#battle magic

Still pale but steady, the elf nodded—no fainting in his plans. They slid down the ladder to find Alistair braced at the stairwell, the thunder of approaching darkspawn echoing upward. Battle had come to them.

Morrigan tossed over her shoulder:

— Don’t die.

Morrigan approached Alistair and, moving slowly to avoid startling him, touched his blade. A simple spell rippled across the metal, coating it in frost as if freshly pulled from a winter gale. The warrior acknowledged the aid with a curt nod. Alim, wrapped in shimmering magical and spiritual wards, attempted a grim joke:

— Heard tales in camp about the legendary Witch of Korkari. They say she could call lightning upon her enemies. Perhaps we’re fortunate to have such company?

The witch nearly agreed—then froze mid-breath, struck by uncertainty. Racing through her memory, she realized the lightning spell’s sequence had vanished, feeding fresh paranoia. The hours spent mastering it felt intact, yet the spell itself... as if those efforts had evaporated. What else had been lost during those blank hours? With a noncommittal nod to Alim, she steeled herself for battle.

A minute and a half later, the first three genlocks appeared on the lower floor. Clad in rusted mail and wielding jagged blades, they charged up the stairs with startling speed. The spell on Alistair’s blade hurled the lead creature backward—bones crunched as it tumbled down—marking the fight’s start.

Morrigan clenched her fist and hissed through gritted teeth:

— Tua vita mea esté.

Something intangible brushed the charging genlock—like a ripple on water—before its sword plunged into her abdomen to the hilt, dragging her back a step with a choked cry of pain. Though Alim roared in fury, Alistair was locked in his own struggle. Genlocks in melee were deadlier than they were at range, especially armed and armored. Deflecting thrusts with his shield, barely dodging, the blond bided his time—then ducked low and surged forward. A shield bash to the gut, a stab to the thigh, and he flung his opponent down the stairs after the first.

Turning, he witnessed something unnatural: Morrigan, impaled and smiling horribly, cradled the kneeling genlock’s head as she whispered:

— Fríos. Tenací.

Frost crawled over the creature’s skull beneath her fingers. It collapsed, sword clattering free. She yanked the blade from her belly—barely a trickle of blood now—and tossed it aside.

— Leave this one. It’ll serve as a... well of life.

Five more genlocks reached the third floor. An archer loosed at Alistair—the only visible armed target—forcing him to dodge right, slamming into the wall. Alim managed to hurl one attacker downstairs, his ragged breathing betraying his limits.

Alistair whirled, using foes as shields against the archer. Morrigan, exploiting her staff’s reach, speared a genlock’s eye, then bludgeoned it senseless. Slipping from the archer’s sight, she repeated her freezing spell on the stunned creature.

Before Alistair could fully use one darkspawn as cover, a hilt struck his jaw twice in the scrum. He retaliated—kicking both genlocks down the stairs—then spat blood and retreated from arrow range.

— Our time’s running out.

Panting, he checked his grip and squinted upward.

— Dark’s falling.

Two genlocks and another archer burst onto the landing. Alistair and Morrigan split, complicating their aim—but the archer targeted the swaying elf. Without hesitation, Morrigan incanted:

— Somnia dirae tenebrae, animus furenté!

A wave of translucent gloom flashed through the room. The effect was more than she’d hoped for: the archer flailed at invisible threats; one genlock froze; the other stumbled backward down the stairs. Alistair seized the opening—running one through the neck, shield-bashing the second, then finishing it on the floor.

— Can’t... huff... help but wonder. Got more tricks like last night’s?

Morrigan shot him a glare, fatigue now plain.

— Honesty will kill you.

— Bit late for warnings.

A thunder of footsteps echoed below—dozens, plus an ogre’s heavy tread. Morrigan hissed:

— Remember your vow at the ruins? To protect? Your hour’s come. Delay them. Even a minute.

— Got a plan?

— An idea. We’ll see what it costs me.

He readied his blade.

— Still better than ‘we die now.’

Alistair clenched his teeth and took position at the stairwell, his attention wholly consumed by the approaching footsteps below. Morrigan lingered for a moment on his tense back before turning to the elf who was clinging to consciousness by sheer will.

Morgana's magic, contrary to battle magic, works on external elements and as such requires energy from the outside. Her type of magic is sustained by siphoning energy from all that the mage can reach. Plants, animals, even humans.

It doesn't wear down the user, but it can have heavy impacts on their mental stability.

Magnus Chase- Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard by Rick Riordan