Solomon saw Gabe give Skulduggery a beatific smile, but what it could possibly mean the ex-Necromancer had no idea. He'd seen something, a ripple, which was far too defined to be anything but an actual transmission of thought. It looked like a piece of thread weaving together, golden and emitting a soft rainbow.
The Archangel said nothing, though. And thought nothing, as far as Solomon could tell. But his smile was knowing.
He was distracted a moment later by Skulduggery's satisfaction, tilting his head at the man. Dexter put something into his grasp, but he already knew what it was, and smiled. He held it in his hands, rolled it, feeling its weight and heft. His fingers found the hilt and he twisted the main stave off the blade, slicing the air to hear its ring.
And it did ring, at least to his ears. It was a magic blade, of a sort. It was made with magic, and he found that even though it had been shrouded enough by Skulduggery's soul that Solomon hadn't noticed it was there--or at least not what it was--as soon as he'd laid hands on it there was a hum against his ... well, soul, probably. It was a quiet rainbow, not exactly locked in a box but still similar in nature to the angel statues. Untapped potential.
Solomon hummed and traced a thumb down the blade, letting the golden light flow across it. It was a cutting edge and he felt it, sharp but not painful. He just knew it, like it was a new friend he'd just met, a potential extension of himself.
"It will do, I suppose," he said mildly as the light shone across the blade's surface and down it again, like liquid sunlight. "And whyever would I feel obligated to do anything when given something already owed to me?"
He sheathed it with a soft snick, cutting off the light, and set its base to the floor with a satisfactory thud. "Well then. I suppose we ought to think about these wards and statues. Or is there something you wanted, Corrival?"
"Lunch," Corrival said immediately. "I'll be back in an hour. I feel like I haven't left this place in days. Any orders?"
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The Archangel said nothing, though. And thought nothing, as far as Solomon could tell. But his smile was knowing.
He was distracted a moment later by Skulduggery's satisfaction, tilting his head at the man. Dexter put something into his grasp, but he already knew what it was, and smiled. He held it in his hands, rolled it, feeling its weight and heft. His fingers found the hilt and he twisted the main stave off the blade, slicing the air to hear its ring.
And it did ring, at least to his ears. It was a magic blade, of a sort. It was made with magic, and he found that even though it had been shrouded enough by Skulduggery's soul that Solomon hadn't noticed it was there--or at least not what it was--as soon as he'd laid hands on it there was a hum against his ... well, soul, probably. It was a quiet rainbow, not exactly locked in a box but still similar in nature to the angel statues. Untapped potential.
Solomon hummed and traced a thumb down the blade, letting the golden light flow across it. It was a cutting edge and he felt it, sharp but not painful. He just knew it, like it was a new friend he'd just met, a potential extension of himself.
"It will do, I suppose," he said mildly as the light shone across the blade's surface and down it again, like liquid sunlight. "And whyever would I feel obligated to do anything when given something already owed to me?"
He sheathed it with a soft snick, cutting off the light, and set its base to the floor with a satisfactory thud. "Well then. I suppose we ought to think about these wards and statues. Or is there something you wanted, Corrival?"
"Lunch," Corrival said immediately. "I'll be back in an hour. I feel like I haven't left this place in days. Any orders?"