Chapter 12 Winter #2
The push of it wasn’t the part I particularly needed to pay attention to.
It was doing it without first pulling back, snuffing out my stream, then just delivering another blast like would normally be the case.
Maintaining the stream while escalating was a whole other thing, the control and precision to keep aiming, too, was a task in itself.
“Hmm,” he mused. “Is this what you hit Ruxnoth with when you defended Ambrose?”
“No.”
“Less?”
I shook my head. “More.”
He looked surprised, because he knew I didn’t like violence as a rule, or hurting people. Anyone.
“You panicked.” A statement, not a question.
“He was hurting him. Severely. It was just me there. I had… I mean, I thought I had no choice.”
“You didn’t. You did what was needed. And even though it was violence and hurt you delivered, it was actually the right thing for the situation.”
“I know,” I admitted. And I had to believe that now. If I was going to protect them all, I absolutely had to believe it so deeply.
“Show me what you hit him with. Go.”
My power crackled a little as I called forth more. It rushed down my stream and hit the shield, the stream thickening in the process.
Dad’s eyes widened, a smile spreading over his face.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re hitting with the force of five now.”
“I’m… really?”
“Six.”
Oops. I must’ve increased it accidentally at his feedback.
Of course he clocked it right away, and told me, “Careful. But keep going. More.”
“Dad, what if—”
“Don’t worry about hurting me.”
“That’s like telling me not to breathe. Especially me, Dad.”
“I meant, I’ll deal with it.”
“Deal with it? How?”
“Win, to do this, we need trust.”
“I do trust you, but when it comes to the way you use your magic in certain situations, it does worry me. Your wellbeing worries me because you’ll push through for the greater good, or my benefit, the family’s.”
“Win, just escalate. You’ll see. I promise I’ll be fine.”
I ground my jaw, but pushed forward anyway. Besides, I’d just snuff out my stream if it came to it. Not that he’d like that, but his wellbeing mattered more than him being a little pissed at me not following his instructions to the letter.
“Eight,” I heard him say after a few moments.
A rush rolled through me then. Guess it was a sweet spot for me or something, as I wasn’t used to feeling that.
Or maybe I was letting myself feel that thrill of my own power for once—the Necromancy, anyway.
With my Wraith, I was good with that, although the shadows and frost felt different than this. It was a separate kind of thrill.
“Ungh,” I grunted, as the feeling sparked all over, becoming more intense, more fucking delicious, honestly.
“It’s all right, son. There’s no shame in it. In fact, it’s important you initially experience it under controlled circumstances. It’s just me here.”
I nodded and continued on.
“Ten,” he rumbled.
I jolted.
“Keep going,” he encouraged.
“Wait. I thought you had the power of ten necromancers now? In fact, that’s what Ryker Morgan has you registered at in Guardian Movement records, right? The ones they keep now on all high-level magical beings and powerhouses.” If I pushed any harder with that being the case, he’d get hurt.
Making it all the more surprising when his response was a smirk.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Win, that’s what’s on file.”
That glint in his eyes. He had them all fooled. Of course he did.
He thought he had to.
If people knew what he was truly capable of they could accurately prepare countermeasures against him. Something that… yeah, he’d never allow, come to think of it.
The way he’d grown his power set from years back when he’d needed three necromantic cores to equal his own power during that whole nastiness of him needing a temporary when he’d been deathly sick was another level.
I pushed even harder, that rush of sparking intensity becoming all-consuming.
I wanted to live in it forever. Breathe only that in.
“Eleven,” I heard him call out.
And then my hand started to shake, that tantalizing sensation shifting, the sparks becoming painful.
My stream flared, parts of it starting to fray.
I let out a cry.
“Did it start hurting because you thought you were enjoying it too much? Or because you hit your limit?”
“I don’t… how do I know?”
“Was there a sensation of there being more to come that suddenly shifted to sparks of pain?”
“Yes. That’s exactly it.”
“Hmm. All right, now, carefully pull the stream from my shield, ease it back a few feet, then hold.”
Now I was no longer escalating, I was able to stabilize it again, like it was happy with me again—or more likely the other way around.
I pulled the stream away from his shield so it was no longer pushing against it.
“Now what?” I asked, holding it steady. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep it steady in a stream like this. I’m getting tired, Dad.”
“I know. You don’t need to hold it any longer. Direct it into a single blast.”
“Where? Into the atmosphere? Or down in the valley where Ryker’s defensive magic protection will neutralize it?”
“It’ll neutralize when we’re done regardless. It doesn’t need to be down in the valley.”
“Okay, then, where?”
“At me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hit me with it.”
“You… no.”
“Win, I need you to trust me.”
I shifted my weight, studying him.
He seemed fine. More than fine.
He wasn’t sweating.
He hadn’t needed to dig the heels of his boots into the snow for purchase.
His hands weren’t shaking.
There was nothing to indicate any strain he’d endured from that.
But a full-on blast of this magnitude was a little different to a careful escalation he could adapt to gradually as it went on.
“You either absorb it now or hit me. Holding it much longer now you’re getting tired will cause damage.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll… I’m gonna do it. Gonna fire. Just… please be ready to stop it.”
“It’s all good,” he said, shifting his weight as I did, mirroring me.
“Dad, call your power first.”
“Once you fire, you’ll understand why I can’t do that. But, like I said, it’s all good.”
“But I—”
“Fire or absorb, Win. Now.”
Fuck. I was panting and sweating, the exhaustion of holding a stream of such high-level power in such a precise and concentrated way definitely taking its toll.
He was right.
I had to make a decision.
Now. Right now.
Absorbing it seemed like taking a massive step back. Failing at what I needed to be able to do so badly. At what I needed to be—for them all. More than they even actually realized.
Ruxnoth’s words slammed into me, a nightmare of a memory, the taste of them absolutely fucking despicable.
“Sylas would respond with appropriate force to bolster you. A necromancer of his caliber, especially when he carries Morien’s legacy, taking any high-level action of that magnitude, would be destroyed—the public’s current trust in him that he’s spent years earning would shatter.
The higher echelons of the supernatural world would mobilize against him.
You remaining on this plane is not only unsustainable because of public sentiment toward what you are, but it will bring about the downfall of Sylas, the rest of your family by extension, and even those three you have made the worrying decision to attach yourself to. ”
Fuck. I had to do this.
Keep pushing onward.
No more hesitating and faltering.
Too much was on the line.
And so, I did it—I fired.
All that fucking power shifting from a stream to a massive blast of wildly sparking amber magic headed straight for my dad.
Panic and adrenaline tore through me as I staggered back from the force of sending that blast forward.
He wasn’t invoking his magic.
Just two feet out, and he still wasn’t.
I wanted to call out, but that could break his concentration. And he was doing that deep-stare thing I’d seen him do before unleashing something, or when working on a complex task in his lab over the years.
Okay, so he did have something up his sleeve, then.
That was definitely the look for it.
It hit then.
All that power.
I jolted as it didn’t slam into him like it should have.
Instead, it fanned out, all over, enveloping him.
It looked like it was going to swallow him.
But he didn’t move.
Didn’t cry out.
Didn’t… anything.
At least outwardly.
Because then I watched as his crimson power emanated all around him.
Just sparks at first.
And then it grew in potency, flaming, then lashing at mine, pushing against it.
No. Not pushing.
Pulling it toward him.
What the—
His eyes shot to mine and flamed with blindingly-bright crimson.
He grinned.
Then in one sudden rush, all that expelled power was sucked into the crimson film encircling him, concealed from view. Gone.
No. It couldn’t be gone.
That was impossible.
He staggered back, choking.
I went to call out, but he held up a shaking hand.
Then what looked like red flash lightning lit up his eyes.
Holy. Fuck.
He dropped to his knees, and I rushed forward across the snow, only to pull up short abruptly when he brought his hands together in front of him, his whole body shaking with it.
The moment he clasped them, a red and amber glow began to emanate.
He let out a cry between pain and ecstasy, then thrust his hands up toward the sky.
I choked as thick streams of violent lightning—our combined crimson and amber—tore into the atmosphere.
Thunder crackled overhead.
The ground shook beneath us, rocks even cracking.
A growled command from him echoed all around us. “Collige. Redi ad me.”
Gather. Return to me.
He yanked his hands down, and twisted his palms, cupping them slightly as he held them apart.
I watched in utter amazement as the streams separated and shot down toward his palms, the crimson to the left, my amber to the right.
He rose to his feet as the crimson disappeared into his palm—back into him, while the amber swirled into a forming blazing circle of glowing flame and sparks.
The circle stabilized, hovering an inch above his right hand, while the crimson was all re-absorbed and gone from sight.