Powerful
With a flick of his right hand, and a flash of his eyes, the bulky man advancing on him with a smirk on his face, was thrown backwards, hitting his head on the cold stone floor of the semi dark corridor. While carefully stepping over the unconscious man, Merlin, his magical senses on high alert, scanned the long stretching passageway, his gaze falling on a dark door at the end. His goal.
With a snap of two fingers, two more mercenaries jumping out of a corridor to the left were effectively stopped by an invisible magical shield he'd raised around himself. He gritted his teeth when they made impact with the shield, and swatted them out of the way like bothersome flies with another snap.
Why were they even trying to stop him? It didn't make sense. Were they so desperate to guard their hostage, or maybe desperate to die? Merlin sniffed in disdain, while his magic swirled inside of him violently but in victory as well, as if it loved to be set totally free... Finally.
The door was getting closer, and he advanced towards it with huge confident steps. No one was going to stop him from reaching that door. His senses might be scanning the entire length of this corridor, but his focus was solidly on what he had to do.
Two other men rushed towards him from out of nowhere, their swords outstretched, a battle cry on their lips. Merlin instantly clapped both his hands together with a slap, and the two men lost their balance, and bumped into each other with a low thud. Arms and legs flaying, their heads knocked together as they landed in a heap on the floor.
Picking up their swords, Merlin's pace became faster and faster. He was certain that if anyone would stand in his way one more time, he would slam them right across this whole damn passageway. No one was allowed to harm his master, his friend. No one. The desperate thought that his friend might be dead already was quickly dismissed. They wouldn't guard a dead man.
Arriving at the door, he was about to blow it off its hinges in a flash of irritation and fear for his friend, but he caught himself just in time. His whole body was trembling. His magic was still rolling backwards and forwards through his veins, and Merlin let out a deep sigh, trying to calm down.
It took him a moment to find the part of him that he normally showed to the world. Not the powerful Warlock that he actually was, but the clumsy loyal servant of the prince of Camelot. His magic could never be pushed back easily, but at least he had the strength to keep it at bay.
A whispered spell unlocked the door, and it opened with a creaky sound, giving him access to a dense smelly cell. Knowing his friend, he cautiously stepped forward when a familiar voice greeted him.
"Merlin?"
"Arthur, are you all right?" Relief took hold of Merlin's heart when he saw the prince staring at him in a mixture of surprise, disbelief and awe. He looked a little roughed up, but he was alive. Alive!
"How did you..."
Merlin clumsily raised one of the swords, and grinned brightly. "I do know how to handle a sword, thank you very much." Trying to make a point, he raised it higher, only to be hitting the very low ceiling of the cell with a loud clang.
"You were saying?"
"Sorry," he bit his lower lip, sheepishly. "My moves are a little rusty."
Arthur gaped at him for what seemed to be forever. Then he quickly took the second sword that Merlin offered him. "You'll never seize to amaze me, Merlin."
"Thank you, Sire."
Arthur shook his head, while the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "Let's get out of here..."