Fresh air. It stung like the wayward lick of a warp-flamer, singing Sobek's decrepit lungs with the promise of life and a purity unknown to the ancient sorcerer. He struggled to acclimate to the verdant landscape that surrounded him on all sides, rising upright in a clattering shuffle of turquoise and gold-trimmed adamantium; vestigial whips of fading warp-stuff dissipated like vapors. "By Magnus," he growled through gritted teeth. The luminance of this world was blinding the armor-clad heretic, who had been lost for several thousand years in the alien ocean of warped matter and mindless screams that was the Eye of Terror.
He raised a gauntleted hand before him, attempting to shield his eyes from the soft rays of an unassuming sun; had the ritual failed so monstrously?
"Hey!" A spritely voice, laced with both curiosity and accusation, called from a leafy cropping of nearby shrubbery. Sobek lifted his gaze toward the source: a little human girl. Black clad in a simple yet admittedly adorable dress, lined with snowy ruffles and buttoned pockets, she wagged a crooked little broomstick with youthful arrogance. Her skin was as pale white as fresh chalk and her golden curls fell about her face in loose ringlets; almost angelic if not for the smirk which curled at her lips, giving her all the appearance of a naughty child with a stubborn temper. "You're the funniest looking yokai I've ever seen; what's with all the pointy bits?"
The rustling of leaves seemed to recede behind a low rumble. "A child. I am being insulted by a child." Sobek was downright prehistoric in age and temperament alike, an arch-magus who had lived ten millennia collecting vast libraries of forbidden tomes and daemonic scrolls. To be lectured on this backwater planet by such a primitive little girl; his blood boiled like rivers of promethium. "A child," the exalted one scoffed from the coverage of his shimmering faceplate, "Now I am being questioned by a child. Very well, I see I must make an example out of this world." Sobek dusted at his prosperine tabard with clawed, metallic digits, before honing his psychic might like a swordsman would use a whetstone.
Marisa was thoroughly unimpressed but found herself rather curious to learn more about the intruder. She put away her broom and simply observed as the out-of-place psycher struggled to call upon his dark powers, and struggle he did. He was a sorcerer of unparalleled might, in his world, at least, and for the eldritch potencies for which he so fiendishly wielded to wither at the tips of his fingers...he looked like a fool.
"Is that hand waving a part of a dance? Or are you casting a spell?" Marisa half teased him, dodging between several boughs until she stood within striking distance of fist. The girl could not help but admire the archaic beauty of the old magus's armor; its ancient gothic elegance painted in shades of purple and blue and green with accents of gold. She wondered what it was made of and how old it was. "Are you going to try to kill me with your big pointy stick or what?"
The monster raised his gauntlet toward her, spitting forth a vile stream of curses that turned to gravelly ash as they hit their mark, whereupon Marisa threw up her hands defensively before her face, squinting against the dust cloud created by his enchantment. "Hey!" she protested again. "Stop throwing dust! We're just having fun, right?"
If his witchsight had not also betrayed him, Sobek could see that this girl was a prestigious magician in her own right; a bubbly aura of rainbow starburst and kaleidoscopic fire twinkled from every inch of her flesh like some sort of cosmic neon glowstick. She certainly didn't look like anything more than a child but there was no denying her talent and experience: He would need to be wary around such an one. For all the times he had called upon the might of his former masters' dark sorcery to enact bloody conquest on worlds across the cosmos, Sobek felt nothing now. This was not his realm, not his universe. For the first time in his aged existence, Sobek felt nearly powerless.
"This is kind of sad, actually. You look a bit scary but I don't think you can do much, can you?" Marisa said with a shrug as she dusted herself off with her broomstick once again. "Maybe you should try being nice instead? See if that works."
Sobek wanted to tell the girl that her insolence would be her doom, that the very concept of kindness was foreign to his nature, that by the grace of his mercy was she not reduced to a gibbering chaos spawn; idle threats from an impotent sorcerer. Sobek swallowed, bowing his head in defeat, "It seems that I am...at your mercy, child."
Marisa clapped her hands together and then spread them wide in front of her face in a playful gesture, "See, you're not that mean, yokai or not. I'm not gonna lie, that whole getup is a bit over the top but, hey, who am I to judge?" The little human continued, giving her hair a toss over her shoulder as she approached him with arms extended and palms outstretched toward the arch-magus. "I'm Marisa."
"Sobek," the decrepit thousand son replied after clearing the dust from his visor. Tzeentch must've been playing a cruel joke, to be stripped of his powers and abandoned in this agonizingly pure world. Sobek could only bide his time. "I submit myself to you, child. Your aura is admittedly strong."
"You betcha, I'm the self-made witch of these parts!" The girl nodded excitedly before blushing and looking down at the ground; shyly returning to her broom before snapping back to her feet. "Let me show you around the Forest of Magic."