Magda would be very busy for the years to come, and she looked forward to them eagerly. The world was just ripe with do-gooders and would-be-heroes, all of whom were begging to be transformed, killed, or both.

The Bane of the Midlands, Magda had made her name by destroying townships and cities alike, indiscriminately toying with all those she encountered. It came natural to her: she was powerful and they were all weak, meaning they all existed solely for her entertainment.

That said, her latest victim was proving far less sport than she’d have wished.

Magda scowled as she looked at the paladin kneeling before herself, the woman’s face serene despite the fact that she was gold from the neck down. Her body was forever frozen in a kneeling pose, her hands cast together with her fingers interwoven.

That was the worst part about those holier-than-thou types: they always believed that their higher power would save them, even when said higher power had utterly abandoned them. It certainly was fun to break them, but sometimes the damnable cretins wouldn’t break. Like now, for example.

The red-haired witch sighed, putting a hand on her silk-clad hips and glowering impatiently. “You know, now would be the time to start screaming for mercy.”

“Mercy is a gift for those who deserve it.” The paladin spoke slowly, her eyes still shut and her lips still curled in that damnable smile. She opened her eyes, meeting Magda’s gaze with a damnably calm look in her eyes.

“Yes, yes; and ‘the strong should be most merciful of all’.” Magda recited back, rolling her eyes. “Who was it that said that, again? Cardinal Vale IV? You know, his shrieks were music to my ears.”

The paladin didn’t so much as flinch at that, simply giving Magda a silent nod. “I am glad you enjoyed his final moments, and that they were able to serve some purpose.”

Magda wanted to scream with anger, and the ground cracked beneath her feet as she glared. “No, that’s not the point. His death served no purpose; none at all! Your foppish priest pleaded for his life like a dog, and do you know how I responded? I flensed the skin from his body as I covered him in the salt that was once his wife! He died mewling of shock, an insignificant speck in the annals of history!”

“And yet you recall such a speck so vividly.” The paladin smiled softly, an emotion finally entering her gaze. It took Magda a second to recognize it: pity.

At that, the witch did shriek, a wave of power blowing the hovel around the two to shreds, yet leaving both villain and victim unscathed. “I will end every soul who serves your god and who has been served by your god! Your death will be the spark that kindles a holocaust that will cleanse the earth of your faith!” She railed, spitting out the words at her victim and letting the wave of gold creep ever-higher along her neck.

Much to Magda’s surprise, the pity on the paladin’s face twisted into a smug smirk. “You are welcome to try.”

That was enough to send Magda over the edge, and she simply solidified her victim in a single wave of mystical power, shattering the fragments of the woman with the next. The witch’s cry of hate echoed throughout the town for nearly a minute before fading to the quiet huffs of exertion.

“Damned… Bitch…” Magda panted, her brow furrowed.

Then she began to change.

It was subtle at first, a hardening of muscle here, a growth of new hair there. Then she abruptly gained an inch in height, her form bulking up with tone that could only be described as ‘masculine’. Magda recognized a transformation spell when she saw one, and hurriedly began to try and counter it.

She soon realized it was useless when her nethers jarringly transitioned from female to male, and she, now a he, clutched at his chest as his breasts dwindled away to nothingness. His jaw broadened in time with his shoulders, and his hair rose from the small of his back to the nape of his neck.

It was all rather new for him, and for a moment Magda allowed himself to enjoy the changes to his form, feeling himself grow into the rough body of a man. Then he felt a cool probing at his mind, and he realized there was more to this transformation than the mere physical.

Magda was no stranger to mental assault, and he locked his soul into a tight ball within his mind. So what if his body changed? Form was fluid to a witch; he would be back to normal in no time! The only thing that mattered was that he kept the core of his essence.

Memories faded, instincts were remapped and Magda began to think of himself as Magnus. And yet still, he kept his grip tight on the essence of what made him the most ruthless murderer this side of the Kytheos.

Finally, the crashing waves in his mind calmed to a gentle ripple, and he relaxed his hold. The newly-made man furrowed his brow, a glare on his face as he sorted through his new thoughts; his new memories.

Apparently the dying paladin had intended to curse him to become one of her own, a Knightsman of the Order of the Rising Phoenix. It seemed that this was a tradition of the ‘holy knights’, an order made entirely of sinners who’d been forcefully reformed.

Magnus smirked at the thought, a low chuckle escaping his throat. “Is that it? Is that the best you have?” He called loudly, secretly enjoying the rich timbre of his new baritone. “Did you think a mere change of form could let me see the light; could reform me? I am eternal!”

The echo of his cry was met with a quiet sob, and Magnus blinked, turning to find a small form shaking near the ruins of a house aflame. He smirked sadistically, waving a hand along his chest to magically reform his dress into a set of armor that matched the dead paladin’s.

And, of course, what better way to prove his new power than to torment an innocent child? Magnus strode towards the weeping soul slowly, forcing a kindly smile to his face to earn the girl’s trust. Then he paused, seeing the bruises that lined the girl’s emaciated arms.

“Who did this.” The words came to his throat instinctively, and he felt a primal hate welling up within his soul. The child only sobbed louder, and Magnus cursed inwardly, letting his tone be gentler; kinder. “Who did this?” He asked again, softly this time.

The girl looked up and sniffled, pointing to the woods. “T-there’s a witch in the woods. She made me into a mule, and… And she hurt me to make me work for her, until that nice lady like you saved me.”

Magnus blinked, searching his old thoughts for knowledge of who had made the woods their domain and unintentionally leaving them unguarded. Tendrils of conscience wormed into his core as he remembered a name: Lyanna.

Before he could respond, the girl spoke up again, hugging Magnus’s knee. “She said the witch was too strong for her, but… But that she knew someone more powerful that she could convince to take up the cause. I-is that you? Please, the witch has my parents…”

Magnus scoffed mentally. Of course the paladin would try and pawn this off on him. Still, she wasn’t wrong… Magnus was far more powerful than she was. One good deed couldn’t hurt. The man placed a hand on the girl’s head, looking out to the woods with a frown.

“Wait here. I’ll return with your parents, I swear it on the Order of the Rising Phoenix.” Magnus paused, then added, “And my life.” It seemed like the right thing to say to calm the girl, and oddly enough it made him feel a strange warmth in his chest: justness.

It was a sensation Magnus had never experienced before in his life, and he carried it with him as he marched from the village into the forest, finding a small hut with ease, as though he knew the way. There, he found a pair of guard dogs that snarled and barked at him, the two foaming at the mouth.

Without so much as a second thought, Magnus dispelled the magic on the two, smirking cockily as they reverted to human form. They were a man and a woman, both of whom bore a stunning resemblance to the girl in the village.

“Go.” Magnus said simply, nodding back to their home and marching towards the hut. While his mission was half-complete, there was still work to do. The witch had to pay.

He ignored the rushed thanks of the two villagers as they ran past him, instead devoting all of his attention to the magical force that was growing just behind the door.

Sure enough, a woman burst out from the hut with a smirk, her frame glowing with a menacing viridian hue. “Well, back for more?” Lyanna began, only to blink in shock at the sight of the man before her.

“Surprised to see me?” Magnus laughed, clenching his fist. “My predecessor may have been no match for you, but you’ll find me a far more worthy sport!” It was the sort of boisterous cry befitting of a hero, and he grinned as valor flooded his veins.

Instead of retorting with the jab of a villainess, the witch simply sputtered: “S-sister? What have they done to you?”

Memories of a childhood together with this witch flew to the surface of Magnus’s mind; then were quickly washed away. He laughed heartily and sent a tidal wave of magical energy towards the sorceress, letting it crash down upon her and erase her humanity in one dynamic swoop.

Evidently unwilling to give up her act, Lyanna glared as her skin darkened to a chestnut brown, her feet burrowing into the ground. “Damn you, sister! Open your eyes! Remember the joy from hearing a symphony of screams!”

Another memory flashed within Magnus’s thoughts, one that was again wiped clean in an instant. It was a thought of shrieks and wails, and it chilled him to his core. “Silence, witch!” He bellowed, clenching his fist and fusing her lips together into hard bark.

Lyanna trembled with mute rage as her body began to lose its hourglass figure, legs merging and arms drifting skyward even as branches sprouted from her head like antlers. Leaves budded all along her upper body as her hateful glare intensified, only to forever close as her eyes sank beneath the bark of her new form.

“Foul temptress! The very thought of your attempt to corrupt me is as heinous as your existence. For I am Magnus Valiant, hero of the Order of the Rising Phoenix!” Magnus called loudly, a grin slipping across his face at how right the words sounded.

He pictured the smiling face of his predecessor and swore to honor her memory, vowing to never forget her sacrifice. Even if he never knew her name, it was her death that gave him life, and his life was a beacon of virtue and justice.

The man had no idea of the deeds he’d committed in the past, nor did he care. The only memories of note were the near-hundred associates the witch Magda had known, and he filed these away as his new to-purge list. It seemed that Magnus would be very busy in the years to come, and h looked forward to them eagerly.