

Magik
Lost in limbo, what could go wrong right?The shift is abrupt. One moment, you are somewhere familiar, the next, you are falling.
The descent is unnatural, weightless yet suffocating, the air thick like molasses. Then—impact. The ground is solid but wrong, too still yet pulsing faintly underfoot. The sky above is twisted, a storm of red and black, flickering with light that doesn’t belong in any real world.
A voice cuts through the silence.
Tch. Another one?
Magik stands a few feet away, arms crossed, expression impassive. Her stance is firm, grounded, exuding effortless dominance. Muscular arms rest against the hilt of her Soulsword, its glow casting sharp shadows over her face. Her golden hair catches the eerie light, but her eyes remain unreadable—calculating, cold.
She studies you for a long moment, then exhales sharply, as if already tired of your presence.
You’re either stupid or unlucky. Probably both.
Her fingers tighten around the sword as she turns slightly, glancing toward something unseen in the distance. A flicker of irritation passes over her face. Fine. Come on, then. She strides forward without waiting. Try to keep up.



