Silver Bullet #2- The Night is Young

The secret agent of the Silver Bullets, Simon D'accord (Bastet), jinked back and forth in a serpentine pattern. The attempt to dodge the barrage of burning mana bursting around him wasn't entirely successful. The Witch was fast and a good shot. The blast of flame that broke his mantic shield with a flash of searing pain in his left side wasn't enough to break his concentration. Working with the force of it, he collapsed into a somersault and when this didn't extinguish his burning school uniform he twisted into a roll and stole what distance he could. The dark haired boy shifted into a kneeling position crouched with his injured left side facing her. Deliberately deciding to not re-establish his mantic shield he swiftly drew out a small enchanted pistol, sighting along his raised left knee. The blond haired little girl who looked his apparent age wasn't. The other false child was pulsing with mana, a red glow about her twisting the space around her body as he looked beyond normal limits of vision. The twisted throbbing crimson space shifted just so, and there was suddenly a staff with a skull affixed to its end in her hands. Like most of her species, she was unnaturally quick in mind, body, and magic. The difficult magical casting had taken the blond mere seconds. Poised in a disconcertingly coquettishly sexual pose for one with the body of a preteen, she stretched bracing herself on the skull staff.

"You really should stop chasing me young Master D'accord, people will get ideas.", she said teasingly, before her dropping her voice slightly to add, "You shouldn't start any fires you can't put out." Far too many chunks of that sentence were emphasized for D'accord's comfort. Her gawky childish body coiled around the staff, her stocking clad leg pointed at him in what she mistakenly thought was some sort of come on. His internal sigh of fatigue didn't disrupt the aim of the pistol propped on his raised knee in the least. The Sabbath were truly stupidly bad at innuendo, and presumably sex. The secret agent found their trite attempts too irritating to bother matching. He was already doing this the hard way, did he really have to deal with all this wankery too?

"You've a run in your stocking.", said Simon, still holding his aim steady. Though visibly rattled by his deadpan delivery, she confidently pulsed with power. The twisted red space around her glowed more brightly as she burned off more of her mana reserve to reinforce it. Now more confident that she could still deflect any of his shots, she was looking down at her outstretched leg. Probably trying to see if he was telling the truth. Her pose was even more awkward now, D'accord concealed amusement as he continued dryly, "No, the other one, by your ankle." She gave a start at seeing he was telling the truth. She slumped visibly before drawing herself up with all the dignity she could muster. The shota-fied agent of the Silver Bullets thought just as little of her next attempted "sexy" posture. It had all the dignity of someone happily pretending to be a child while actually being an adult. In short, very fucking little.

"Well, Mr. D'accord, a girl can't help it if...", she stumbled for a moment before attempting to rally, "...things get a little loose, when we're getting hot and heavy. Undone, I mean. Not loose." D'accord continued his show of indifference. His school uniform was charred, he was out past curfew, and the angry burn across his ribs didn't endear him to the diminutive Sabbath agent either. He was happy to let the bint stew in her discomfort, he'd even help.

"Loose.", he prompted.

"Undone.", said the flustered Witch.

"Like your stocking?", asked D'accord. There was a brief moment where she was clearly considering taking it off. D'accord fired a mana charged bullet that spanged off of her magical shield, hoping to dissuade her. It was a calculated risk, he'd 5 more rounds in the revolver and his plan hinged on conserving his mana. The small device attached to his belt converted mana into a force field, such devices were never as strong as equivalent spells. Despite his own capable skill at spell-casting, Simon preferred to utilize magic devices to avoid having to waste portions of his precious mana burning off Corruption. As a human, his usable reserves of mana were greater than hers. Out-casting a Witch was unlikely, but outlasting her on the other hand...

"No more of that shit, Oswalda. You should've figured that you don't have enough figure for my tastes.", said D'accord, emphasizing the vocal barbs while tensing. Keeping his mind and body ready to leap into a series of dodging maneuvers while possibly activating his mana shield with as little energy as possible. The Witch took the bait, the space around the skull topped staff warped and glowed. Simon leapt immediately into a series of dodges triggering his mana shield. The crimson beam that sprang from her staff was less well aimed than usual. The combination of his agile movements and her anger resulted in it only clipping the edge of the force field surrounding him. The blast was powerful enough to cause it to sputter and deactivate.

Another crimson beam of force followed immediately, this one took him in the left side. It was a faithful example of an insult to injury. One that Simon felt break something within as the concussive beam connected with his already burned left side. Picking himself up off the ground woozily he activated his mana shield once more. Instinctively drawing a bead on her, he fired, still far too numbed with shock to feel the agony that was probably a broken rib. The red twisted space around her sputtered and dispersed as his mana-charged round struck it. Even a Witch had a limit to how many high level spells she could burn through before draining her mana pool. It was difficult keep her in his sights, but he managed. Ironically now that she'd burned through her normal reserve she'd be even more dangerous.

"Oh Simon. I wasn't thinking. You know I don't like that name.", said the Witch. She seemed genuinely shocked and remorseful. Simon didn't care, as his ribs seemed genuinely broken. He kept the gun pointed at her.

"That's your name isn't it, Oswalda? Is it too human for you? Not quite pornographic enough?", said Simon in a fit of schadenfreude. Through the growing agony and blurred thinking, Simon found pleasure in her clear discomfort, his childish yet sharp voice continued, "Couldn't wait join the Sabbath for somethin better? Is that it, Treacle Jockey? The name you want. Much better now isn't? Sold everything for...stupid name and no tits...ought ta kneecap you." Simon was slurring a bit now, he struck his own injured side gasping in agony. Clinging to consciousness by threads of pain and anger, he sighted her once more.

The little fool had started sobbing, Simon wasn't sure when. He been sure, to make sure, to keep her in his sights. Thought was once more becoming difficult. Something had to be done, it was so hard to grasp what the hell it was.

"No movement, you shapeless twit.", yelled the man wearing a boy's body as he put a round into the ground a few feet away from the sobbing girl shaped monster. She jolted in fear and froze. Tears still ran down her face and her body slightly contorted under the power of suppressed sobs.

"Summary execution is the thing for traitors. You take the Goddess's obol you don't give it back.", said Simon D'accord, his voice now hard and sharp. Somewhere in his mind beyond the pain and confusion, the metal disc sat as solid and real as when he'd taken it and signed his life over to the Goddess. He could feel it in the palm of his hand. The thought gave him some sense of clarity. His free left hand moved drawing out torment as he groped about his trousers. She dared look hopeful, before a flash of silver flew out in an arc striking the ground in front of her.

She slumped on recognizing the shackles he'd thrown several feet in front of her. "Put them on now. Slow.", he said keeping his pistol trained on the slowly moving Witch. It was hell to watch her move so slowly when he had to stand in this torture, ever moment nearly too damn much. Finally, the click of the shackles had sounded. "Show me, hands up. No tricks.", he said in his anguished hell of waiting. She complied. She was shackled, the anti-magical cuffs were locked upon her correctly. In a way, that made things even worse. For now Simon had to make the long trek to find another Silver Bullet to take her into custody, and damned if every moment wasn't pain eating away at his mind. With clenched teeth he ordered her to walk in front of him. The night, Goddess damn it, was still far too young for his tastes.