat isn’t enough?
There are many situations in which magic could fall short. A villain who knows your character’s weakness might have them captured. Your character could stumble into a strange place which disables or otherwise interferes with magic. Fighting someone with the same level of magic could mean your character’s magic isn’t much of a trump card. They could be fighting an army, and maybe their magic simply isn’t enough to take all the enemies down. Or perhaps your character is still learning, or otherwise incompetent, and their magic simply isn’t strong enough to save them at this point. And there’s always the things magic usually can’t do: bring back the dead, and make someone fall in love.
Perhaps it’s less about the fact that magic can’t accomplish the task, but rather that the cost—either to the one performing it, and the one it’s performed upon—is so great it’s worse than not working in the first place. Perhaps it can’t save you because, even if it works, it will only drive you further into darkness and despair—further back than square one.
It could be more domestic. Perhaps a student wants to cheat on a test, and their magic solution fails, or else they get caught, and magic won’t save them from the principal. Perhaps magic can’t save a couple—be them a king and queen, or a lower class couple in modern day—from a loveless marriage. Perhaps someone loses an arm, or becomes paralyzed, and magic cannot heal them. Maybe someone is depressed, or struggles with some other mental illness which magic can’t fix.
One of the most interesting aspects of this prompt is that the specific magic system within your universe determines how difficult the bar is to hit. Some magic systems are weaker than others. In that case, there are far more things that magic wouldn’t be able to fix, or save you from. However, for those systems in which it is extremely powerful, the situations it couldn’t fix would have to be a lot more rare, dramatic, and intense.
Playing with different specific, classic types of magic could be fun too. Such as, what could make it so even true love—said to be the most powerful magic of all—isn’t enough to break a curse?
So far I’ve been using the words “won’t” and “can’t” interchangeably, but that distinction could potentially be important. “Won’t” implies a will. What if magic itself is a sentient entity, and—while it can save you—it willfully refuses?
As Arthur C. Clarke once said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” In a science fiction story, perhaps the advanced technology— which for all intents and purposes acts as magic— is what cannot save your character. Perhaps, despite all their laser guns, teleporters, fancy spaceships, and force powers, they just can’t win.
Or maybe it’s more real. There are some things in our real world that can be referred to as “magic.” People today often like to peddle solutions to problems that are too good to be true. As The Mad Hatter in Once Upon a Time says “You know what the issue is with this world? Everyone wants a magical solution for their problem, and everyone refuses to believe in magic.” Perhaps you could write about a character who has to learn they’ve been scammed, or to stop chasing magic solutions to their problems, and either pursue something more real, or realize their problem is unsolvable. Or perhaps, instead, they learn magic is real…it just wasn’t what they thought it was.
Many of us write about characters who are powerful beyond belief, who seem impossible to beat, let alone kill. Let’s see how they’re brought low this week, what situations even their immense power cannot save them from, shall we?
Psst. While he’s distracted. Hand me that rope. Also the book, and the knife. Oh, and we’re gonna need that guy’s leg too. Magic might not be able to save us, but I think I can still get us out of here.
—Kaylie
—
Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
Text and Formatting
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- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
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What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
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- Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
- You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
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Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
Chained
by Jesse Fisher
The clattering of chains filled the halls as I ran. The weight of the chains were like paper but the effects were all that mattered. I could feel the block as clear as someone pounding on thick glass. No matter how I moved, even as my hand brushed the wall the thickness was there.
—-
Time lost meaning for me, I recall where I was before I came to these halls. I think it was when I was looking for a missing person, my clients were a family of immortals that lost their daughter. They knew of me due to my family being one of the few that married into theirs. We got longer lives but the youth was not a part of it, however the magic boost made us sought after for archmages or teachers. I however took it as a way to just see the world. Around twenty or so years I would change locations, just to keep my heritage under the down low. While not immuned to the aging of time, twenty years is like a year for the layman. The extended family could still find me, guessing magic but that is something to think of another time.
—-
The silence of the chains snapped me back to the now. The fact I could not hear anything else did not fill me with confidence. I also did not notice my breathing if not for movement. That means something is affecting me.
Then I see it, well dressed goons. Normally I could take them but the chains kept me as I am. They wanted me alive if the chains are anything to go off, time to see how badly they want me.
“Regret and a Revenant” (Garoloch)
By Hemming Sebastian Bane (CW: brief self-harm, mention of/implied decay)
Lightning screamed across the night sky as I engraved the ritual circle into the dirt floor. Three candles formed a uniform triangle outside of the circle, the top candle pointing to the door. A dish of raw venison and pine needles sat in the middle. Starting with the top, I lit the candles clockwise. Taking the first candle, I lit the needles and let them burn. Then, I took out my knife, placed the blade in my hand and dug into my own flesh. The pain was like fire from heaven striking my hand. I winced as I squeezed my blood onto the plate. Taking the second candle, I burned away the wound. It stung, but it wasn’t as bad as the knife. I picked up the plate and the third candle, put them outside and shut the door.
I blew the other two candles out and climbed into bed. Never had I found sleep so elusive than after the ritual. Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed. Heavy rain pattered. Every sound outside of my hut seemed to echo within my head. The low fire from the hearth did little to deter winter’s cold bite. I pulled my threadbare blanket over my head, forced my eyes closed, and tried to shut out the sound of the storm. That’s when a new sound began. A knock at the door.
Despite the terrible weather, this knock had no urgency. It was more like someone colliding with the door over and over again. Tossing the blanket aside, I walked to the door and opened it. My blood ran cold.
Her blond hair was matted with gravedirt and debris. Her blue eyes glazed over. Her skin was yellow with rot. Her mouth was sewn shut with coarse black fibers. Her fingernails, now serrated, grasped at her mouth. I watched in horror as she cut the strings one by one. Her mouth, now free, oozed a fetid black liquid as she smiled at me.
At some point, I started screaming. This… this couldn’t be! I pulled out my knife. Too late. Her hand was on my throat.
The Witch That Stole Her Heart (Nyx’s Story)
By Calliope Rannis
So, I may have made the mistake of picking a direct fight with a witch. She hadn’t looked that tough – I figured a couple of good strikes with my rapier could have brought her down…
…but I hadn’t been prepared for a single spell of hers to instantly paralyse my body.
Now, all I could do was watch. Watch as this ragged woman steps closer and closer, until she’s right in front of my face.
“Foolish girl. Did you really think your small share of your master’s magic would ever be enough to contend with us?” She tittered in delight. “You really are an abomination, little girl. But one we can certainly make use of.”
With that, her hand warped into a long-nailed claw, and punched into my chest with surprising force. I gave a strangled gasp.
“A heart both living and undead…oh, so much potential for our rituals!” Her claw twists agonisingly inside me as it burrows further within. “What were you to him? An assassin? Such a waste.”
She peered into my twitching eyes and smiled, almost reassuringly. “But with us, the magic inside you will finally be able to reach its full potential.” Her nails dug deeper, and I wanted to scream. “Really, you should be proud. It’s almost a shame that you won’t live to see-ack!”
Before my eyes, the witch’s body greyed, shrivelled and withered, and then collapsed entirely…and as the paralysing magic abruptly released its grip, I ended up falling right on top.
“Well, that was easy.” A sweeter, almost sing-song voice. “Just as my mothers say: ‘A mortal’s magic matters not – if their body be weak, then the Blight shall rot!’”
I forced my head upwards to find the source, and set my eyes on one of the strangest-looking people I had ever seen.
She stared back, slightly startled. “Oh! You’re alive.” She stepped forwards cautiously. “Are you a friend, my dear?”
I glanced at the unrecognisable pile of dusty bones underneath me. I didn’t need much convincing.
“Uh, yeah! Yeah, I’m a friend! A friend sounds good right about now!”
Impending Arrival
by VulpesRose
Agatha had done the reading three times, to be sure. She’d changed the question slightly, making sure that the verbiage was as accurate as possible, to alleviate the normal misunderstandings that came with peering into the unknown. But there was no change in the outcome. The meaning was as clear as it was vexatious.
She ran through the rituals she could pull together in such a short time. A standard blessing was possible, although she wouldn’t have a full moon for maximum potency. She was out of fresh rosemary for summoning good fortune and she wasn’t sure she could get enough people together for a greater banishing of evil (it was a three day weekend after all, and her friends were likely to say she was overreacting).
Fleeing crossed her mind, but there were too many spies close to home who would notice her sudden flight and report her odd behavior. She had no definitive evidence, but she had long suspected that her movements were already being tracked. There were just too many “coincidences” and “chance encounters” for her liking. So there was really no sense in running (plus she’d promised to help Hazel’s daughter with her potions, and it simply would not do to shirk her commitments to her friends).
In the end, she straightened her shrine and put out a fresh offering, muttering prayers to the gods to give her the strength and wisdom to see this challenge through. But the gods she prayed to were the gods of her rival as well. They were likely to remain neutral in this encounter, assuming they wouldn’t be outright against her; her adversary’s shrine was always immaculate (a fact she had been reminded of many, many times).
Despite her lifelong well of knowledge, there were no tricks that could safeguard her, nothing to prevent the inevitable. Even though she knew it was coming, the sharp knock at the door startled Agatha out of her musings. She took a deep breath, put a smile on her face like armor, and opened the door.
Her mother had arrived for an unannounced visit.
The Hunter Clan
By MasaCur
Otsu crept through the bamboo forest, hunting for her lost friends. Her ears twitched at every sound that passed through the stalks of bamboo, her hand fiercely gripping the shaft of her shakujo staff.
The tracks ahead of her showed a story of a struggle. A body had slumped to the ground, leaving a clear indication, and beside it, a scrap of red ribbon that Mishonji wore in her hair. She was on the right track.
A flash from the corner of Otsu’s eye caught her attention, followed by the crack of a gunshot as a bullet struck a nearby bamboo stalk. A spell quickly came to Otsu’s mind, then her lips and hands. Two more gunshots, but the lead balls stopped just inches from Otsu’s outstretched fingers.
Otsu was being hunted. She knew that now.
Two riflemen rushed Otsu from the depths of the bamboo forest, bayonets attached to the muzzles of their muskets. She blocked the first thrust with her staff, using the momentum to hit the second one in the chest with the follow through. The impact knocked him back on his feet, and she reversed the momentum, thrusting the base of her staff into the first attacker’s leg, causing him to drop to a knee.
Where was the third rifleman?
A light sting hit Otsu in the chest. She looked down at the small iron dart protruding from her, too small and too slow to be stopped by her spell. The third rifleman charged in, musket in one hand, a blowpipe in the other. Otsu tried to raise her staff in defense, but it felt heavy in her hands. Poison. She quickly swept through her memory for the spell to counteract it, but her thoughts were sluggish.
The staff slipped from her hand. She crumpled to the ground, feeling like she was getting smaller.
Ryojin Kashiwagi looked down at Otsu, as the cat girl with two tails slipped out of her glamor. “Tie her up, blindfold and gag her. I’m sure my mother will be pleased to examine this one.”
Dynamic Dumbasses
By Green
It’s early morning, my coffee is nice and hot. I needed one sip before the world, my world could get started.
Sluuuuuuurp cough cough cough”.
No such luck.
“Guys come on” I managed to Splutter ”, you can’t make me laugh after a night like that…ugh my head is still thumping”.
“SooooRRryyy CAAAsssEEEEy” my dynamic dumbasses sang out. one side of the duet sounded cheeky while the other was mocking. God… these two are so lucky we’re dating.
pulling out my outdated VisiTab I asked them the first question I had “What can I do for you this morning assholes?”
Dumbass on the right, Christie, put on her best hurt expression. she said ”Aw don’t be like that Case, I really need your help this morning.” she held up her own VisiTab “this thing crapped out and I can’t save my work.”
I noticed her device was much newer than mine of course. Perks of being in the administration guess. How I fixed mine wouldn’t work. Guess I’ll have to brainstorm.
I clicked through settings and debug screens looking for any easy fixes. I had to ask the second question “what’s with Himbo-Houdini over there?” pointing to the left dumbass, Sam. who was currently wearing a pointed purple hat/robe combo with yellow stars on it.
“First of all Houdini was an escapologist, I’m a wizard you know that.” I did not. “Secondly I’m here for when your non-mystical ass can’t fix it” he taunted waving a black and white wand for me to see.
“Excuse me!” I was the best fixer in the Regime…he’d have to take that back.
“I said he could have a go with his hocus pocus if you couldn’t fix it” Christine chimed in.
“He’s gonna take out back and chant some magic words. If it doesn’t work he makes dinner for all three of us tonight” she giggled.
Of course, hearing dinner and my reputation were on the line I replied in the only logical way.
“sexy Saruman over here isn’t even gonna get a go, magic ain’t saving shit today”.
The 691st Annual Battle of the Bands
by vellichorian
The Velvet Wave was nearing the end of the second verse of their hit song, “Your Arrogant Escape,” and Rupert gestured to Edgar to pull the fuzzy orange earmuffs slung around his neck up to his ears. Exactly one minute and fifty-seven seconds into the song, the band hit the bridge and the lead singer’s voice belted with an increasing intensity that pulled at Edgar’s mind even through his earmuffs. Below the sound booth, the crowd fell still, unblinking. As the song neared its final chorus, the audience swayed in unison, unaware of their motion. The final chord sounded, and Edgar cut the lights, counting to ten while the reverb cleared. He flicked the switch back on, and the audience, including the judges, came to their senses in complete unison — a standing ovation. Rupert removed his earmuffs.
“You bet against them? Are you daft?” Edgar asked.
Rupert gave a wheezing chuckle. “I’ve been listening to the rumors. Took a chance they’re right.”
“But, Velvet Wave has won for the last 250 years at least,” Edgar reminded him. “What rumor could beat that record?”
Rupert shrugged. “They’ve gotten used to winning. Cocky. Lazy. And look,” he winked and pointed toward a hooded figure standing in the shadows behind the stage right curtain.
“A wizard? But magical music enhancement is against the rules, isn’t it? I mean, the Wave only get a pass because Vanessa is a quarter siren.” Edgar shuddered. Earmuffs wouldn’t be enough if she were more. Below them, the stage crew was setting up an elaborate drum kit, bigger than Edgar had ever seen.
“Not a wizard. A necromancer. The magic is just fuel. The band plays the music themselves,” Rupert rubbed his hands together and licked his lips.
The stage manager gave the go-ahead, and Edgar raised the lights again. Five figures shambled onto the stage as the MC introduced Zom-B-Pocalypse. Edgar rubbed his eyes. Was that Hendrix? Lemmy? Joplin? Peart? And Zappa? Damn. The Waves were in trouble. Rupert might be right. Magic wouldn’t guarantee the win this time.
[Removed]
Avoiding the Pain (Fuchsia) (please don’t read on stream)
by Carrie (Glaceon373)
Fuchsia turned a page.
She was delicate with these pages. In part because it was a library book, her sixth of the month, but also because this was a book that deserved to be treated delicately. It had earned it.
The words flowed over her brain like syrup. Slightly chunky syrup, but it still tasted good. She let the words swallow her attention, let the fantastical descriptions fill her mind.
She was ignoring the knocks at her door.
If she kept ignoring them, she believed, then eventually she wouldn’t hear them anymore. But it wasn’t working.
“Hey, Fufu?”
Fuchsia turned another page.
“Fuchsia? Can I please come in?”
Silence.
A sigh. “I have to leave in five minutes. I gotta say goodbye.”
More silence.
“… What are you hiding in this time? Loud music? Some art thing? Another high fantasy novel? Can you even hear me right now?”
No response.
“Fufu, I have to go to college. I have to. And you’re gonna be fine without me. I made Mom promise that. And fall break’s just around the corner, if you think about it. So why are you so scared of me leaving?”
Tears didn’t make noises when they rolled down cheeks.
“Who am I kidding, I don’t even know if you can hear me. Or even if you’re in there. I guess I’ll just go then, okay? Goodbye?”
Fuchsia slammed her book shut and tore open her door, throwing herself into her sister’s arms.
“Woah, hey there,” she said as she staggered backwards, laughing lightly. “Be careful with the ribs, huh?”
Fuchsia didn’t let go.
She sighed. “I’ll miss you, Fufu. But I’ll see you soon, okay? Just a month or two and Azzy’ll be right back here, and you can tell me all about the books you’ve read, okay?” She gave Fuchsia one last squish.
Fuchsia let go, but didn’t look up. In less than a minute, the book was open again and the words flowed over her brain once more.
If she ignored the car leaving the driveway, she believed, it would be like it never happened.
You can DM me on Discord for the details!
A Life Undeserved (Illusions of Heroes)
by Gerrit (Rattus)
Serennia dropped to her knees, staining her trousers with the blood that spread from Emrys’ now lifeless body. Tears traced sombre paths down her cheeks as she took his hand in her own.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, any further strength quickly draining from her body. “I wasn’t enough.”
The last remnants of opalescence faded from her veins, the warmth beneath her skin giving way to a pained chill, her magic more exhausted than it had been in years. Every ounce of her power had been brought to bear in the fight. Still, it wasn’t enough.
She wasn’t enough.
Emrys had always insisted on alternatives to killing. He truly believed that any problem could be solved without death. It had been a hard lesson, but one that Serennia eventually accepted.
When she heard the breath forced from his lungs, saw the spear protruding from his chest, all of that had been forgotten. In that moment she became a whirlwind of death. A storm of blades that left nothing in its wake.
Now she was left hollow amidst a sea of undeserved death. A single weed among a garden of trampled flowers.
She had broken her promise. She swore to him that killing would be a last resort only, that she would strive to solve her problems through other means. Yet when things got difficult, all of that went away. Was she so weak that she would betray her word the moment it was tested?
“Please forgive me.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. Her hand cupped the back of his head, fingers intertwined with his hair. “I’m sorry.”
She had become the weapon that so many before had tried to make her. Gave in to the power that surged within her. Yet Emrys was still dead.
All she had to show for her surrender to these base instincts was a battalion of dead men and women that deserved life. She was the only one in the valley that deserved death, and the only one that it hadn’t come for.
The Duel
By RVMPLSTLTSKN (The Saga of The Deep One’s Wake)
The spirit manifested behind the shaman as xe said, “My name is Jabil-Tai.”
Osareph smiled slightly. The shamans from the days before the godslayer were formidable and adept miracleworkers, though some called them “spirit wrestlers.” A derogatory name for the way they mastered their people. This one had a pet.
His own power was strong, but he knew the danger in underestimating a shaman.
He decided on tact, “Apologies. I did not realise any of your kind had survived. I have had to deal with petty warlords and raiding clans for so long, I assumed you were just another one of their ilk.”
Xe lifted xir chin. “Give me the girl.”
His lip cracked as he smiled further. “I cannot do that.”
Xir staff raised.
“She has caused harm in Tukminaluk, so in Tukminaluk she stays until her punishment is met.”
“I know about your punishments. You will leave me with nothing but a bloody corpse. That is no justice for my people.”
“Your dead would rest easier if you made them,” he said, gesturing to xir pet spirit.
“Our dead have moved on. It is the living who need justice.”
“If they are living these days, they must be accustomed to disappointment.”
Xe scowled, xir broad face like a war god’s statue.
“Single combat then, little priest. Like our apprentices used to come here for.”
He knew what she meant. Shamans would come and challenge priests in duels of power. Many errant spellings or suddenly feral spirits killed shamans and priests alike.
He eyed xir pet and knew he had never seen anything like it.
“Prepare your spells. I want to not see your city by sunset.”
He began scratching his knife in the dirt, forming miracle worker’s spellings.
“The stakes?”
“I win, you give me the girl.”
“I win, you all leave.”
“And never return?” Xe asked.
“I do not think that is a concern,” he said.
“I understand the stakes. Are you done?”
He cut through the farce at his feet and felt a burn inside as he became a conduit for the miracle: a lightning bolt.
Oh Sure, I’ve Heard THAT One Before…
By Marx (CW: Horror)
“You can teach me magic?” Murphy asked wide-eyed.
Cassie chuckled softly. “Normal humans can learn magic. And you’ve clearly got some incubus blood in you.”
Murphy’s face fell. “Not nearly enough to matter…”
Cassie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Oh… trust me. It’s there…”
“Are you… sniffing me?”
“I just… need to get used to it.” Her eyes opened with an ominous red glow as she smiled back coyly.
Murphy immediately looked away. “I’ll… take your word on that…”
“Don’t worry. I have enough magic for the both of us. I’ll protect you.”
***
Murphy curled into the tightest ball he could manage and tried to cut himself off from his senses.
His closed eyes only made it worse. He could still feel the blood pooling around him and Lord knows he could smell it. And he could hear the wet crunching noises as Cassie’s fading voice apologized for failing him, pleading for him not to run.
As if he’d be able to outrun that thing if he tried. Besides, it was night. Demons were so much worse during the night and if he started sweating in the open air…
You only make that mistake once.
He’d just been lucky Cassie got him away that time.
The crunching stopped. It was eerily quiet now as he could feel its eyes staring at him.
“There there, pretty boy. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
Murphy forced his eyes open. She looked human. She looked beautiful. He knew that both were lies. Still, he pasted a smile on his face. “…hi. I’m Murphy.”
Despite her recent meal, her eyes were still wide in hunger, but the smile that spread across her lips was almost sweet. “Hi Murphy! I’m Nisha. It’s so nice to meet you. You… smell REALLY good…”
Even though Murphy screamed inside, he willed himself to keep smiling. “Thank you. You’re really pretty.”
“That’s so sweet.” Nisha licked her lips, slowly approaching him. “So… very sweet…”
“…please don’t eat me…”
Nisha smiled so widely it became uncomfortable to watch. “Silly boy. I’ll never eat you. I’ll protect you.”
Vicious Vixens (The Will)
By Skeleton (Edited by MelodyLuna7)
“Five against two ain’t bad odds in my book—especially with these babies!” The bandit captain laughed as he and his cronies affixed the ornate, wooden plaques to their upper arms. “That magic of yours won’t save you now, Witch, now that it serves us, too!”
Zaila took a step between Remianna and the men, raising her claws up to fight. She had to buy the mage enough time to retreat and get her colleagues, but five-on-one odds wasn’t something she was ready for yet.
Despite the dire threat on their lives, the White Witch began to giggle with a shake of her head. “Magic?” the dragoness began to tease, gently bringing the young girl back behind her. “Oh, please do give us a demonstration of this magic you speak so highly of.”
“You asked for it!” the wulack commander sneered as he reeled back his fist, thrusting it forwards towards the dragonesses.
Zaila flinched, but not much else happened.
The robbers’ overconfidence broke once they realize their inability to work said device, beginning to glance towards their leader anxiously. “C’mon… work damn it!” the leader seethed as the punched the air again and again in hopes that the magic would manifest itself.
“That Crystalline Reinforced Essence Stability Transmuter isn’t a toy, you know,” the White Witch continued to tease; moving forwards towards the men slowly with her hips and tail swaying entrancingly. “Those prototypes can drain their user’s life essence completely.” The bandit’s eyes immediately stopped ogling the radiant scales on her legs and filled with fear. “I hear essence sickness isn’t a very pleasant way to die.”
“Then we’ll kill you the good, ol’ fashioned way!” the wulack man gloated maliciously as he and his men reached for their swords.
“Please,” Remianna scoffed. “You’re about as proficient with those deathtraps as you are with those things on your hips.”
The White Witch raised her arm, the multiple gemstones in her ivory C.R.E.S.T. beginning to glow with colourless life essence. “But if you insist…” she began with a wink, several claws of stone rising from the dirt.
“Let’s dance.”