"Fuck!" he snapped. Her fist careened into his shoulder, doing no real damage but smarting like hell. He barely noticed against the terrifying realization that was falling over him: His power meant nothing here. Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, four hundred fucking years old and he was made ineffective by a bunch of lab coats.
Suddenly, the very real possibility of his death loomed over him. Panic flooded through his veins.
"I'm not leaving you!" Magnus insisted. He wouldn't hear Eleanor's complaints about leaving people behind before, but he couldn't just run when she was right there.
He grabbed for her again, just as one of the guards did. Magnus flung a hand out in his direction, never connecting but sending him skidding back on his ass.
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Date: 2016-05-30 05:54 am (UTC)Suddenly, the very real possibility of his death loomed over him. Panic flooded through his veins.
"I'm not leaving you!" Magnus insisted. He wouldn't hear Eleanor's complaints about leaving people behind before, but he couldn't just run when she was right there.
He grabbed for her again, just as one of the guards did. Magnus flung a hand out in his direction, never connecting but sending him skidding back on his ass.
At least some things still worked.