"To be perfectly honest," Solomon said with a grim smile, "if I leave it for any longer I'll probably back out. So let's just get this over with." Because he would. He knew it. He wasn't an inherently self-sacrificing man. The fact he'd said anything at all was due to Merlin's memory. The fact that he stood behind what he said was due to those complicated whys.
If he gave himself time, he could sort out those whys and rationalise them away. Part of him didn't want to do that. Which was why he said nothing as Corrival opened the door and called for one of the Cleavers.
He did curl his fingers up, though. Curled them up so no one saw the fact they were already trembling. He was fairly sure it was just with adrenaline.
When the Cleaver entered, the lifestream parted before it as though it was a diamond vessel. Crystalline and cold, inexorable; it sent rainbows scattering this way and that, its clear shape so deep that it looked like empty space in the middle of a melodious current. Solomon averted his eyes without meaning to until it came to a coasting stop in the centre of the room.
Saint Gabriel squeezed his hand; Solomon could tell it was meant to be reassuring, but it didn't work. Solomon slid out of the Archangel's grasp and stepped forward, his heart pounding. It took more effort than he cared to admit to face forward, to look at the Cleaver fully and not just let it be a presence at the corners of his awareness. He didn't bother to brace himself. There was no way to know what to expect, so he didn't dare try to expect anything.
At first, it wasn't all that bad. Like looking into a mirror. A fractured mirror, to be sure, one that rang faintly resonant, but discordant. Except that 'at first' only lasted a fraction of a second--the space of a heartbeat.
Then Solomon saw the currents of the lifestream stretching out all the way around him, unbound by walls or presences because it was reflecting, over and over, in the crystal lines of the Cleaver's presence. It was like a whirlpool, a deep rainbow well into which everything was being sucked; Solomon saw the golden light of his own soul, a flash of it washed in with the rest like a sunrise. Only a flash because it was drowning, because he was drowning, buffeted this way and that by the force of a current he suddenly couldn't ride. He reached out for something, anything, and--
Something responded, surging at him. A blue presence within the whirlpool, part of it and apart from it at once. It was simply too big to be contained by the gravity of that current. It slammed into Solomon, filling his Sight, and for a moment Solomon thought it was going to swallow him whole. He felt himself stumble instead, felt some dizzy awareness of his physical body which he'd lost. Even then, he didn't look away.
The Cleaver's form radiated blue light, the brightness of desperation. It was already fracturing, but the presence was such, the Cleaver's form was such, that even without physical sight Solomon saw the shape of a man. A familiar man who spoke, his words grinding like the stone at the base of a mountain over aeons. Those words were physical and metaphysical at once, deafening.
"Help. Me."
The Cleaver exploded into jagged shards; the lifestream swamped in where it had been. Solomon's arms flew up to protect himself from those massive cutting fragments, and for a moment his existence wavered between now and a then, a then when killing intent and fragments of a metaphysical Scream rushed inexorably at him. The sight-sound-touch-awareness of it sent a bolt of pure terror all through him and he flung a hand out instead, reaching for anything within reach that might protect him--for the bubbles of power he could sense on the edges of his crumbling mind. They'd power him, they'd give him a shield, something to defend himself.
"Solomon, no!"
Something came in-between them, something hugely powerful, bigger even than that blue presence; too big to be contained at all, even for a moment. It caught him up, shook him almost, turned the lifestream's currents rolling under his scrabbling fingers so he couldn't gain any purchase even while it protected him from those glass shards.
Too big. Too powerful. He needed to escape, escape from all these massive presences that were swamping in and drowning him. Another one swept toward him now, blizzarding and cold; he shoved at it, panicking and unable to keep from doing so. It felt as if he'd tried to move a two-ton granite block, and yet it stopped.
Solomon hit something. He couldn't tell what, or who, just that it was quiet, softer. No bigger than him. Not frightening. Just solid, and steady, and enough of a discordant note that the now fractured from the then, when there hadn't been anything steadying at all. The memory washed past him like a buffeting rip-tide and Solomon drew in a deep ragged breath, the first it felt as if he'd drawn at all in forever.
His whole body was trembling violently; his knees buckled and he crumbled to the floor, still unaware of who was beside him. He gasped for air like a near-drowning man, his breathing hitched with the tears he couldn't stop. Everything he'd been holding back, that dam of emotions and dizzying changes, had broken without even giving him the option of trying to shore it up again.
Solomon's head sank into his hands, fingers gripping his hair. He sat there and wept, not sobbing but shaking unstoppably, and couldn't do anything but be overwhelmed by so many things he couldn't even divine them from each other.
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If he gave himself time, he could sort out those whys and rationalise them away. Part of him didn't want to do that. Which was why he said nothing as Corrival opened the door and called for one of the Cleavers.
He did curl his fingers up, though. Curled them up so no one saw the fact they were already trembling. He was fairly sure it was just with adrenaline.
When the Cleaver entered, the lifestream parted before it as though it was a diamond vessel. Crystalline and cold, inexorable; it sent rainbows scattering this way and that, its clear shape so deep that it looked like empty space in the middle of a melodious current. Solomon averted his eyes without meaning to until it came to a coasting stop in the centre of the room.
Saint Gabriel squeezed his hand; Solomon could tell it was meant to be reassuring, but it didn't work. Solomon slid out of the Archangel's grasp and stepped forward, his heart pounding. It took more effort than he cared to admit to face forward, to look at the Cleaver fully and not just let it be a presence at the corners of his awareness. He didn't bother to brace himself. There was no way to know what to expect, so he didn't dare try to expect anything.
At first, it wasn't all that bad. Like looking into a mirror. A fractured mirror, to be sure, one that rang faintly resonant, but discordant. Except that 'at first' only lasted a fraction of a second--the space of a heartbeat.
Then Solomon saw the currents of the lifestream stretching out all the way around him, unbound by walls or presences because it was reflecting, over and over, in the crystal lines of the Cleaver's presence. It was like a whirlpool, a deep rainbow well into which everything was being sucked; Solomon saw the golden light of his own soul, a flash of it washed in with the rest like a sunrise. Only a flash because it was drowning, because he was drowning, buffeted this way and that by the force of a current he suddenly couldn't ride. He reached out for something, anything, and--
Something responded, surging at him. A blue presence within the whirlpool, part of it and apart from it at once. It was simply too big to be contained by the gravity of that current. It slammed into Solomon, filling his Sight, and for a moment Solomon thought it was going to swallow him whole. He felt himself stumble instead, felt some dizzy awareness of his physical body which he'd lost. Even then, he didn't look away.
The Cleaver's form radiated blue light, the brightness of desperation. It was already fracturing, but the presence was such, the Cleaver's form was such, that even without physical sight Solomon saw the shape of a man. A familiar man who spoke, his words grinding like the stone at the base of a mountain over aeons. Those words were physical and metaphysical at once, deafening.
"Help. Me."
The Cleaver exploded into jagged shards; the lifestream swamped in where it had been. Solomon's arms flew up to protect himself from those massive cutting fragments, and for a moment his existence wavered between now and a then, a then when killing intent and fragments of a metaphysical Scream rushed inexorably at him. The sight-sound-touch-awareness of it sent a bolt of pure terror all through him and he flung a hand out instead, reaching for anything within reach that might protect him--for the bubbles of power he could sense on the edges of his crumbling mind. They'd power him, they'd give him a shield, something to defend himself.
"Solomon, no!"
Something came in-between them, something hugely powerful, bigger even than that blue presence; too big to be contained at all, even for a moment. It caught him up, shook him almost, turned the lifestream's currents rolling under his scrabbling fingers so he couldn't gain any purchase even while it protected him from those glass shards.
Too big. Too powerful. He needed to escape, escape from all these massive presences that were swamping in and drowning him. Another one swept toward him now, blizzarding and cold; he shoved at it, panicking and unable to keep from doing so. It felt as if he'd tried to move a two-ton granite block, and yet it stopped.
Solomon hit something. He couldn't tell what, or who, just that it was quiet, softer. No bigger than him. Not frightening. Just solid, and steady, and enough of a discordant note that the now fractured from the then, when there hadn't been anything steadying at all. The memory washed past him like a buffeting rip-tide and Solomon drew in a deep ragged breath, the first it felt as if he'd drawn at all in forever.
His whole body was trembling violently; his knees buckled and he crumbled to the floor, still unaware of who was beside him. He gasped for air like a near-drowning man, his breathing hitched with the tears he couldn't stop. Everything he'd been holding back, that dam of emotions and dizzying changes, had broken without even giving him the option of trying to shore it up again.
Solomon's head sank into his hands, fingers gripping his hair. He sat there and wept, not sobbing but shaking unstoppably, and couldn't do anything but be overwhelmed by so many things he couldn't even divine them from each other.