[ Flame rises over Matt's upturned palm. The scent of burning sage and dandelion fills the air. A tiny piece of his awareness clocks Tezcatlipoca nearby, but the bulk of his attention is on his spell--and the shadows.
There's a reason for the Hymn to Kali. For Kurt Cobain. Matt came out here to be bait, and a worm rarely escapes the bite of the hook. The filigree of spellwork starts to take shape, but underneath, Matt's bracing. His body is the foundation of the magic, the instrument that gives the energy its form; he can't give in to fear or pain.
It all takes only a few seconds. The nearest shadow lands a hit, scraping up Matt's thigh and over his ribs. He bites his lip hard, the spell configuration flickering but still holding, still forming. As soon as the last symbol etches itself into place, Matt lets the spell fly. It flaps like a banner, curling to wrap around the shadow that's right on him. If it works right, it'll hold the thing in place.
Not as bad as Silco's fangs in that alley, he tells himself. Though he does feel cold, and tired, like he does when he's had his blood drunk. ]
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There's a reason for the Hymn to Kali. For Kurt Cobain. Matt came out here to be bait, and a worm rarely escapes the bite of the hook. The filigree of spellwork starts to take shape, but underneath, Matt's bracing. His body is the foundation of the magic, the instrument that gives the energy its form; he can't give in to fear or pain.
It all takes only a few seconds. The nearest shadow lands a hit, scraping up Matt's thigh and over his ribs. He bites his lip hard, the spell configuration flickering but still holding, still forming. As soon as the last symbol etches itself into place, Matt lets the spell fly. It flaps like a banner, curling to wrap around the shadow that's right on him. If it works right, it'll hold the thing in place.
Not as bad as Silco's fangs in that alley, he tells himself. Though he does feel cold, and tired, like he does when he's had his blood drunk. ]