Part II: The Magician

The Magician Arc

With victory over "The Fool" came a time of respite, for some. Until issues started mounting up and overflowing in a way that the Magical Realms could not ignore. The minor celebrity status the Cards had achieved among Magical Girls was all anyone talked about, and many people had begun dissecting that final battle. Everyone was talking about “Purification”.

For Magical Girls, the idea of Purification had long been a dream. Being able to save the lives of those killed by Dark Magics was an intoxicating fantasy. But Bishop's team had proven it's reality, and soon, across Tokyo, across Japan, and even to the furthest outreach facilities in Europe and America, Magical Girl forces were experimenting with new types of weapons and spells to exploit this weakness.

The legendary acts of the Magical Girls of Hearts and Diamonds, as well as the two chess pieces, Queen-Side Bishop and Queen-Side Rook, were constantly praised in those circles devoted to the defeat of the Maniacal menace. Many Operators working on the front lines now found themselves compared, fairly or not, to those heroes of the hour. A sense of growing resentment and awe to match their reputations.

All this wouldn’t have been possible without Bishop. Known for being the oldest and most experienced Magical Girl in front line duty, and a venerated trainer within the Inspectors. Many were singing her praises, calling her work revolutionary...

...At least, that’s how it was for the lower levels of magical society. Those front-liners faced with the day-to-day work of Magical Girls on the streets. In the upper echelons of command, people were reading reports with scowls on their faces, noting risks being taken everywhere, and the somewhat smug attitude of those Operators who worked beneath them.

*            *            *

The Magical World was built around a strict hierarchy. It hadn’t been designed to, but when an organization exists for more than a decade, it soon develops a sense of superiority and authority, much like how mold grows fur over time.

And for those at the upper echelons of that hierarchy, nothing was more dangerous than being disproven. And by none other than mere low-level Operators. Grunts. Cannon fodder. In the white marble halls they called home, between the looming statues of great Magical Girls of the past and the beautiful trees growing from carefully nurtured soil, voices were raised in anger and argument in ways they hadn’t for many years.

There’s the soft sound of heels on stone as a Magical Girl walked down one of the longer corridors, the bright light shining on her in a sterile white. She’d walked through the building from the welcoming hall with purpose, cursing the lack of an elevator as she ascended staircase after staircase. The Magical Council apparently saw anything more modern than the Bicycle as a passing fad, and were suspicious of even that.

This Magical Girl wore a dress-skirt of a thick and rich purple hue, and it was only if you stared at it that you saw the texture was moving. It was a set of spinning purple galaxies, stars glittering across it and twinkling. Her hair matched, black at the roots but fading to a gentle purple as it reached the tips, hanging loose down to her waist. She stopped outside a large wooden double-door. It had been painted a slick white and decorated with faint gold embroidery, like everything else in this hallway. As she approached, the embroidery twisted to spell out the name of the office’s current resident in the girl’s native language. Brushing her bangs out of her eyes, she pressed a hand to the door and it slid open.

“Magical Girl Constellation, Operations.” The Magical Girl said, walking towards the ornate desk. A dark mahogany wood that contrasted painfully with the more sedate colors of the room. It must have been taken from the mortal realm, because no architect in the magical realm would dare make something without coating it in white paint and some sort of gold embroidery. The chair was in a black leather with red velvet trim, currently facing away from the door. A huge window from floor to ceiling had caught the occupant’s attention.

If you were to visit for the first time, you’d be confused how so many rooms have seemingly impossible windows. Rooms placed next to each other would have windows out into different times of day, and windows facing each other depicted completely different landscapes. The disconcerting feeling would gradually fade, as you grew used to it. Years ago, the Magical Services and Creation group had realized that by molding the shape of a crystal ball, they could make a far easier (and far less distorted) viewing portal. This is just how things are done in the Magical realm.

“Constellation… Constellation…” The lyrical and high-pitched voice calls out from behind the desk. The chair swings around to reveal the occupant, a girl of maybe ten or twelve years at most. Constellation steeled herself internally. Magical Girl forms were stuck from the moment they were created, never aging or changing, and given the power and authority of this one, likely they had been using the apparent cuteness and innocence of that ten-year-old face for a very long time.

“Oh, yes. You run Hokkaido operations, right? Daisetsuzan is such a beautiful park.” The girl leans over her desk and pores over the many sheets of paper and reports scattered across it. Constellation gives a stiff nod.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you are outstandingly capable. Am I right in reading that there hasn’t been a single Shadow in twelve months?”
“Yes, ma’am. We found that promoting active health has substantially increased quality of life.” Constellation explains. The girl behind the desk claps her hands excitedly.
“Wonderful, simply incredible! You do such a good job.”
“We try, ma’am.”

“Now then, to business.” The girl behind the desk leans back. Much as Constellation’s hair seems to shine glitter whenever she turns her head, this girl’s seems to leave a trail of gentle light as it moves and sways.
“I require your work on a matter of extreme delicacy. Regarding the recent events in a certain district of Tokyo.”
“Shinkawa?” Constellation curses herself instantly at jumping the gun. The girl behind the desk leans forward, both elbows on it, peering over knit hands. The effect is a little diminished by how she has to kneel in the chair to do so.
“Yes. Established during redistricting and new construction just a handful of years ago, following the… unpleasantness.” The girl’s gaze pierces Constellation, who feels a chill at the mention of those events.

“As you mentioned it, you are no doubt aware of the rumors surrounding that place. Performing the impossible, saving lives of those already dead.” The girl gives a grunt, then slams her hands on the table, her aura of control breaking, replaced with raw rage.
“It stinks! It STINKS!” She yells out. Constellation takes a nervous step back.

This was also a problem with Magical Girl forms that appeared young. The shape of a thing influences its behaviour, and those who spent too long in younger forms were prone to… whatever the term you’d use for ‘tantrum’ is for a highly powerful magical being. Catastrophes, maybe. As fast as the rage appeared, the girl soothes herself, muttering some mantra under her breath.

“Necromancy.” The girl says, slowly, resuming her original pose, elbows on the desk, hands clasped.
“According to all known laws of magic, bringing the dead back to life is only possible with Necromancy. This… report.” She jabs at the report on her desk.
“Is fabricated. I don’t trust Bishop.” She looks over the desk with a glare, adjusting her wide circle glasses on her face.
“If there is any trace of Necromancy, she is to be brought in on charges of high treason. And I can think of no-one with more time on her hands than you, Constellation.”

Constellation tilts her head and takes an offered folder, held out by the girl.
“Thank you, Lady N.” She says, and the Magical Girl in chief nods enthusiastically.
“Deal with the situation and keep me informed.” She spins her chair around to face the huge window in the office, which begins showing some kid’s cartoon. Constellation takes that as a sign for her to leave.