"You weren't meant to be here," Solomon said shakily, staring at Skulduggery. It was still difficult to focus. His hand was a nearly all-consuming blaze of agony and his metaphysical wards were still rippling with Tesseract's memories. That wasn't even taking into account the swell of shrieking red darkness he'd seen wrap around Skulduggery's soul.
It was gone now. Solomon didn't know where it had gone. It had exploded from the heart of Skulduggery, swallowing him up for an instant before blasting back as if refused, and then it had gone ... somewhere. As if following another gravitational field, as if pulled by someone else. That was important somehow, but Solomon couldn't quite grasp it--not now.
Skulduggery was alright. His soul was spinning with the shadow of clouds on his windowpanes, but he was alright. He'd resisted.
"In case anything ever manages to override that astute judgement, just try to keep in mind that if I'm anywhere nearby, and particularly if Gabe is not, whatever it is that terrified you might well become the least of your problems."
Solomon closed his eyes, bracing himself on the wall and trying to breathe, to gather himself again. His voice was steadier when he answered this time. Steadier, but not without the pain. "My wrist is broken. Badly, I think." He pushed himself upright, but remained leaning on the wall. Until he was properly on his feet again he hadn't quite realised how much that magic had drained him. "Where's my cane?"
The sheath was out in the corridor somewhere, he knew that, but the lifestream was too much a flurry for him to pinpoint the blade even with its magic.
"Over this way," Dexter said weakly. "For the record, that was extremely creepy, and please don't ever do it again. Lugh's ass." He laughed but stopped quickly with that particular reverse-gasp which indicated pain had stolen his breath. "G- glad you're not--a Necromancer anymore. By the way--Ghastly--I need suits. Good ones. Magic ones. Please."
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It was gone now. Solomon didn't know where it had gone. It had exploded from the heart of Skulduggery, swallowing him up for an instant before blasting back as if refused, and then it had gone ... somewhere. As if following another gravitational field, as if pulled by someone else. That was important somehow, but Solomon couldn't quite grasp it--not now.
Skulduggery was alright. His soul was spinning with the shadow of clouds on his windowpanes, but he was alright. He'd resisted.
"In case anything ever manages to override that astute judgement, just try to keep in mind that if I'm anywhere nearby, and particularly if Gabe is not, whatever it is that terrified you might well become the least of your problems."
Solomon closed his eyes, bracing himself on the wall and trying to breathe, to gather himself again. His voice was steadier when he answered this time. Steadier, but not without the pain. "My wrist is broken. Badly, I think." He pushed himself upright, but remained leaning on the wall. Until he was properly on his feet again he hadn't quite realised how much that magic had drained him. "Where's my cane?"
The sheath was out in the corridor somewhere, he knew that, but the lifestream was too much a flurry for him to pinpoint the blade even with its magic.
"Over this way," Dexter said weakly. "For the record, that was extremely creepy, and please don't ever do it again. Lugh's ass." He laughed but stopped quickly with that particular reverse-gasp which indicated pain had stolen his breath. "G- glad you're not--a Necromancer anymore. By the way--Ghastly--I need suits. Good ones. Magic ones. Please."