Magic was compassionate.

It was attentive as it watched no less than two wizards destroy the magical world in a span of a century. It watched families being torn apart, friends turning on friends, villages being plundered, and people being massacred. All in the name of magic.

When a young mother stood in front of her baby's crib, she was fierce and resplendent. She called on her magic with all her might and sent it crashing towards her son, only to think it all in vain when a green light engulfed her.

When a young witch convulsed and trashed as waves upon waves of pain wrecked her body, she was silent and ferocious. She called on her magic to protect and felt it respond when everything in her seemed to give up. When a cursed knife cut her skin, she too almost gave up.

But it was not in vain, Magic saw but it also heard their cries. Magic was kind, but it was also wrathful.

Witnessing a triumph of a megalomaniac and thousands and thousands of magical cores withering away, Magic was not happy. It bled, it cried, it lashed out. The crushing imbalance was perhaps the perfect time to destroy. Maybe destroy to make whole again.

Through the gaping hole, it searched and searched for answers to the problem. With its very existence hanging in balance, Magic found two cores purer than any. Blood that sung with the magic it carried, unlike the other bloods that had been diluted too many times. No, these cores were new and perfect. Raw power flowed through its veins not because it belonged there but because it existed out of nothing- wild and free.

Untameable, rather like Magic.

The arrogance and pride of the vile wand-carriers was to be their undoing. Magic would make sure of that. Every death at their hands caused a rip in their magic, in their souls and in their domains. A rip that would become much worse and take away the magic they prided so much in.

Magic watched as the mother stood tall and proud, defending her young as a lioness would. Moments ago, the father had been killed by a maniac. The mother cast her magic even as she fell at the hands of the egotistical wand-carrier a few moments later. The rip widened. Such arrogance was only to be rewarded with penance. The wand carrier fell as he tried to kill the baby. Weakening and a mere wraith, it slithered away. Magic heard the cries of the young pup echo and pierce the air.

It waited.

Magic watched as the witch and her companion ran with all their might, stumbling and falling but never faltering. They backed into a corner and stopped; the witch looked at her companion and whispered a few words. The companion vanished in a maelstrom of cries and regrets, but the witch squared her shoulders and faced her pursuers. The witch was good, too good. But the ten against her were merciless. She took down six with her before a purple light ripped her skin open. Patiently, Magic waited as the witch breathed last. The rip tore.

And Magic pounced.