Inactive.
Powerless.
He was always on the move, always impacting something.
Yet here he was now appearing deceased, just without the unsavory physical symptoms, as he lay inside the Restoration Chamber, a white sheet over his lower half, his bare chest on display where the wound through his heart was hidden beneath a gauze pad. His head rested on a plush forest-green pillow, which I recognized as Lazriel’s favorite he usually slept on—there was a lot of oversharing that I’d been privy to since my relationship with Ketheron, as he couldn’t always draw a line between what was open information and what was private.
“The heavy-duty concealment spell is up,” Ketheron informed me, knowing my focus was only on this now. He’d also reinforced the room with his power. The home had already been created by him predominantly so it could sustain a great deal, including a toddler Winter who hadn’t been able to control his power.
“I’ll ensure they remain at a distance,” Remnant confirmed when I’d mentioned that I couldn’t have eruptions of magic interfering. Ketheron’s was different as it was merely reinforcement he’d erected that wouldn’t interfere with the spell. Whilst Velra, Cassius, and Kai were currently considered volatile by my standards and if things didn’t progress smoothly with what I was about to do, it was highly possible they could lash out or try to assist.
While I’d rather Lazriel in his current state wasn’t in the room either, he didn’t possess magic. And his father was right beside him, so any outbursts would easily be contained.
And as for Remnant… well, he was a steadying force. Through anything and everything. It was clear to me that he thought of Sylas much like a son. But he also considered hima vital pillar of the supernatural world, which I knew he’d be focusing on through this.
“Okay,” I spoke, drawing in a calming breath, then peeling away the gauze pad over Sylas’ chest, revealing the stab wound. It was a simple puncture in appearance—nothing like the concentric rings branded into my own flesh. All that lethal architecture had been diverted to me. If it had fully manifested on him instead, Sylas Morgrave would truly be no more. It was no longer bleeding given his current state—his heart not beating and him presenting as deceased.
I pressed my right palm over it, my black magical glow radiating out. “I’ve got you, Almighty Necromancer.” I smiled sadly. “My friend. Fellow keeper of the balance.”
Through the connection that Ruxnoth had established with Winter via blood imbued into the Spiral Thorn, he’d been able to weaponize Winter’s bloodline connection to Sylas and the necromantic resonance of the father-son bond, riding the Sylas-Winter Necromancy link to make the heart-stab with the Spiral Thorn into a true kill condition for Sylas. It had broken Sylas’ usual necromantic immunity and thereby locked the kill in as absolute.
Until I’d intervened, essentially pausing it.
So in order to undo that, I had to draw out the essence of it remaining in Sylas’ wound itself, knowing that the abomination wouldn’t have taken any chances. I couldn’t heal that wound either, and nobody had clearly been able to, as it was still open. It was ‘locked’ by what Ruxnoth had wrought.
I had to break the arrangement of the concentric circles in practicality—those I’d pulled onto myself, the magical wound mark I’d seen to earlier. The combination was what would have led to a lethal strike. And not just lethal, but actually erasing Sylas from existence entirely—that part I’d felt Ruxnoth enactthrough his ability to transmute. He’d done that with a death blow. Incredibly dangerous and violating.
As if killing somebody who was so vital to the balance nowadays wasn’t already a supreme violation.
So, to break the circle arrangement, I needed to draw out the crimson one from my magical replication of the wound—Sylas’ aspect—and infuse it into the stab wound in Sylas’ chest. Then his wound would still be there, still have occurred once I broke this paused state, but it wouldn’t be lethal. Just… uncomfortable. Until it could then be healed.
As for the amber circle and the midnight-blue one marking me—Winter and Ruxnoth respectively—I had to separate Winter’s by using my ability to warp how magic and certain spells behaved and have Winter’s magic attack Ruxnoth’s. It would be creating the opposite of what Ruxnoth had, which was fusing them together.
And once I had Winter’s free, it would break the connection between them going forward, which would give Winter some protection down there in Sanctus until we could extract him.
I would then trap Ruxnoth’s power and the blood essence infused in it.
With a spark of my magic, I dematerialized my robe and tunic, leaving me just in my navy pants and leather ankle boots.
I heard a choked sound from Lazriel and a curse from Remnant as they caught sight of the nasty magical wound on my chest.
Currently, my black magic was swirling around the circles, with glowing, jagged veins spreading outward—different to the ones I was already marked with. The glowing aspect for one, and the jagged nature of them—and, yes, the fact that it was decaying my body, threatening to kill me the longer I held all of this at bay.
I hovered my left hand over the site, calling my black power, a stable glow emanating.
And then I pulled with my right hand on Sylas and my left on me.
I grunted as the crimson core in mine began trickling out into the air in a twisting weave.
At the same time, a midnight-blue trail pulled from Sylas’ stab wound—the residue of the Spiral Thorn true kill condition left there. I hadn’t been able to take it all, needing it a little in order to create this connection between us now, to allow me to do this.
It took just seconds to extract the full trail of that aspect, and I clenched my fingers of my left hand and twisted my wrist, forcing it into a levitating circle just to the side of me at eye level. Then I focused on pouring the crimson weave into Sylas’ open wound, filling it up, returning what Ruxnoth had gotten hold of through his blood connection to Winter.
I cursed as my body began trembling uncontrollably, while I tried to hold the weave steady.
It was Ruxnoth’s circle trying to hold onto it, not wanting the crimson core to break from my magical wound infrastructure, because it would be undoing the damage.
I heard a cry from Ketheron, before he managed to switch to words of encouragement, my poor treasure having to swallow his fear and pain for me.
