There was no way to tell time, for Solomon. No way to tell time beyond the moment in which he existed, in which his body reacted against his will to things only his soul could feel. Over and over and over, Solomon was wracked with pain and memories, until he wasn't aware of anything else; wasn't aware of the stone floor which bruised him in his convulsions, or the flickering light, or the man watching him silently.
He writhed on that floor, his eyes feverish, his face a mask of congealing blood, his clothes sticking to him sweatily. Sometimes he muttered, mumbling things about--or to--Valkyrie, to the Tenebrae in his memory, to other Necromancers.
Sometimes he cried out for pain. Usually those were memories in which he was at the Temple, with its Scream all around, or using magic greatly.
Sometimes it wasn't. "Valkyrie, don't!"
Nathanial Quiver paused in the hallways as Solomon Wreath's scream echoed through the stone. Tenebrae had been down here a long time, which wasn't unexpected, but at that sound Nathanial abruptly wondered what the High Priest was doing. True, screams from withdrawal were to be expected, but that wasn't the sort of scream those in withdrawal made. Still, after that moment of wondering he cast it from his mind and kept walking. It had been hours, and Tenebrae had requested to know what Solomon had kept and what he'd abandoned, and anything that might be useful in bringing him back to the fold.
Most of things Solomon had in his office had already been catalogued. Most of the things in his coat and pockets had been standard. Except for one thing, one thing Nathanial had been examining with bemused confusion since he found it. Now, without having made any conclusions, he could only show it to the High Priest.
Nathanial found the dungeon where Solomon--no, Wreath--had been taken. The guard at the end of the corridor, looking rather pale, had told him Tenebrae hadn't left, so Nathanial thought nothing of stepping inside without double-checking.
The High Priest was the first thing he saw, leaning against the wall, eyes on something in the room's centre. Nathanial closed the door behind him and followed Tenebrae's gaze, and almost faltered. Solomon Wreath was writhing in agony, his face bloodied from a wound Nathanial couldn't see, his hands bruised from clutching the floor and eyes rolling feverishly.
Nathanial had seen Necromancers in withdrawal before. It had never been like this. It took a shaken moment before Nathanial could take his eyes away and move to Tenebrae, trying to ignore the movement at the corner of his vision.
"We've catalogued everything he owns," he said, "but there is one thing he was carrying in his pocket which is rather incongruous."
There was something building in him, Solomon knew. Or didn't know. It wasn't a knowledge, exactly, but an awareness. A distant acceptance of the timeline of scrolling memories, and how far along it he was, and where he was up to. He could go long periods with only using the barest of Necromancy, one of the few subtle and controlled Necromancers willing to do so. A lot of his retroactive memories were simply being in the Temple and watching others, horrified and sickened and pained by the Scream in them.
But there was something coming. A monster in the darkness.
"They're opening the portal!"
Pandemona, her soul alight with darkness and greyness and a strange duality of flickering shrieks. Solomon swept shadows across the Hollow Men, his magic singing--screaming--in him, an agony and a pleasure at once he could never reconcile.
"Adrian, to the left!" he shouted, and let himself be protected by the other Necromancer's magic as he pushed forward, trying to reach that yellow glow and the kneeling teen before it. The yellow glow that was gold and purple and pink and blue and orange and red and--
Rainbows. An oily rainbow, a shriek not from the Scream but adding to it, a Cacophony that exploded from space and shunted them all aside as if they were flies. Abruptly Solomon was on the ground, his ears and soul ringing, and out of the corner of his eyes he caught--
Feathers. Drifting feathers, footsteps, a being of glittering shattered light which moved like a puppet lifted off the grounds, dragging after it broken wings bowed and dripping feathers. An angel. An angel with--
"Broken wings, s'fallen, it's--"
Nathanial glanced toward Solomon at the sound of his voice, strangled with pain and terror at some kind of understanding, and then pulled his attention back to Tenebrae as he removed the grey-furred teddy-bear from his pocket. "He was carrying this."
--fallen angels stalking the farmland, broken wings making them larger, fractured crystal shifting and grinding with each step. He reeled with it, with that knowledge that these were angels, fallen angels, Saint Gabriel's brothers and the children of God.
His body moved, the memory yanking him along in its wake. In the memory, he never looked directly at them.
In the memory, he didn't need to.
He summoned shadow and the Scream met with the discordant shriek of grinding shards that made the Faceless Ones. Terror met pain, and his being exploded.
Solomon arched hard against the floor, his eyes wide and sightless, his hands bloodied from raking the stone, stark agony radiating from every part of him as he screamed.
no subject
He writhed on that floor, his eyes feverish, his face a mask of congealing blood, his clothes sticking to him sweatily. Sometimes he muttered, mumbling things about--or to--Valkyrie, to the Tenebrae in his memory, to other Necromancers.
Sometimes he cried out for pain. Usually those were memories in which he was at the Temple, with its Scream all around, or using magic greatly.
Sometimes it wasn't. "Valkyrie, don't!"
Nathanial Quiver paused in the hallways as Solomon Wreath's scream echoed through the stone. Tenebrae had been down here a long time, which wasn't unexpected, but at that sound Nathanial abruptly wondered what the High Priest was doing. True, screams from withdrawal were to be expected, but that wasn't the sort of scream those in withdrawal made. Still, after that moment of wondering he cast it from his mind and kept walking. It had been hours, and Tenebrae had requested to know what Solomon had kept and what he'd abandoned, and anything that might be useful in bringing him back to the fold.
Most of things Solomon had in his office had already been catalogued. Most of the things in his coat and pockets had been standard. Except for one thing, one thing Nathanial had been examining with bemused confusion since he found it. Now, without having made any conclusions, he could only show it to the High Priest.
Nathanial found the dungeon where Solomon--no, Wreath--had been taken. The guard at the end of the corridor, looking rather pale, had told him Tenebrae hadn't left, so Nathanial thought nothing of stepping inside without double-checking.
The High Priest was the first thing he saw, leaning against the wall, eyes on something in the room's centre. Nathanial closed the door behind him and followed Tenebrae's gaze, and almost faltered. Solomon Wreath was writhing in agony, his face bloodied from a wound Nathanial couldn't see, his hands bruised from clutching the floor and eyes rolling feverishly.
Nathanial had seen Necromancers in withdrawal before. It had never been like this. It took a shaken moment before Nathanial could take his eyes away and move to Tenebrae, trying to ignore the movement at the corner of his vision.
"We've catalogued everything he owns," he said, "but there is one thing he was carrying in his pocket which is rather incongruous."
There was something building in him, Solomon knew. Or didn't know. It wasn't a knowledge, exactly, but an awareness. A distant acceptance of the timeline of scrolling memories, and how far along it he was, and where he was up to. He could go long periods with only using the barest of Necromancy, one of the few subtle and controlled Necromancers willing to do so. A lot of his retroactive memories were simply being in the Temple and watching others, horrified and sickened and pained by the Scream in them.
But there was something coming. A monster in the darkness.
"They're opening the portal!"
Pandemona, her soul alight with darkness and greyness and a strange duality of flickering shrieks. Solomon swept shadows across the Hollow Men, his magic singing--screaming--in him, an agony and a pleasure at once he could never reconcile.
"Adrian, to the left!" he shouted, and let himself be protected by the other Necromancer's magic as he pushed forward, trying to reach that yellow glow and the kneeling teen before it. The yellow glow that was gold and purple and pink and blue and orange and red and--
Rainbows. An oily rainbow, a shriek not from the Scream but adding to it, a Cacophony that exploded from space and shunted them all aside as if they were flies. Abruptly Solomon was on the ground, his ears and soul ringing, and out of the corner of his eyes he caught--
Feathers. Drifting feathers, footsteps, a being of glittering shattered light which moved like a puppet lifted off the grounds, dragging after it broken wings bowed and dripping feathers. An angel. An angel with--
"Broken wings, s'fallen, it's--"
Nathanial glanced toward Solomon at the sound of his voice, strangled with pain and terror at some kind of understanding, and then pulled his attention back to Tenebrae as he removed the grey-furred teddy-bear from his pocket. "He was carrying this."
--fallen angels stalking the farmland, broken wings making them larger, fractured crystal shifting and grinding with each step. He reeled with it, with that knowledge that these were angels, fallen angels, Saint Gabriel's brothers and the children of God.
His body moved, the memory yanking him along in its wake. In the memory, he never looked directly at them.
In the memory, he didn't need to.
He summoned shadow and the Scream met with the discordant shriek of grinding shards that made the Faceless Ones. Terror met pain, and his being exploded.
Solomon arched hard against the floor, his eyes wide and sightless, his hands bloodied from raking the stone, stark agony radiating from every part of him as he screamed.
"LORD GOD HELP ME!"
Nathanial whipped around and stared in disbelief.