Ch 18: Rage

Standing in a line with twenty other men, blinking, and realizing you’re suddenly alone. That is what it is to face one of their gods. Nothing makes sense anymore. Life and death are too close to one another.

• An Account of the Elven Conquest

Solomon kept screaming. He fell to the ground, writhing around as black energy arced around him like lightning. He threw himself across the ground, vomited, and cried as his body struggled not to tear apart under the strain of what was now inside of it. It was as if he was drowning in the heart of a black ocean, and every drop of water within it was forcing itself down his throat.

Somehow, he drew himself to his feet and made it to one wall, bracing his hands against it for a moment before he drew his head back, and suddenly and forcefully smashed it into it, falling backward immediately afterward. There was a brief moment of pain and clarity, and he hung onto it like a man on a piece of driftwood in the midst of a terrible storm. He crawled toward the walking stick he’d dropped by the binding circle. Looking at it now it seemed almost as if it was glowing within his vision. Reached toward it, and when his hand touched the hilt he was surprised that his mind cleared a bit.

It was a focus. A staff for casting. Of course it was, given everything else about his uncle it made sense that his walking stick would be such a tool. Even with the mindfulness it granted him, his entire body was shaking as he felt the mana flow into and out of him, his skin feeling like it would start to tear from the force of it. He pushed that to the side and began stumbling toward the stairs, wiping the vomit from the side of his face with a handkerchief and dropping it on the ground as he moved. He pressed the sigil to open the library, thinking of all the spells he’d memorized from the Basic Spells and Foundational Magics book. None were for combat, but when enough mana was put behind a spell, any could be damaging. That had been a warning in the book, but now it was a blessing.

As he stumbled out, barely keeping his feet, he heard the sound of feet rapidly approaching. He turned toward them, his vision blurry and filled with strange lights and colours, some of which he couldn’t name. A vaguely guard shaped form ran toward him with something in his hand.

Solomon extended a hand with his wrist pointed downward and his fingers straight down as well, then he flicked his wrist upward until the flat of his palm was facing the man, putting all of the mana he could feel writhing inside him into it.

“Gust,” he whispered.

There was a roar as wind flew from his palm with such force that both the man in front of him, and the one behind him were thrown back into the stone wall behind them, their bodies crumpling into lifeless heaps as their spines were broken.

When the mana left his body, Solomon lost his balance, falling to one knee as dizziness overtook him. He could feel the ocean of mana around him start to pour into his body again and dry-heaved as he pushed himself back onto his feet. He could hear more running in his direction from the hall and before it had even reached the corner he made a fist, then rapidly opened it, spreading out his fingers before pointing just two of them toward the far wall.

“Spark”.

A spray of white hot orbs of fizzing flame shot from his finger into three men as they crossed the threshold into the library. They screamed as the sparks hit them and fell to the ground, writhing and screaming as their flesh was scorched.

Again Solomon nearly lost his balance, but he was ready this time, and steadied himself on his walking stick before he began walking forward. He didn’t hear anyone else approaching, but he didn’t want to leave his people in danger any longer.

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His vision had started to clear a bit and he could see the singed corpses of the guards that attacked him even as he carefully stepped over them. They smelled like cooking pork, a thought which may have made him vomit had he anything left in his stomach to spare. Against the wall was a nasty shock of blood where the first two men had hit, and their corpses were awkwardly laid atop one another beneath it.

Solomon felt no sympathy for them. Just as it was his job as a noble to lead and look after his people, it had been their job to protect the people of Moonfallow. They hadn’t just failed their duty, they’d betrayed it. He’d’ve spat on them if he could have.

He braced himself against the wall as he moved. He could hear yelling and cries from the sitting room, but he couldn’t make out the words until he’d gotten a bit closer.

“- happened back there!? Klein!? Leonard!?” yelled Marcus, his voice tinged with a mix of rage and concern. “Neuman, get down there!”

As a man ran into the corner in front of him Solomon raised a hand holding two fingers up with his palm forward. He covered his own eyes with his arm as he braced against the wall to keep from losing his balance again.