Right as Magica was about to serve up some roast duck, a crazed maniac came careening downwards through the subterranean cave. The maniac demanded everyone’s attention through his bellowing cry, shrieking aloud through the thick fog. Even after crashing into the boiling water, the maniac could faintly be seen ricocheting through the cave. He bounced off every piece of rock and stone like a game of pinball. He flew about before making his eventual landing.

The maniac stared down his opponent with his fists clenched tightly. His feathers were redder than the devil’s peppers. He was irate. He was berserk. He was…

“Donald Duck,” Magica greeted, “How kind of you to drop by.”

“Let Scrooge go, you witch!” Donald demanded.

“Oh, but Donald… have you no hospitality?” Magica sneered, “Scrooge and I were just discussing dinner plans. You do know how business deals work, don’t you?”

As Magica mocked him as she drew her rival closer to the flame.

“Stop!” Donald ordered, but his demands were ignored.

Donald was left with his back against the wall. He had no garlic and no plan. Underneath his rage, he panicked. He was a boat with no rudder, and his shipmate was about to be shark food.  But then, an idea burgeoned in his brain. He remembered an important ideal he studied in time for this faithless escapade. It was something that he knew even Magica could not resist. His memories formulated the perfect idea. Then, he set his gaze on Magica and catered to her pride.

“Magica. If you want that sword so bad… then throw me in that flame instead!” Donald ordered. His words incited gasps from his audience.

“M-Mister Duck,” Magica stammered, “What a pressing offer, but… are you sure?” Magica remained composed, yet her speech portrayed otherwise. “Why, your poor uncle is just dying to help me. Just look and commend his innocence.”

“Don’t do it, Donald!” Scrooge cried, “Don’t be a fool! Run and leave me!”

But Donald did not move. Donald clenched his fists harder, steadfast in his decisions. His stare hardened, slightly intimidating the sorceress. Eventually, Magica wavered.

“Sheesh! A little out of pocket don’tcha think, my boy?” Magica commented, “Fine!”

True to her word, she dropped Uncle Scrooge and kicked him aside. She then swept Donald off his feet and forced him into the air. Witnesses watched as Donald unleashed a powerful scream. Not one of anger, but of sacrifice. Everyone made their voices heard as Donald was whisked away.

“OH NO!”

“DONALD!”

“UNCA’ DONALD!! NOOOOOO!”

An immediate touch of the light led to a crackling sound. What remained was a sizzle that sealed Donald’s fate. The onlookers froze, horrified that Donald Duck had met his infernal demise. They fell to their knees, shaken, but none more shaken than poor Scrooge McDuck.

His nephew was gone, and he refused to believe it. He shook his head and clutched his chest. He tried to deflect it, but his eyes could not avoid the truth. Donald was gone, and it was of his own volition. Scrooge fell to his knees, vulnerable to his rival’s devilish scheme.

Magica’s offering created a ripple that pushed through the center of the cave. The crystals cooled off, simmering the cavern’s heat. The walls no longer swelled with water. The light beam had been appeased. As such, the witnesses were given the opportunity to witness the unearthing of a great treasure.

As the beam shortened, a silhouette would descend from the heavens above. The silhouette unveiled itself as a great blade. Its energy was greater than any energy known to man or spirit. To those who were knowledgeable of such power fell into silence. But those who lacked such awareness could only express noises of disbelief. Revealed to explorers of all dignities was the ultimate treasure: The Sword of the Archangel.

Described as the symbol of pure righteousness, the godly sword gleamed with a heavenly aura once the beam’s light refracted from its surface. The blade returned to the corporeal realm, prepared to fight once again. Unfortunately, the sword’s newest wielder would be its evilest.

Then, up above, a couple of onlookers watched as the sword fell into the hands of the evil sorceress. Their bawls pained as the stress of their greatest villain weighed greatly on their spirits.

“Boo hoo!” Louie sobbed, “She’s killed Unca’ Donald!”

“Get a hold of yourself, Louie! Uncle Scrooge still needs our help!” Huey exclaimed.

“B-b-b-but how?!” Louie flubbed.

The boys’ pains were consoled by a shaken Alumak. Alumak collected the boys and assured them that they would be alright. He admitted that he was not good with children, but he knew how to ameliorate even in the worst campaigns.

Unfortunately, their great uncle had fallen from grace. Scrooge was trapped both physically and mentally. The rich duck was in the hands of his mortal enemy. He fell to his knees in utter defeat as Magica engorged herself in the sword’s awesome power. He watched as every inch of supernatural power course through Magica’s veins. Her unholy spirit clashed greatly with its infinite grace. She screamed as such power overwhelmed her.

The transformation would take a heavy toll on Magica. She stressed much of her power in order to refrain from convulsing. The sheer stress led to Magica’s hair turning white. Her dress tore at the seams. Magica felt the pain tear at her entire soul. Then suddenly, she fell.

Magica collapsed in front of the old miser. A proper observance showed Scrooge that her body was limp. For a moment, he worried if she was dead. His eyes then shifted towards the heavenly sword. He did not wait long to reach for the blade. But then, the sorceress reawakened and pushed Scrooge back.

Magica smiled once more. It would seem that the sword had accepted her as her wielder. She was so happy that even her feathers flowed in an eternal wind. As she raised her sword above her head, she ascended in body and spirit. Being the most powerful sorceress had its perks, but nothing could compare to wielding a sliver of power only matched by God. All was going swell for Magica until…

PLOK! A stone fell on her head.

“Eh? Who dares?! Come here now!” Magica threatened.

With the wave of her hand, Magica used her newfound foresight to capture her foolish attackers. Unsurprisingly, those foolish men were those interloping brats and their foolishly overdressed friend. With the pulling of her hand, Magica forced her enemies to her location. She forced them onto their knees just inches behind the benumbed tycoon. She then decided to toy with her prey, using them for her sick games. She would even mutate, change, and break them. It was an act that felt familiar and equally as painful. She continued her torturous games before dropping them back to reality, laughing as the little mortals scurry around like headless chickens.

Magica laughed as the boys clung to their uncle. She watched keenly as they desperately tried to pull him away from the wicked sorceress. They tugged at his coat as one of them shouted, “What’s wrong with him?! Come on, Unca’ Scrooge! Run!” She could not contain her laughter, even while taunting them.

“Awe… is poor ol’ Scroogeykins in dire straits?” Magica taunted, “Do not worry, my plucky little duckling. You will join him soon enough. You and all your little friends! Ehh heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh! Hehhhhhhhh!”