101 - A Perfect Sky; A Storm

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I have no idea how I'm supposed to fight Quinn and prevent him from manifesting mini-suns at the same time. No idea if I'll be able to stop him before my exit is completely obstructed, and I'm trapped up here, doomed to a fiery fate. It's been so long since I've fought a powerful witch that I'm a bit rusty, and the extent of Quinn's skills is as unpredictable and unstable as the new flow of magick.

But regardless of whether I can, I have no choice but to try.

I steel myself, charging forward, that Slayer fury violently burning within me. I move with such swiftness that Quinn is unable to block, and I ram him into the wall, causing large chunks of plaster to chip away upon impact. While he is momentarily disoriented, I throw him onto the floor, preparing myself for a Superman punch with my dagger clutched in hand.

Using the chest holding Sineya's remains as a launching pad, I rebound off the wall, propelling myself into the air to deliver the devastating blow to Quinn's face. I pour all my strength into the descent, the tip of my blade jutting out the bottom of my fist, aiming to slice it deep into his flesh with my right hook.

But with the unpredictability of magick now in play, the sequence doesn't go as planned.

I find myself suspended mid-air, frozen in time as the inferno burns around me. As if the Higher Powers have clicked "PAUSE" on this shit-show to watch and laugh and mock.

A few feet away, Quinn's hand is outstretched toward me—controlling the invisible python coiling around my limbs, my neck, as his fingers curl into claws. My hand is locked around the hilt of my dagger, my arm bent at ninety degrees like the ICP Hatchetman. Magick fills my mouth, coating my tongue and teeth, as it wraps around me.

Perhaps it was hasty of me to convince Faith to take off with Kai, leaving me to face this sticky situation on my own.

The loggia's temperature is beginning to rise, the heat threatening to become suffocating. Just my fucking luck.

But it is that chiding voice in my head, whispering cynically, You asked for it, that has my jaw clenching furiously.

Quinn draws closer until the distance between us is only mere inches. Although I don't think it'll help, I flail what parts of my body I can in protest. It isn't much; it's like trying to squirm while being tightly wrapped up like a mummy. Yet I fight against the magick that holds me in its iron grip, pushing with all my strength as if treading through quicksand.

The force binding me begins to melt away, starting with my wrists. I can roll them the littlest bit now.

Then my fingers wiggle, my feet too. My head can turn—but only slightly, as he focuses all his power on my neck, paralyzing most movement as if he has me by the scruff.

"You Slayers never learn to mind your own business," Quinn snarls. "Your entitled leader took magick away, and now your kind will pay."

My face twists in disgust, and my Slayer's wit can't resist the temptation of banter. The words brim behind my teeth, laden with sharp sarcasm, waiting to spill out.

And spill out it does. "Wow, bigot much?" I bite back dryly. "We're no different than any other human. We make mistakes. And one Slayer doesn't define all of us, you know."

As expected, not a hint of amusement in Quinn's features. Only venomous disgust.

With a burst of magick, he launches me backward, my spine colliding with the ledge of one of the arches near the beam. My fingers loosen around my dagger as I feel his magick travel through my arms, gluing my free hand to my side while the other is held up near my head. He drags me by my neck across the ledge, nearly folding me in half with his force. My body becomes a limp ragdoll draped over the edge, my head dangling in the open air on the other side.