Vile fighting back felt like being slammed in the face by a freight-train. Solomon didn't even have the capacity to cry out as he felt the wounds on his hands and feet, his back and side, split open like newly-made injuries.
He was aware, vaguely, of the others in the corridor around him, but sparing them even a split-second of his attention would be a mistake. And soon enough even that faint awareness fled. The weight against him was too much. He had just enough magic and control to keep Vile at bay, not enough to be able to detach himself from the grind of magic even for long enough to ask for help.
The light of the lifestream lashed between them, the Scream fading in and out, resonating through his wards and then being pushed back. Skulduggery's soul was like an anchor. The thin filaments connecting him to Vile seesawed back and forth, their individual gravities trying to bring them together; if Solomon could have he would have cut them, but he didn't know how, couldn't spare the thought to reach for them. He'd be lucky if he lasted another ten seconds. His strength was gurgling away down an open sink. He was drowning, couldn't breathe, clutching to the edge of a precipice.
Abruptly there was someone else there, someone with wings and light. The link between Skulduggery and Vile snapped like an electrical plug had been yanked out, and Solomon's magic surged. It washed across the armour and he let it, fed it, because that thing should never have existed in the first place--
'Solomon, no!' Gabe's voice rang full, words only he could hear; the Archangel gripped him, wrapped his wings around him, cut off his view of the armour. 'You don't have the strength right now. Let it go.'
Something in him rang empty. Gabriel's presence there, between them, interrupted Solomon's thoughts enough that he could register the words. It wasn't an order, but he didn't have the wits to object. He let the force of his magic fade until the armour was an eyesore of power, cut off from its source but still with capability. It fuzzed in his vision, a grating background noise.
'Drop your wards, Sol. You can't spare the energy.'
Wards. Yes. Solomon let them fall. At once the lifestream around him grew sharper, brighter, more painful. At the same time he could now actually feel the heavy throb in his head; feel the presence of his body and the pain of those injuries not his; the arms holding him up; the hard floor under his knees; the raw, rattling gasp of air in his lungs. The voices came distant, as though through water.
"I've got him." Corrival. "Go see about Skulduggery."
"Thank you." Gabe's hand cradled the back of his neck and some of the pain eased, and then the Archangel had left his side for the crack-paned soul a few feet away.
"Solomon. Still with me?"
No, Solomon wanted to say, but he couldn't speak. His head was swimming and he couldn't quite tell the confines of his body. The only things keeping him from being swept off into the middle of that ocean was Corrival's grip around his back, the man's solid presence holding him upright.
After what felt like eternity, Solomon managed, "Yes."
"Take a moment. Focus on your breathing. Hold it for two counts in-between each inhale and exhale."
What a wonderful idea. Solomon did just that and it took nearly all his concentration, but, slowly, it worked. His breathing evened out. The paralysing pain on his back and side eased until it was just an ache echoing the Scream of the armour. Other things started to seep into his awareness then, too. Corrival ordering angels to guard the armour. Other people in the hallways.
"--Lord Vile--"
"Did you see that?"
"What happened? What did he--holy cow, is that--"
"... oh God oh God oh God ..."
"It was Elder Wreath--"
"--Lord Vile--"
Solomon closed his eyes against the buffet of the lifestream around him and simply breathed, fighting the rising darkness that beckoned him to sleep.
no subject
He was aware, vaguely, of the others in the corridor around him, but sparing them even a split-second of his attention would be a mistake. And soon enough even that faint awareness fled. The weight against him was too much. He had just enough magic and control to keep Vile at bay, not enough to be able to detach himself from the grind of magic even for long enough to ask for help.
The light of the lifestream lashed between them, the Scream fading in and out, resonating through his wards and then being pushed back. Skulduggery's soul was like an anchor. The thin filaments connecting him to Vile seesawed back and forth, their individual gravities trying to bring them together; if Solomon could have he would have cut them, but he didn't know how, couldn't spare the thought to reach for them. He'd be lucky if he lasted another ten seconds. His strength was gurgling away down an open sink. He was drowning, couldn't breathe, clutching to the edge of a precipice.
Abruptly there was someone else there, someone with wings and light. The link between Skulduggery and Vile snapped like an electrical plug had been yanked out, and Solomon's magic surged. It washed across the armour and he let it, fed it, because that thing should never have existed in the first place--
'Solomon, no!' Gabe's voice rang full, words only he could hear; the Archangel gripped him, wrapped his wings around him, cut off his view of the armour. 'You don't have the strength right now. Let it go.'
Something in him rang empty. Gabriel's presence there, between them, interrupted Solomon's thoughts enough that he could register the words. It wasn't an order, but he didn't have the wits to object. He let the force of his magic fade until the armour was an eyesore of power, cut off from its source but still with capability. It fuzzed in his vision, a grating background noise.
'Drop your wards, Sol. You can't spare the energy.'
Wards. Yes. Solomon let them fall. At once the lifestream around him grew sharper, brighter, more painful. At the same time he could now actually feel the heavy throb in his head; feel the presence of his body and the pain of those injuries not his; the arms holding him up; the hard floor under his knees; the raw, rattling gasp of air in his lungs. The voices came distant, as though through water.
"I've got him." Corrival. "Go see about Skulduggery."
"Thank you." Gabe's hand cradled the back of his neck and some of the pain eased, and then the Archangel had left his side for the crack-paned soul a few feet away.
"Solomon. Still with me?"
No, Solomon wanted to say, but he couldn't speak. His head was swimming and he couldn't quite tell the confines of his body. The only things keeping him from being swept off into the middle of that ocean was Corrival's grip around his back, the man's solid presence holding him upright.
After what felt like eternity, Solomon managed, "Yes."
"Take a moment. Focus on your breathing. Hold it for two counts in-between each inhale and exhale."
What a wonderful idea. Solomon did just that and it took nearly all his concentration, but, slowly, it worked. His breathing evened out. The paralysing pain on his back and side eased until it was just an ache echoing the Scream of the armour. Other things started to seep into his awareness then, too. Corrival ordering angels to guard the armour. Other people in the hallways.
"--Lord Vile--"
"Did you see that?"
"What happened? What did he--holy cow, is that--"
"... oh God oh God oh God ..."
"It was Elder Wreath--"
"--Lord Vile--"
Solomon closed his eyes against the buffet of the lifestream around him and simply breathed, fighting the rising darkness that beckoned him to sleep.