[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/uOLtaJA.png[/img][/center]
“[color=DarkOliveGreen]Please don’t do that again[/color]” Ragman moaned, clutching his stomach, as the stepping disc faded away. 

Illyana ignored him, moving forward into the dimly lit street, eyes fixated on the flaming apartment building in front of them. Her gaze turned to the old stone steps leading up to the building’s front entrance, where the flames seemed to be at their strongest. She frowned. This was going to be a bit more difficult than she had expected. As Ragman continued to wretch and groan underneath his ragged mask behind her, she raised her staff, pointing it towards the flames. Clearing her throat, she let out a soft hum before speaking the words of magic, her voice taking on a husky tone as she did so. 

“[i][color=rosybrown]Winds of Watoomb[/color][/i].” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, the street around them erupted into noise as the wind picked up around them. Magik stood strong as what appeared to be a miniature tornado formed in front of her, gale force winds pushed back against and upturning trash everywhere. She could barely hear Ragman over the noise, who had now stopped being on the urge of being violently sick and had instead turned to shouting in confusion at the commotion. She ignored him, and instead simply raised her hand, moving it forward, as if she was motioning to push the wind forward. And so, it did. The tornado moved forward rapidly, rocketing towards the apartment building, with enough force to snuff out any flame.

However, as soon as the first torrents of wind hit the hellfire, the winds simply dispersed. 

As the street grew quiet, Magik groaned, tapping her finger against her staff impatiently. Maybe she hadn’t done the spell correctly? Maybe she wasn’t the competent sorcerer she thought she had been? Maybe Strange had been wrong about her. Wrong about all of her “potential.” Maybe Belasco was right. Maybe... No. Her spell had been perfect. It was just that the building’s magic was stronger. Hellfire’s a bitch, there was no questioning that.

“[color=DarkOliveGreen]Woah…[/color]” Ragman’s voice snapped her out of her self-deprecating thoughts, returning her to the Gotham street.

“[color=rosybrown]I’m glad someone’s impressed because that did fuck all.[/color]”

“[color=DarkOliveGreen]No, not that. Look![/color]”

Her eyes followed his, her mouth falling agape slightly. It suddenly dawned on her why no one had been paying the two of them attention. Or panicking at the sight of a whirlwind appearing in the middle of the street. No, instead they moved like zombies, slowly lurching towards the apartment building. As one middle-aged woman crawled past her, Illyana caught sight of her face. Her features were motionless as if she’s been frozen in a sheet of ice. All except her eyes, which glowed and burned a crimson red, like two tiny balls of fire.

“[color=rosybrown]Блядь… They look… Possessed.[/color]” She went to grab the woman by the arm to pull her back, however, despite her weak appearance, she wriggled out of Illyana’s grasp with ease, continuing. Defeated, she stood back, running her hand through her hair. “[color=rosybrown]We need to get in there.[/color]”

“[color=DarkOliveGreen]And there’s our entrance.[/color]” Ragman said, pointing up towards the building, where a window sat wide open next to a fire escape. Once he saw that Magik had seen it, he moved his finger up towards the rooftop across the alleyway from it. “[color=DarkOliveGreen]If we get up there, then I reckon we could jump right down to the window without hitting the flames.[/color]”

Illyana simply scoffed. “[color=rosybrown]Too slow.[/color]”

At once the ground beneath them erupted into light once more.

“[color=DarkOliveGreen]What?! Wait! Magik![/color]”

The two materialized inside a dimly lit corridor. The walls and roof were covered in damp, with the wallpaper peeling off all over the place. The furthest door from them had been left ajar, allowing a glorious amber glow to meander like a narrow stream across the hall, stopping at it hit a figure in front of them. 

“[color=DarkOliveGreen]I think I’m going to be sick…[/color]” Ragman moaned, stumbling to a wall for support. 

Illyana ignored him, focussing on the approaching woman. Frail and feeble, a light pink frock covered the old woman’s bony arms. Her wispy hair and wrinkled features were illuminated by the burning eyes of fire that she shared with the zombies from the street below. 

“A warm welcome to the Ragman, and the Daughter of Limbo.” Her voice was eerie and cold. A combination of both what must’ve been her own voice, and another’s. “Master Marcosa has been expecting you.”

At that, the sound of Ragman’s retching reached an all-time high as he pulled up his mask, and vomited onto the floor before them.