Episode 7- It began with four friends and a cabbage

I suppose I should start putting little reminders of what I do here and why, just so new readers don't have to dig up the intro post to get any context on what's going on. So: this blog contains pieces of short fiction I write on the spot based on random character and plot prompts. I do this as a way of learning and practicing the craft of writing, and the blog itself exists to make me responsible for posting to it each day, increasing the likelihood that I will continue this daily practice.

...I'll find a way to tighten that up over the next few days. Anyway! I found a really cute character generator at https://generators.magicalgurll.com/original/characterdesign.html . Here's what it gave me:

From that I already had a plot idea, and the website I got the character from doesn't have a plot generator, so I went in a little bit of a different direction today and used it to make my antagonist instead:

Okay! Here's my story snippet about a Magical Girl fighting God. CW- maggots, body horror:

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Amanda crashed through an aluminum table, her back slamming against the concrete floor of the rooftop lounge. Her head whipped back with the impact, and only by instinct and training had she managed to place a hand under it during the fall. She felt her knuckles crack under the force of her skull’s momentum, and kicked her feet up, throwing her weight behind her to turn the impact into a backwards roll. Stupid to make her neck the fulcrum for her body’s rotation, but letting her back absorb the full impact of the fall would be equally dangerous.

She flipped over her own head, sailing backwards, arms wide and her feet extended behind her ready to absorb the next impact. When it came, it came at an angle she did not expect, but let her knee bend with it, absorbing as much kinetic energy at it could. She came to a halt, left foot on the concrete ground, right foot on the waist-high brick wall that separated the rooftop from the twelve-story fall to the alley below. Her scythe landed nearby, embedding itself in a large potted fern. Maggots plopped to the ground around her as she dropped to one knee, palms on the ground in front of her, breathing hard.

She took stock. Her head felt fine where it had hit, but her left hand was already beginning to swell, the knuckles shredded open and bloody. A dull roar of pain told her grave news about at least one of the fingers there, but still, better a broken hand than a broken skull.

Her face was a buffet of varied pains where Onomdu had struck her. Her cheek throbbed, her lips ached, and the bridge of her nose felt like a screwdriver had been hammered into it by an uncoordinated toddler. She brought a hand to her mouth, testing the wetness she felt against her skin, and when she looked, fresh blood, dark and oozing, covered her fingers.

A few feet away, Constance landed on the roof, shouting Amanda’s name and rushing toward her. Constance’s dark cardigan had been slashed at the shoulder, and she was bleeding as she gathered her wool skirt and knelt before Amanda.

“Whoa, whoa, Amanda, are you okay? Oh, that looks broken,” she said, as she placed a steadying hand on Amanda’s steel mushroom-painted pauldrons and used the other hand to move her chin, inspecting her face.

“Just a little bee sting,” said Amanda, trying to put on a brave face for her teammate.

“Nonsense,” said Constance, taking Amanda’s face in both hands. “Hold still, I read about how to do this in a medical journal.” Constance placed the flat edges of her hands on either side of Amanda’s nose, and Amanda met her gaze, staring at the librarian’s dark green eyes through the thick, round spectacles Constance somehow manage to keep perched on her nose, even during a battle as fierce as this.

“One,” counted Constance. Amanda braced herself, drawing a deep breath, which became a scream as Constance said “two” and wrenched. A sickening grinding of cartilage and bone resounded through Amanda’s skull, and the pain whited out her vision for a moment. When she returned, though, the agony of her broken nose had faded to a dull throb, the stabbing pain no longer radiating around her eye sockets.

“There,” said Constance. “Pretty as a button. Are you alright?”

Amanda nodded, still catching her breath. She looked up, remembering the battle. In the sky above, Brittany, her lip gloss shining even from over a hundred feet away, aimed a kick at the mouse-headed monstrosity that hovered over downtown Trope City. Onomdu dodged, and Brittany flew past, a blur of pigtails and leopard print, as Aster dove at the enraged God’s back. Aster’s spiderweb skirt flared, showing the tops of her fishnets as she caught Onomdu between her thighs and pummeled it.

Onomdu took the beating with barely an effort. Corrupted maggots streamed from the deadened eyes of the once-peaceful God of artistic bliss, forming a coat over the shoulders of the being’s tuxedo jacket before raining down to burst wetly on the street far below. As Aster squeezed with her thighs, the little white creatures swarmed her legs. Amanda was glad she couldn’t see the detail, could only see a sheen of pale white forming over Aster’s torn black leggings. Could barely hear Aster begin to scream, hear Brittany shout as she came back for another flying kick, knocking Onomdu out from between her teammate’s thighs.

“We’ve gotta get back up there,” Amanda said, standing and smoothing her hands over her ruffled pink dress.

Constance had retrieved Amanda’s scythe and handed it to her. “You’re right, they need us up there. Can you still fly?”

Amanda tested her bouyancy. “Yes. Let’s go save our friends.”

“Wait, I’ve got an idea,” said Constance, showing Amanda a pile of dried leaves before clutching her fist around them. Her hand started to glow green. Amanda reached into her own pocket, pulling out a similar bunch of leaves, fruity and herbal where Constance’s had been dark and robust. She concentrated her Will on her hand, then nodded to Constance.

The two women lept into the air, speeding back toward the battle, glowing hands held cocked like pitchers preparing a fastball. Onomdu’s rodent head turned toward them, spreading in a grin, tongue lolling as more maggots spilled from its mouth.

“Prettys,” it said. “Come play.”

As one, Amanda and Constance tensed, preparing to release the magic they had infused into the tea leaves they held, a magic borne of teamwork and connection and sisterhood and all that the corrupting force that had invaded Onomdu’s mind stood against.

“Prepare!”, they shouted in unison, throwing their arms forward and releasing the deliciously-scented blast. “Super double cozy teatime magic beam!”

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Did I make up an entire team of Magical Girls for one writing exercise? Yes, yes I did. I have no idea why Amanda wields a scythe, but whatever, it was a cool scene anyway.

Until next time!