“This isn’t going to work, you know this can’t work.”

The two witchlings sat crouched on the upper rafters of the warehouse, the sound of the ocean growing ever louder as a storm approached. Below them, a small entourage of dolls surrounded a witch, busy negotiating with a cloaked fae over some kind of merchandise. The guardian dolls were vigilant, but their attention was turned almost exclusively to the fae and the ground level, ignorant to the plotting above them.

“It can work, it will work.” The silver witchling’s fingers sparked to life with a pale magick, strands anchoring him to the beam underneath him. “It won’t work if you don’t commit to it though. Just be confident!”

“You’re going get us killed…” The gold witchling retorted.

“Follow the plan.” Silver leapt forward, falling for but a moment before his magical anchors arrested the fall, letting him down slowly and silently into a collection of partially broken down crates. His footfall was imperceptible to the human ear, but it didn’t go unnoticed by a guardian doll, its head perking up as it excused itself to investigate. He waited, holding his breath as it neared closer and closer to where he had hidden himself, until it was standing just beside him…

He sprung up, new threads of magicks spooling from his hand as it seized the arm of the much taller doll, his voice quiet but commanding.

Mine,” he growled, the words giving power to the threads burrowing into the doll’s mechanisms. It tried to cry out for help but found itself inaudible, until fractions of a second later, the process was done. It looked at the witchling, smiling as it excused itself from him.

He watched it carefully as it returned to its Miss, breathing a sigh of relief as it told the others the noise was nothing. He skittered across the concrete to an unopened cargo container, a murmured spell allowing him to slip through the thin aluminum effortlessly. Inside was a rather inconspicuous quantity of bulk kitchenware… and, shining brightly to someone magically attuned like himself, a reservoir of unrefined storm magic, tucked away in an unassuming jar. It pulsed warmly, yearning to be reunited with its kindred outside.

“Easy does it…” He whispered to himself, lifting the jar as gently as he could and tucking it under his coat. Now, he’d need to get out of this container without alerting anyone. Couldn’t very well planewalk with a magic battery in his hands…

With a hand in his pocket he cracked the jar ever so slightly, the forceful magicks within slamming themselves against it, increasing desperate to be freed. He cursed as they found purchase in his hand, holding his other above his head and feeling them flow through. His entire body felt as though it was a ship at sea, drenched with crackles of electricity coursing through it, a maelstrom of pain and cold that he could never hope to control, only to redirect…

But it worked. The storm outside grew fiercer, the sound of lightning and wind becoming deafening. The jar tightened and he let out a ragged breath, composing himself quickly as he quickly and gently unlocked the container’s mechanism, letting himself back out into the warehouse. The fae had become louder, complaining of the weather and threatening to withdraw from the deal. He couldn’t hear what the witch said in response, only that the fae lowered their voice in response. Now, if his Brother had done his job, the night was nearly done.

He pulled himself close to another container, looking around to see the state of the negotiations… but only the witch and fae were present, still talking. Where did the dolls go?

A welp of pain alerted him to his gold Brother’s status; the witchling was thrown out into the main aisle, two of the guardian dolls following after his limp body. […]Silver cursed once more, strands of molten magick beginning to form around him. His Brother never was much of a fighter…

He sprung forth, blistering magic following him like arrows as he eviscerated the two dolls. The witch would react near-instantaneously to this intrusion; it was time for Gold to do his part…

His Brother lifted a hand, ancient words coming forth as they snared the surprised witch, pulling her to the ground and binding her fingers to prevent a counterweave. They were so close, he could feel it. He rushed forward, his Brother straining to hold the weave tight while he delivered the killing blow. He drew a hooked knife from his belt, counting the seconds to the final strike…

He plunged the knife through the witch’s chest, eviscerating her heart as he held her close with his other hand, drops of electrified blood falling down on him. He did it! He actually did it-… had her blood always been blue?

The witch looked down on him, a faint smile on her face, as a sickle found purchase around his neck from behind. It tugged him back, away from the ‘witch’, who’s form shifted to reveal that of the fae that she had been negotiating with. Which meant…

“So very close, little one.” His Matriarch whispered in his ear, a hand pulling his body against Hers, the sickle tight enough against his neck to just barely cut the skin. “You relied on the cowardice of the fae, careless to where they had gone. You will never do this again.”

“…Yes Mother.” The thought crossed his mind to shatter the jar in his pocket; he could withstand the shock, with warning, but it may be enough to defeat Her. “It won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t. Much like how you won’t be using this mana for yourself again.” Her hand reached into his jacket, retrieving the jar for Herself. “Shield your thoughts better, child. They’re terribly loud when you’re so close. Now, tend to your brother.”

He fell away from the Matriarch as she laughed softly to herself, returning to the company of the fae while he stumbled over to Gold, dropping to his knees and placing a soothing hand on the witchling’s back. “Are you okay?”

“Couple broken bones.” The boy gave a weak thumbs up. “You?”

“Bruised pride.”

“Told you so.”

“I’m going to break the rest of your bones.”






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