Play With Your Food
When an ordinary witch hunter faces off against a mage with the prowess of Seirah, it can be a little less like a battle between equals and a little more like a cat playing with its food.
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It wasn't his first witch hunt.
But it worried him.
He'd been hired by a local town to deal with a wizard who'd moved into their area. It started harmless enough, as it always did with magic users. Strange lights in the sky, strange sounds in the night.
Then, as always with magic users, someone went out to speak to him, and they disappeared. That's when they called the guild.
It wasn't his first witch hunt, and that meant that he knew what he was looking for. Marks from rituals, wards to keep out animals, the works. He could see those just fine, and those didn't worry him, much.
But it was all very... neat. Clean, even.
Not the woods. The spellwork.
Usually, he was called after amateur spellcasters that thought they could take over the world if they just had a big enough cauldron. Their runes were sloppy, their spells burned hot, and when a big wolf in armor got in their face, they crumpled.
No, this one was different.
His boot quietly snapped a twig, and then again on his next step. When he next went to lift his foot, he found it stuck firmly in place.
He looked down, and noticed with dread that he hadn't stepped on a twig at all. Rune-etched bones, whittled down to look like twigs and laid carefully among the foliage, had his feet stuck fast.
He squirmed and strained against the magical hold, twisting his torso around to reach into his pack and find his nullstone powder pouch, when he heard footsteps approaching.
He lifted the bow slung across his body and scanned the treeline, as a pale figure in a purple robe approached him. A tall sergal, locks of dark hair flowing over his face, his eyes coldly studying the wolf as the wolf eyed him right back.
The wolf reached for an arrow, and the sergal reacted instantly. His feet were thrown out from under him, and he faceplanted in the underbrush.
"Don't move." The sergal mage commanded him.
He ignored it, and reached for his nullstone pouch. He needed the bits of bone off his boots before-
The sergal lifted his finger and the wolf's wrists also found themselves stuck in place. With a flash of purple light, the wolf felt his entire body lifted up by his armor, spun quickly around, and then dangled upside-down. He was completely and utterly powerless.
There was a moment of quiet between them.
"...How?" The wolf growled, in disbelief. It wasn't the only question on his mind, but it certainly was one of the loudest. That, and 'what's going to happen to me now?'
"The twig you stepped on was actually a dried rib of serpent, engraved in binding runes." The sergal explained, stepping closer. It was silent, besides the gentle billowing of his cloak and the sound of his soft footfalls. "When it broke, the enchantment went into the iron of your armor and distributed evenly. Not enough with just one, but you stepped on..."
The sergal paused, and looked over the trampled forest floor, counting under his breath.
"Looks like five or six, maybe more. More than enough for that big clunky suit to become... well, let's say, more of a hinderance, than any kind of protection."
They stayed in silence for just a moment, before the wolf tried to squirm a little more and the sergal tightened the armor's hold on him.
"So." The wolf said, strained slightly as his armor bent and tightened around him. "What's-"
"Going to happen to you. Well, judging by your gear, you look like a witch hunter to me. That means you know a good bit about magic. So I'm thinking... assistant." The sergal said.
"Like Hells am I going to-" The wolf snarled, before his breath was caught short as his armor tightened once more. The sergal snapped his fingers, and a dazzling cage of purple lights wrapped around his head, and a swirling, purple glow filled his vision.
"Tell me, witch hunter. You're familiar with all sorts of magic, right?" The sergal asked, sinking into a squat and leaning in close as the wolf's head began to spin. "Are you familiar with illusion magic?" he asked. "This spell is one of my favorites."
Everywhere the wolf looked, the spinning purple lights followed him. They flashed brightly, leaving spots in his vision and making his thoughts blur together. "Aahhh...?" He whimpered.
Mercifully, the sergal opened his palm and the tightness of the armor released. The wolf could breathe again, at least, upside-down and dazed as he was.
"This spell is really something special. The lights move and draw your attention, tire out your eyes, tire out your brain. Every time you see a little flash - just like that - you've let your guard down enough for them to leave a mark." The sergal said, twirling his finger and making the entire illusion spin around the wolf's head.
"M-Mmmark...?" The wolf mumbled.
"A mark. A little spot on your brain that I control now. And the more little marks I have - well, it's not that different from your armor, huh?" He observed. "Let's give it a try. You've seen a few nice bright flashes now - from now on, you will always refer to me as 'Master Seirah.' Do you think you can do that?"
"M-Master Seirah." The wolf mumbled, as another dizzying flash got him drooling up onto his nose.
"Good. And from now on, when I give you a command, you'll say 'Yes, Master Seirah.'" Seirah continued.
"Y-Yes, Master Seirah." The wolf hissed, automatically. He never even got the chance to fight it. It happened before he even realized it.
"And you'll obey me. Always." He said, suddenly cold. "You will never question my commands. You obey me above all else."
"Yes, Master Seirah." He whispered.
The sergal stood up, and flicked his wrist. Abruptly, the wolf flipped over, sailing silently through the air until he was set down on his feet. His head was still spinning, and drool ran down his chin as soon as his head was inverted.
Seirah rolled his eyes and closed the wolf's mouth with a finger. "No drooling." He said.
"Yes, Master Seirah." The wolf said, trying his best to obey but finding this task much more difficult than any previous.
The sergal circled him, humming softly in thought.
"First thing's first, though. You dragged me out here to catch you and tame you in the middle of the night, and it's chilly out." Seirah scolded.
"I'm sorry, Master Seirah." The wolf mumbled.
"Hmm, that's a start. But I'm more on the here and now. You're not really gonna make me walk back to my lair in this chill, are you?" He asked.
The wolf hesitated. "No, Master Seirah?" It seemed like the appropriate answer, but even in his state he found it confusing.
"Good boy. Hold still." The sergal said.
Seirah lifted his hands and channeled another spell, as the wolf did his best impression of a statue, hesitant to even breath without his Master's order.
Thankfully, the Sergal worked quickly, and after a few more flourishes, moments to pause and consider his next move, and bright flashes of magic, he finally sealed the spell with a snap of his fingers.
The wolf gasped as the magic took root in him. He felt himself shrinking, falling, as his armor loosened around him. He looked pleadingly at the sergal, who gave him a reassuring smile.
"Relax. It's only for the night. Maybe a little longer."
With no further explanation, the wolf collapsed, his armor clattering onto the forest floor as his body shifted and melted almost into nothing.
The sergal stepped forward, and plucked a long, grey bolt of cloth from the pile of gear. He stretched it between his hands and examined the soft scarf, and hummed in approval.
"Don't get comfy." He told the scarf, before tossing it over his shoulders and wrapping it snugly around himself. "Once I change you back, you still owe me some labor."