The memory provides the knowledge, and so long as you follow instinct, it makes sense. Ingenuity out of desperation. A space for protection. A space for the vessel. Written incantations that feel like a mockery under the bitter rolling of your stomach. Sanctuary, sanctuary, protection against that which devours man.
There's not enough of a catalyst with only the thumb. You don't have to even think twice. There's pain, sharp and vibrant against the palm, and though neither of them find an injury, it can still be felt, blood dripping and coating the fingers. Tracing, writing, with no finesse.
The shape of the pentagram, the curves of the serpent, the directions and their marks. Time, Time, you need more time. The start of the seal splatters under heavy breathes. You need more time. You wipe mud and ash and sweat from your face, so focused that you can hear nothing but the heart beating in your ears and the begging need of your soul.
Let me take it back.
It's as he finishes the last draw of the circle, an attempt to close it, that Akira will feel Solomon's grip tighten, his own face pale with the effort. He is here to hold Akira up, but not to write this for him.
He knows his place.]
Don't hesitate. You are not something to be devoured.
Demand what you need.
[As the lines draw close with a startling ice to the veins, as the depths open against the pull of your overwhelming magic like a hungry beast, like falling into the bottomless pit of the sea. Hell stares into you, demanding what your soul is worth, what you desire, what you will die to eternity for.
He's out there. He can reverse this. He can turn it back.
no subject
The memory provides the knowledge, and so long as you follow instinct, it makes sense. Ingenuity out of desperation. A space for protection. A space for the vessel. Written incantations that feel like a mockery under the bitter rolling of your stomach. Sanctuary, sanctuary, protection against that which devours man.
There's not enough of a catalyst with only the thumb. You don't have to even think twice. There's pain, sharp and vibrant against the palm, and though neither of them find an injury, it can still be felt, blood dripping and coating the fingers. Tracing, writing, with no finesse.
The shape of the pentagram, the curves of the serpent, the directions and their marks. Time, Time, you need more time. The start of the seal splatters under heavy breathes. You need more time. You wipe mud and ash and sweat from your face, so focused that you can hear nothing but the heart beating in your ears and the begging need of your soul.
Let me take it back.
It's as he finishes the last draw of the circle, an attempt to close it, that Akira will feel Solomon's grip tighten, his own face pale with the effort. He is here to hold Akira up, but not to write this for him.
He knows his place.]
Don't hesitate. You are not something to be devoured.
Demand what you need.
[As the lines draw close with a startling ice to the veins, as the depths open against the pull of your overwhelming magic like a hungry beast, like falling into the bottomless pit of the sea. Hell stares into you, demanding what your soul is worth, what you desire, what you will die to eternity for.
He's out there. He can reverse this. He can turn it back.
Barbatos.]