“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?”
