Magick in Prose by Sevan Paris

Author:Sevan Paris [Paris, Sevan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

“You have ruined everything!” the bodoggle says, fists at his sides. “Look! Just look what you’ve turned me into!”

He stands as straight as his hunched back will allow. Thin hair hangs in strings from a balding scalp. He’s naked, so I can see every inch of his skin—instead of being a typical human shade like Daphne’s—is a disgusting molted gray color. Flakey and falling off his wiry muscles in chunks. Thin horns are sickly yellow, corkscrew away from his head at odd angles. He snarls, revealing rotten teeth and gaps so large his cheeks sink. Milky clouds cover his pupils, making it impossible to tell what color his off-set eyes are. One wing juts out strangely, as if it’s painful for him to fold them in.

He kicks away the leftover wooden pieces of a pew and hobbles in our direction, leaving a trail of shiny liquid with each step.

“Depends on your point of view.” I raise the sword between us. “It’s an improvement from this side of the room.”

The bodoggle screams. He spins half around, razor-sharp feathers whistling through the air and coming right at us. I spin a shield into existence and raise it. The wing smashes into it with a loud hiss. His other wing comes up. Block with my sword. He closes the gap, yelling and swinging. We back up, his wings carve and hack away at the hardwood where we stood.

He’s going to slice us up like a ham. I don’t think. There’s no time to. I just let the Ward Magicks guide me, give in to them. Block, duck. Block, swing. Each time his wing connects with my weapons, out bursts a fountain of sparks. Each time a jagged clang echoes from the rafters. Each time a yell from him and a grunt from me.

The faeries swoop down, clawing and biting at the bodoggle’s wings and back. He turns around, his wings forming a wide circle. The faeries scatter, some knocked away. Some severed. Others back away to regroup, growling and screeching. I haven’t set a security level for the bodoggle, so they’re ready for a fight. Ready for a kill. Ready to satisfy the primitive urges that the Magicks have been suppressing for hours.

The bodoggle lifts up his gnarly head, peering at the faeries. Daring them to make the first move. They give me the opening I need. I rush in, swipe deep. My katana cuts his chest with a sizzle—from shoulder to gut. It’s not deep enough to kill, but he’ll feel it until he dies.

“You dare!” He backhands me. Hard. I flip through the air and land in a tumble on the floor. The faeries close in from above, redoubling their efforts. Flapping wings and biting teeth fall on him like a cloud.

He jerks back, smashes several faeries between his back and the wall. They thud to the ground, limbs and wings bent the wrong way. The bodoggle turns in a slow circle, cursing and stomping. Faeries explode in large plops, purple blood slapping everything.

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