Power is a fire that separates the weak from the strong. Power dictates the fate of all who pursue it. Power is the obsession that drives humanity’s ills. Power can be earned, yet it can also be stolen. And no one better exemplified the stealing of power than the ruthless sorceress known as Magica De Spell.

Magica would do anything to possess ultimate power. Thanks to the Sword of the Archangel, that power was in her palms once again. To make things even better, all it took was the sacrifice of her greatest adversary. Or, in this case, the underling of her greatest adversary.

Now that Magica had achieved the ultimate power, she could begin the next phase of her plan. But first, the sorceress had some annoying knots to cut loose.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Oh, Scroogeykins,” Magica flippantly uttered, “Do not be so glum. You’d have to be foolish not to see how beautiful I have become.”

“Beautiful?!” Huey snapped, “You-… You’ve taken everything from us! What more do you want?!”

“Quiet, you little brat!” Magica warned, “Besides, it isn’t enough to have godlike power… and I believe that my little Scroogeykins has one last little gift for me!”

Magica would demonstrate her new power by tearing a hole in the fabric of reality. She eagerly wriggled her fingers through the hole, then pulled out the case that contained Scrooge’s lucky dime. Magica grinned ear to ear as Scrooge confirmed her suspicions. Now that she had both treasures, her dreams of becoming immortal could finally come true.

“I should feel grateful, Scrooge,” Magica sneered, “Without poor little Donald, I would have never got my hands on your lucky dime!”

“You keep his name outta your mouth!” the triplets declared, “You... YOU!”

“Do not worry. You will see him again real soon,” Magica said coyly, “Now! Witness the almighty power of the great Magica De Spell!”

Magica waved the sword at the tip of Scrooge’s beak. The tip of the blade was white-hot, barely singeing his skin. Then, with narrowed eyes, Magica declared, “Farewell, Scrooge McDuck!”

To the tune of a thunderous orchestra, Magica ascended. She lifted the sword overhead, blinding the cave in a piercing light. Her godly power brought the mortals to their knees. Next, Magica aimed her blade directly at Scrooge’s heart. With her target now in place, Magica was ready to make the final blow.

The orchestra grew louder as Magica took aim. And when the time was right, their cries launched the sword from her grasp. The blade careened towards the lowly sinner. Though he could not see it, Scrooge knew he was at his end. Then the blade crashed.

The sound of colliding metal made Scrooge howl.

“Oh! I’m hit! I’m finished!” Scrooge agonized, “I’m! I’m-… What?!”

To his surprise, he was unharmed. Only the heat of the blade warmed his skin. In a further surprise, a silhouette stood before Scrooge. In its hand was the tip of the blade, seated firmly in the silhouette’s hand. The blade edge was only a hair away from Scrooge’s heart. Scrooge squinted his eyes and was met with a faint figure coated in white and gold. Scrooge was shocked, but it was nothing compared to the dismay expressed by the wicked sorceress.

Magica’s eyes widened at the figure’s sudden appearance. She was stunned, but her pride would not waver. She would even be stunned when the white-gold figure threw the sword back at the sorceress, knocking her off balance. Magica growled and struck at the figure again, only this time the silhouette approached her and disarmed her with the push of his palm.

The silhouette held the weapon with a fierce grip. His stare connected with the sorceress’s stuttering eyes. He would speak, commanding her attention.

“Touch not my anointed,” the angel commanded.

“That raspy voice…” Magica muttered, “It can’t be…!”

Before the sorceress could confirm her thoughts, the silhouette swung the sword once more. This time, dispelling the cave of its blindness. The power of the sword allowed the silhouette to reveal its true form, revealing itself as an angel for all to see.

Once again, Magica had been thwarted. Her pride became wrathful as she threw a tantrum. She whined about how she could not lose, lamenting the closeness she felt to achieving her ultimate goal. It must be agonizing to lead a life of suffering only to stumble at the finish line.

But Magica was unwilling to let herself lose. She still had ultimate power and decided it was time to show this “angel” who was the most “godly” of them both.

“Hey, you stupid angel!” Magica hollered, “Put up your wings and return what is mine!”

The sorceress threw hate at the angel, making threats that could goad the angel into anger. She would even ridicule his raspy voice, stating that the inability to speak properly would make him lame in the eyes of his god. Her aura reddened as she became irate. But that only made the angel pity her. The angel spoke to her, but his words seemed to express lament more than anything. His words made Magica’s tongue twist and angrier as a result.

“How dare you!” Magica exclaimed, “Grrr! That’s it! Face the wrath of Magica, you foolish spirit!”

The impeded sorceress mustered much of her power to begin an incantation. Her chanting was as expressive as her body, resulting in the resurrection of a mighty evil. Burgeoning from the depths of Magica’s corrupted soul, a shadow would stand before the angel. The shadow cursed the land, inhaling the cavern inside of its darkened maw.

The shadow consumed all, trapping the mere mortals in its prison. The mortals collided with the souls of the damned. The mortals were left trapped in an endless cycle, cursed to live in darkness for the remainder of their days. The lost souls demanded their attention with their blood-curdling cries. And as the living souls cried, the shadow became powerful. Its mass embiggened, mutating into a malformed entity only comparable to the Devil himself.

Staring down the victims were the shadow’s blood-red eyes. Before they knew it, the mortals were about to board the next train to eternal suffering. For Scrooge, it was everything the fortune had foretold. In short, he cried the loudest. He knew that if this fortune was true, then his fate was truly sealed.

Magica’s shadow consumed the cave and all of its inhabitants. With such power, she could not only conquer the Holy Land but the entire world. Magica’s appetite for power was great, but it meant nothing to the power of the light.

Unexpectedly, a blade tore through the unholy veil, shining a light that blinded the demon’s eyes. The shadow roared as its master tried to rebuke the light. Emerging from the light was the angel. With the sword in hand, the angel ordered Magica to yield.

The sorceress would not stand down. She believed that this “anointed one” was nothing more than just a raspy little soul in need of impulse control. The sorceress then ordered her shadow to attack the angel. Suddenly, daggers were thrown at the angel. Pointed spears shot from all angles, aiming for the angel’s core. But the angel was one step ahead.

To counter the attack, the angel waved his palm, bringing the daggers to a pause. Each blade was frozen, narrowly stuck centimeters away from his body. The unflinching angel then pushed them aside, sending every dagger back from whence they came. The daggers impaled the shadow in every direction, forcing the demon to cry out.

The demon uncovered the cave and took on a bipedal form. It fell to the angel’s level, cursing it through its incorrigible language. The angel responded with a beckoning gesture, goading the beast to go berserk. The shadow demon fell for its taunts and lunged at the angel. It swiped at the angel with its claws. With every swipe, it missed the angel.

The demon’s moves were fast, but the angel was faster. The angel remained passive, dodging the beast’s erratic moves like leaves in the wind. The angel toyed with the creature, multiplying himself with his speed. His actions made the demon reel back. Then, like a flash in a pan, the angel thrust his palm into the shadow’s back.

The impact sent the shadow back to its master. The demon’s sheer force made the shadow dancer dizzy. As a result, the shadow dancer fell back to Earth with a mighty thud. The angel left Magica in a drunken stupor. Her daze gave the angel enough time to commit a decisive act.

The angel descended to Magica, and his sword rose up slowly. Upon touching the floor, he marched to her. His steps grew louder until he was an inch away from the sorceress. Magica swiftly threw up her hand. Both beings struck at one another, leaving fate to decide the winner.

Decisively, the hand of fate fell in the angel’s favor. The strike of the blade cut Magica to pieces. But it was not her physical being that was killed. Rather, it was the connection to her unholy apparatus that was severed.

As Magica collapsed, so did her demon. Suddenly, all of Magica’s newfound power was sucked away, leaving her with a husk of what once was her most powerful form. The sorceress was powerless against the angel. And yet, he still granted her mercy. Her demon, however, remained defiant.

“Be rebuked, foul spirit,” the angel commanded, “This land is not yours to control.”

The demon harbored an intense wrath. His eyes fixated on the sword, seeing its bodily fluid drenched against its edge. The blood of the demon drizzled against the floor, dissolving upon the touch of the angel’s feet. The demon’s scorn was presented in a powerful roar.

Though cut from its anchor, the demon used what remained of its power to take on the angel one last time. The demon had enough energy to wipe out an entire civilization, and it was not going to let some holy ghost tell it what to do. The evil entity used its remaining power to craft a blade of its own. Its blade was sharp, powered by the essence of its captured souls.

Once again, the demon charged at the angel. The angel stood firm, keeping his weapon pointed at the demon’s crest. Then, once the time was right, the angel leaped. The demon roared as the angel cried. The blades soon connected as both entities stood on opposite sides of the arena. Once again, it was time for the hand of fate to make its decision.

Both entities were short of breath. Their blades pointed towards the edge. One pointed up while the other pointed down. The angel looked to the demon, as the demon looked to him. The demon watched as the angel staggered, thinking it had won. Unfortunately, the demon’s fate was sealed. Soon, its body was overrun by a piercing light.

The demon dropped its sword and collapsed to its knees. All the while, its master awakened to see its demise. She watched as his power immolated the demon. The demon unleashed a deathly cry. It cried to the heavens above. But heaven saw through its desires and erased it from the mortal plane.

Magica snapped. She shot up to her feet and cursed at the angel. She shouted to his face, “Curse you! Curse you! Curse you! You no-good fool! I ought to use your head as a spool!” Magica wanted vengeance. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a backup wand. But the second the wand was unsheathed, it disintegrated, much to her dismay.

The angel said nothing, only lowering his sword at the sight of her. Once again, he lamented her pain, but would not let her actions go unpunished. The angel would then lift Magica from the ground. Then, by the command of Michael’s sword, he opened the cave’s ceiling. The angel’s final words to Magica was that he hoped “his god” would forgive her some day. Then, by the release of his breath, he set her free.

The push of an angelic hand sent Magica flying into the skies. He cast out the sorceress and all the evil she brought in her wake. Magica was sent hurdling into the heart of the desert. She crashed violently into the sands, buried in a crater of her own shame. Powerless, frazzled, and without a comb, Magica was left in the desert, worn and alone. The little sorceress squabbled until she was able to pull herself out of the sand.

“PBBLTH! PTOOEY!” Magica spat. Dust and sand covered her, much like her failed plans. No sword, and especially no Lucky Dime. Magica threw her hands up and groaned, “Hoh! Defeated by an angelic punk! Oi… what bad luck!”

Magica slammed her fist in the dirt, then slowly made her climb out of the crater. Magica grumbled as the slippery sands made it hard on her heels. Magica sighed and tried to see things from a different viewpoint. Besides, at least it couldn’t get any worse.

“AHEM!” a disgruntled group grunted.

Before she knew it, a group of shadows surrounded Magica. Unfortunately, those shadows were the remnants of the MaliQuack-Tud. And by the looks on their faces, they were none too happy. Magica gulped loudly. She tucked her head between her shoulders and tried to barter with the men.

“Fellas! Ehh… I-I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for all this. I-I’m sure we can talk about this over drinks, yes?” Magica clumsily persuaded.

“Nuh-uh,” the soldiers rejected.

Magica knew she was in deep trouble, so she used the only trick that she had left.

“Eh-heh. Heh! Heh… Oi… Uh, look! A Jezebel!”

ZIP! Magica’s trick gave her enough time to run from the army. She got quite a head start before the MaliQuack-Tud could give chase.

“HEY!” shouted Bramhil-Quack, “She’s getting away! STONE HER!”

The MaliQuack-Tud chased Magica into the sunset. Poor Magica. It was going to be a long walk home if the zionists didn’t stone her first. It may seem like the end, but even to the richest duck in the world, it was best to hold that statement under some level of skepticism.