He has to stay focused, he has one primary job here- keep this illusion chugging until its lost its use. For now it was fine, keep things confusing- it would be hard for the real army to see through the fake crowd, and parse whats real and what isn’t. The perfect chance for Magnus to do what he had to.
Arms outstretched, holding the spell aloft, Taako tries to keep an eye on Magnus. To keep watch on if he gets hurt, or if too many people gang up on him. Cause god dammit, he’ll set this whole plane on fire if something happens to him. Not an exaggeration, he’d picked up some pointers from Lup in these past decades, and another swig of that magic water would really make it pop off.
He’d keep a pin in that idea. Maybe, instead, something that wouldn’t torch up Magnus in the process. Cause that’d be a bummer and a half.
Just… focus. Worry about that if you have to, Taako. Worry about this now.
Magnus is… incredible to watch fight. He always was, he’d watched and fought by Magnus’s side for the better part of a century. This fighting- Magnus’s fighting was like art, because of the true passion behind it. In a way, he loved it- if it weren’t for how dangerous it was, at least.
Magnus fights like an animal, with fire in his eyes and a roar in his teeth. Blood splashes his face but he doesn't even wipe it away as he slashes his way through the confused army towards his father. His father dismounts in order to meet him, sword drawn and vicious. It wounds Magnus' heart the moment their swords clash.
"We don't have to fight!" he tries it once, he has to try.
"We really do," his father responds, and that's all the affirmation that Magnus needs to know that there is no solving this with his parents on his side. They're too fargone. The previous regime must be purged, permanently.
He screams, his sword swings, sparks fly from the side of his blade as it meets his father's. He hears his mother's furious, challenging howls, he hears Taako shriek on the sidelines, desperate to help, helplessly relegated to keeping the illusion up so the army of one thousand doesn't turn their swords on him. He wants nothing more than to not have to fight this battle, he wants to be a little boy again, tugging at the edge of his father's robe just trying to get him to make eye contact with him for a moment.
His sword slashes, and he catches the chain of his father's necklace, dangerously close to his throat. It snaps under the pressre of Magnus' swing, and in a heartbeat, his illusion is broken. It's alarming how much Magnus' father looks like him now, with darker hair perhaps streaked with grey and lines on his face, but with the black eyes and the tusks, they're almost indistinguishable from a distance. His father is furious for being exposed and cuts a painful red line across Magnus' chest, too fast for him to dodge away completely. The pain makes Magnus sharp.
It all happens so incredibly fast. Magnus sees an opening. He'd honestly expected his father to dodge away. He'd always boasted the best sword fighting training in the world, and always chastised his son for his poor form and follow-through. Even with evidence to the contrary, Magnus always believed he was weaker than his father. So when his blade slices through his father's stomach like a hot knife through butter, Magnus is in shock at first.
His father drops his sword and grips Magnus' wrist as the hilt hit the fabric of his jerkin, and he looks up into Magnus' eyes, his expression shocked. Magnus hears his mother scream, and his father falls back, taking Magnus' sword with him as he collapses to his side in the grass. Dead.
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