The angle at which Solomon was turned meant the knee didn't connect completely--but it was still more than enough to send the man buckling, gasping with the pain of the blow. He leaned into the door as he sank to the floor, fighting the paralysis of that pain to turn and face Sanguine even from the floor.
Pain ripped through his hand and he yelped, but yanked his hand back to use his sleeve as a shield again in lieu of losing his head. The blade caught the edge of it, raking a long thin gash in his arm but then catching on the fabric. Solomon grit his teeth as he lifted his head, his arm shaking. His whole body throbbed; he could barely move.
He could barely move but he absolutely refused to die here, at the hands of Billy-Ray Sanguine.
Solomon was aware of their souls, of Sanguine's drenched in blood and his own, aversive to it, but not recoiling from it. What he did then was somewhere between instinct and not--a sensation with which he was familiar, but which wasn't like previous times at all. He didn't try to pull anything in. He took pushed back instead, because it was his soul, damn it, and it would do what he said, and he wanted it to get rid of that blood-bathed animal before him.
Like touching a live wire. His magic, his soul, his self beat within him and for a moment Solomon felt lit up, breathing in pure magic. He shoved back against Sanguine, against his soul rather than his body. Golden light blazed from the cleric's eyes, lit his face, cascaded around him and to the floor in a brilliant molten aura, not precisely blinding but just as painful to the touch as the bolt earlier.
Sanguine's soul recoiled and Solomon felt the weight of him rock back. His uninjured hand was already groping for the doorknob, twisting it. The sorcerer rolled to the side to yank the door open and use it as a shield in response to the running footsteps he could hear in the corridor, leaving the room wide open and bathed in light.
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Pain ripped through his hand and he yelped, but yanked his hand back to use his sleeve as a shield again in lieu of losing his head. The blade caught the edge of it, raking a long thin gash in his arm but then catching on the fabric. Solomon grit his teeth as he lifted his head, his arm shaking. His whole body throbbed; he could barely move.
He could barely move but he absolutely refused to die here, at the hands of Billy-Ray Sanguine.
Solomon was aware of their souls, of Sanguine's drenched in blood and his own, aversive to it, but not recoiling from it. What he did then was somewhere between instinct and not--a sensation with which he was familiar, but which wasn't like previous times at all. He didn't try to pull anything in. He took pushed back instead, because it was his soul, damn it, and it would do what he said, and he wanted it to get rid of that blood-bathed animal before him.
Like touching a live wire. His magic, his soul, his self beat within him and for a moment Solomon felt lit up, breathing in pure magic. He shoved back against Sanguine, against his soul rather than his body. Golden light blazed from the cleric's eyes, lit his face, cascaded around him and to the floor in a brilliant molten aura, not precisely blinding but just as painful to the touch as the bolt earlier.
Sanguine's soul recoiled and Solomon felt the weight of him rock back. His uninjured hand was already groping for the doorknob, twisting it. The sorcerer rolled to the side to yank the door open and use it as a shield in response to the running footsteps he could hear in the corridor, leaving the room wide open and bathed in light.