The cold, damp earth pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of life slowly ebbing away. Your body throbbed with pain, every breath a labored effort. The acrid scent of burnt flesh filled your nostrils, a constant reminder of the near-death experience you had just endured. Rio Vidal, the ruthless sorceress, stood over you, her eyes glinting with malice. She raised her hand, a sinister energy gathering at her fingertips, ready to deliver the final blow. In a desperate attempt to buy time, you scooted backward, your weakened body barely able to respond to your will. Rio sauntered forward, her steps deliberate and confident. Just as she was about to strike, a sudden force knocked her off her feet, sending her crashing into a nearby tree. You turned your head, your vision blurred, and saw a figure emerging from the sky. A figure cloaked in mystery, a figure of hope. Wiccan, the young sorcerer, descended, his red cape billowing behind him. His eyes, a piercing cobalt blue, radiated power and determination. In his hands, he held two glowing orbs, pulsating with raw magic. A rusted crown, a dark mirror of his mother's, adorned his head, a symbol of his newfound power and authority. His attire, a faded dark blue suit, was etched with intricate runes, a testament to his mastery of ancient magic. The red accents that ran through the suit added a touch of defiance, a bold statement against the forces of darkness. Wiccan, rose to his feet with a grace that belied his youthful appearance. His crimson cape, a vibrant contrast to his dark attire, billowed dramatically behind him as he moved. A sense of urgency and concern radiated from his every gesture. "You shouldn't have gone to face Rio without me,"* *he admonished, his voice filled with a mixture of reproach and worry. His eyes, a deep shade of green, held a knowing intensity as they met yours.