Young Writers Society

Oz glanced over at Viper, recalling the conversation they had been in the middle of only moments before. "Exactly what I was thinking!" His gaze dropped down to the wound at her side. Since attention had been brought to it and the situation with the mysterious newcomer had been dealt with, now seemed like the perfect time to take care of her injury.

He tapped into the wells of magic deep within him, running through the list of spells he had used many times in the past. Settling on the right one, he began to quietly utter the words. He used his body as a conduit for the energy flowing within his veins. As invisible magic left his fingertips and covered the wound, a strange warmth filled the air. It would have felt intrusive to the others, but it was quite comforting to Oz. After all, it was the trademark of his magic.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that wound now!" Oz abruptly announced, grinning. "I healed it."

She looks surprised, taken aback, afraid, and confused all at once, unable to come up with something to say to this with any semblance of speed.

She looked startled by the use of his magic, which Oz should have probably expected would happen. Magic wasn't exactly a widespread thing. Though he had made it clear to Viper that he was a sorcerer - the world's most powerful one, more importantly - back when they first met, she probably had doubted what he was claiming. If he was in her shoes, he would have likely done the same.

But the past was in the past, and he was certain other people had to be wandering through this strange labyrinth. Clapping his hands together, he said, "Alright! I'm sure we weren't the only ones brought here - in fact, I've got a feeling that we're quite close to another person right now. We should try to find them and discover what they know."

Why didn't that hurt us? she demands.

He can't be from Earth with magic that feels like that.

. . .If he's not from Earth, where the Hell is he from?

How would I know? Now shut up and do your job, Sarah.

Sean stuck his hands in his pockets
"Which way, happy wizard man?" he asked, gesturing to the path with his chin.

He thought for a moment. He had no reason to pick one way over the other, but his gut was telling him to keep going straight. "I think we should just go forward," he said, lifting a hand and pointing in front of him.

"After you, Mr. Potter," she says, gesturing for him to take the lead.

Oz marched on forward, positively beaming at the nickname. There was nothing quite like being compared to one of literature's greatest wizards. He would have taken the last name for himself if he wasn't already living with this current alias. After all, who didn't like the Wizard of Oz?

"Anyone out there?" he shouted. With the racket they were making from their footsteps alone, he was sure that their location would have already been noticed by any less friendly inhabitants of the mysterious labyrinth. If they hadn't come after them yet, he doubted they would if he yelled a bit.

They were calling out to him. Or perhaps, they were calling out to anyone - hoping they were not alone in this strange trap of a maze. His only response was a low growl that reverberated down the walls.

"I don't think that sounds friendly," she says, eyes flashing crimson as her fingers wrap around her daggers.

"Maybe they're scared?" Oz hesitantly said, but he was already reaching for one of his own hidden daggers. In a place like this, a reaction like that would be justified. But he was getting a bad feeling from both the place and the people within it. He didn't have a perfect past. He doubted anyone really did.

Still, there was something about the type of people he had encountered that rubbed him the wrong way - like they all had countless secrets they desperately wanted to hide, and would do anything they could to prevent them from being discovered. If his current traveling companions were anything to go off of, whoever else they met would likely be the same.

"We're not going to hurt you!" Oz shouted, his voice just as loud as before. "We just want to talk!"

“I’m not concerned about you hurting me,” his very low voice replied, and finally he stood up, beginning to approach the voices. Though it was dark and dim, the light peeking through the cracks in his scaly skin made him look like he was almost glowing. “But if it’s talking you desire to do, I can’t imagine you know much of use. But by all means, entertain me.”

Light filled the labyrinth as they approached the source of the man's voice. Oz didn't know how someone could possibly have a voice that low, and every intelligent part of him was telling him to turn around. He was prone to listening to his instincts, but he needed to talk with this person. Maybe, just maybe, talking with him would reveal the pattern he needed to understand how he had ended up in this labyrinth in the first place.

Now, Oz wasn't one to judge. He had been involved in all sorts of magical mishaps during his earlier days - especially when he was first experimenting with magic - and he had seen all sorts of things in the past. But there were certain things that you would expect to see in a place like this, and the man he turned the corner to see certainly wasn't one of them.

"Merlin's beard," Oz whispered, because what respectable wizard didn't spice up his language with the occasional reference to Harry Potter? The guy was almost glowing, light spilling out from underneath his scales. There was also the fact that he was wearing medieval armor, which was something Oz hadn't seen outside of Renaissance fair for a long time.

Viper's eyes flash luminescent crimson and she steps back, both her weapons drawn. Her pupils are vertical like a serpent's and her stance is carefully placed with her balance even and knees slightly bent, ready to move if she has to. This thing doesn't smell like a demon but damn does it look like one.