Since all this had started, Solomon had been refraining from actively trying to use his magic. There had been times when he had to, or when he did so without thinking. Fighting Sanguine had been as explosive as things got. Illuminating the wards in Erskine's office had been next so, the first truly deliberate use of his new form of magic he'd tried.
Seeing as Satan was on his way, Solomon felt it was probably a good idea to start figuring out just what he could do. The day had mostly been spent reviewing people they could trust to hire to replace those Ravel had fired; a number of them were China's students. People truly knowledgeable in the language of magic were going to be needed, apparently.
But the day was over. Solomon really had no idea what he was doing. He'd mostly tried to recreate what he'd done while fighting Sanguine. That sense of power, of having liquid light under his fingertips, of breathing in magic. It had taken a few false starts, but Dexter had startled him and ... well, he'd managed it. He'd also managed to break a ward.
Right now, Solomon was breathing, deep and slow, in some sort of holding pattern. His whole body tingling. The light shone in his eyes, light up his hair, pooled around his feet and cascaded down his arms, and he barely had any control of it at all. It had something to do with intent, but it was hard to divine exact intent when all he could feel was the magic of his own soul. It was like being hit by static electricity; it would have been intoxicating if not for the way it made his body prickle.
He clenched his fists and the magic surged around them, but it didn't feel as if it was a magic he could throw, and right now that was what he wanted. Something he could use to keep people away from him. He relaxed his hands, raised them, felt the way the current washed around him. Fists drew his magic in tight. Open hands might do the opposite.
"Are you actually going to attack tonight?" Dexter asked. "I just ask 'cos, you know, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need to spare my energy for other appointments later tonight and having to hold up a shield for this long is kind of tiring, so any time now--"
Solomon thrust out a hand and pushed, and a spiral of his magic broke off and shot toward Dexter's fluttering banner. He heard the man yelp, the earsplitting sizzle of magic hitting magically-created steel, and tilted his head. "Is that better?"
His voice thrummed. He wasn't sure if it was audible to the others or not, but just talking felt like he had a resonance in his chest. Curious.
"Ow. A little warning, please?"
"Hmm." Solomon flex his fingers, watching the currents and his magic at once. He could summon his magic around his palm, but there had been something in the motion which acted on the lifestream around him, too. "Give me a moving target?"
"You're killing me here. Does it have to be me or can I just try to fizzle something out of existence?"
"Just don't break any more wards if you do."
"That was not my fault."
"Of course it was. You ducked."
"You missed."
He saw a glow around the banner. Magic was a kind of light; it just looked different to any other sort. Not exactly a rainbow, not exactly pure white, but something that shifted like a prism between the two. Dexter's beam of energy shot past him, too weak to actually reach the far wall, but Solomon caught the little ripples that buffeted against his palm, twisted his hand toward them, and threw another semi-controlled blast of light.
The ripples crossed, caught one another, and the bolt hit the wall with the crackle of something like electricity. Fortunately, it was also too weak to do anything, though Solomon saw the ripples it left in the wards.
"Did you just try to plug a metaphorical nickel? Maybe you should think about hitting stationary targets before moving ones, Mister Sharpshooter Prophet."
"Just testing a theory." He'd missed, but this wasn't just about being able to manipulate his magic. This was about using his soul and the lifestream as a courier for his magic. He was sure he probably could have tracked that beam, given practice. "Oh, I imagine He was," he answered Erskine absently, flexing his fingers again. That was his trouble, he decided. Fists were too big an intent. This required subtle movements. "You'd think that being God's Son would be a clear candidate for having magic."
Slow and subtle. Precision was the key here. Solomon's brow furrowed, testing the currents around his fingers. No, it wasn't quite right. He needed something else. Something as a counterbalance. "Who would have thought metaphysics would be so literal," he muttered, spreading his other hand back as if pushing down on the current trailing behind him; almost at once he felt the heightened thrum against the fingers of the one in front, the sort that told him--
"Hey, did you know your hand is glowing?"
"I suspected." He cupped his hand, gathered light in it, and with a snap of his wrist sent a much more controlled bolt toward Dexter. Except it was more like a streamer than a bolt. As though the current working past him, under his back hand, was tensed and focussed to the point his fore hand directed, and that tension wouldn't end until he let it.
"Oh, shit--" Solomon heard a grunt and saw the bloom of the prism spreading in front of Dexter's banner, the scrolling artwork and then the hissing fizzle of his lightbeam striking it.
no subject
Seeing as Satan was on his way, Solomon felt it was probably a good idea to start figuring out just what he could do. The day had mostly been spent reviewing people they could trust to hire to replace those Ravel had fired; a number of them were China's students. People truly knowledgeable in the language of magic were going to be needed, apparently.
But the day was over. Solomon really had no idea what he was doing. He'd mostly tried to recreate what he'd done while fighting Sanguine. That sense of power, of having liquid light under his fingertips, of breathing in magic. It had taken a few false starts, but Dexter had startled him and ... well, he'd managed it. He'd also managed to break a ward.
Right now, Solomon was breathing, deep and slow, in some sort of holding pattern. His whole body tingling. The light shone in his eyes, light up his hair, pooled around his feet and cascaded down his arms, and he barely had any control of it at all. It had something to do with intent, but it was hard to divine exact intent when all he could feel was the magic of his own soul. It was like being hit by static electricity; it would have been intoxicating if not for the way it made his body prickle.
He clenched his fists and the magic surged around them, but it didn't feel as if it was a magic he could throw, and right now that was what he wanted. Something he could use to keep people away from him. He relaxed his hands, raised them, felt the way the current washed around him. Fists drew his magic in tight. Open hands might do the opposite.
"Are you actually going to attack tonight?" Dexter asked. "I just ask 'cos, you know, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need to spare my energy for other appointments later tonight and having to hold up a shield for this long is kind of tiring, so any time now--"
Solomon thrust out a hand and pushed, and a spiral of his magic broke off and shot toward Dexter's fluttering banner. He heard the man yelp, the earsplitting sizzle of magic hitting magically-created steel, and tilted his head. "Is that better?"
His voice thrummed. He wasn't sure if it was audible to the others or not, but just talking felt like he had a resonance in his chest. Curious.
"Ow. A little warning, please?"
"Hmm." Solomon flex his fingers, watching the currents and his magic at once. He could summon his magic around his palm, but there had been something in the motion which acted on the lifestream around him, too. "Give me a moving target?"
"You're killing me here. Does it have to be me or can I just try to fizzle something out of existence?"
"Just don't break any more wards if you do."
"That was not my fault."
"Of course it was. You ducked."
"You missed."
He saw a glow around the banner. Magic was a kind of light; it just looked different to any other sort. Not exactly a rainbow, not exactly pure white, but something that shifted like a prism between the two. Dexter's beam of energy shot past him, too weak to actually reach the far wall, but Solomon caught the little ripples that buffeted against his palm, twisted his hand toward them, and threw another semi-controlled blast of light.
The ripples crossed, caught one another, and the bolt hit the wall with the crackle of something like electricity. Fortunately, it was also too weak to do anything, though Solomon saw the ripples it left in the wards.
"Did you just try to plug a metaphorical nickel? Maybe you should think about hitting stationary targets before moving ones, Mister Sharpshooter Prophet."
"Just testing a theory." He'd missed, but this wasn't just about being able to manipulate his magic. This was about using his soul and the lifestream as a courier for his magic. He was sure he probably could have tracked that beam, given practice. "Oh, I imagine He was," he answered Erskine absently, flexing his fingers again. That was his trouble, he decided. Fists were too big an intent. This required subtle movements. "You'd think that being God's Son would be a clear candidate for having magic."
Slow and subtle. Precision was the key here. Solomon's brow furrowed, testing the currents around his fingers. No, it wasn't quite right. He needed something else. Something as a counterbalance. "Who would have thought metaphysics would be so literal," he muttered, spreading his other hand back as if pushing down on the current trailing behind him; almost at once he felt the heightened thrum against the fingers of the one in front, the sort that told him--
"Hey, did you know your hand is glowing?"
"I suspected." He cupped his hand, gathered light in it, and with a snap of his wrist sent a much more controlled bolt toward Dexter. Except it was more like a streamer than a bolt. As though the current working past him, under his back hand, was tensed and focussed to the point his fore hand directed, and that tension wouldn't end until he let it.
"Oh, shit--" Solomon heard a grunt and saw the bloom of the prism spreading in front of Dexter's banner, the scrolling artwork and then the hissing fizzle of his lightbeam striking it.