As the Hell Gate continued to expand, Solomon and the artificial human leapt out from behind Kaecilius in perfect synchronization, their movements so fluid it was as if they shared a single mind. Kaecilius, caught off guard, didn't even have time to stop them. Together, the sorcerer and his construct raised their weapons and charged toward Mephisto's true form.
Mephisto himself was tethered to the spot—he could not leave. Should he abandon his position, the infernal creatures emerging from the Hell Gate would become nothing more than prey for the Kamar-Taj sorcerers. The gateway would lose its purpose entirely. This was no ordinary portal—it had been opened through the blood sacrifice of hundreds of mercenaries, arms dealers, and members of Eastern European cults. With Mephisto's obsessive nature, there was no chance he would allow such a hard-won offering to go to waste.
Solomon's deduction was correct. This was a directed ritual. The souls gathered in the sacrifice were not subject to being divided among other Hell lords. While the number of souls was relatively small—less than the casualties suffered by the USA in its wars in the Middle East—the joy of keeping every last soul for himself was a rare indulgence Mephisto hadn't experienced in ages. He even considered giving a speech titled The Monopolistic Profits and Thrills of a Controlled Industry.
But Solomon didn't give him the chance. In another setting, the sorcerer might have been curious enough to listen to Mephisto lecture on the subject. Right now, however, there was no time for that.
Despite his smug exterior, Mephisto was the sharpest mind present, particularly when it came to intrigue and magical mastery. If he wanted to, he could single-handedly overwhelm every sorcerer in Kamar-Taj, including Solomon, with one hand tied behind his back—and without breaking a sweat. Unless the witches summoned their overly enthusiastic female demons to physically drive Mephisto away, buying Kamar-Taj enough time to deconstruct and destroy the Hell Gate, no one here would make it out alive. Magic was no child's game—it wasn't about waving a wooden stick and throwing sparks like an eleven-year-old amateur. Mishandling a spell as advanced as a portal could spell doom, not only for the caster but also for everyone nearby.
Solomon foresaw this dilemma, which is why his and the artificial human's charge was only a feint. He intended to exploit Mephisto's distraction with the expanding Hell Gate to deliver the simplest, most direct solution possible. His attack wasn't meant to be a melee strike, nor was it a spell. Instead, he planned to use a trick he had mastered at the age of twelve—a tactic that, even now, hadn't lost its effectiveness.
"In the name of Vishanti," Solomon muttered under his breath as he lunged from Kaecilius's shoulder. The artificial human provided excellent cover for his subtle hand gesture, forming the symbol of the Trinity. Kaecilius, catching a glimpse of Solomon's hand, immediately guessed what he was about to do.
"In the name of Oshtur, God of White Magic, I command you to leave this plane!" Solomon's voice rose to a near shout as he uttered the final words. This was the part he hated most—it wasn't real magic, just an unrestrained outpouring of raw magical energy. If given the choice, he'd rather conjure a massive, clumsy magic missile than wield such crude force.
The artificial human deftly dodged a retaliatory attack, but her lacy black dress wasn't so lucky. The rapidly expanding wave of heat from Solomon's energy scorched the intricate lace trim, curling its edges. At the same time, the witches' bullets fired past Solomon and the artificial human, striking Mephisto before the wave of magic could reach him.
The entire sequence happened in an instant. It took only a few syllables for the witches to raise their guns and open fire. Though they had no idea what Solomon was planning, their instinctive barrage served to reinforce their housemate's efforts, momentarily drawing Mephisto's attention.
In that split second, a searing surge of pure positive energy erupted from Solomon's hands like a breaking dam. The torrent engulfed Mephisto in utter silence, an ocean of light drowning the Devil in its radiant depths. The wave, blazing with platinum-white brilliance, surged forward, consuming everything in its path as it crashed toward the Hell Gate. Every blade of grass and branch caught beneath it was incinerated to ash. At the epicenter, Solomon's hand, the source of the torrent, was left charred and blackened.
This was the second time Solomon had experienced the agony of being burned by Vishanti's power. The last time, his body had been so severely carbonized he had been on the brink of death. Dropping the long blade in his other hand, Solomon clutched his ringed right hand, forcing himself to maintain the connection with Vishanti and channel Oshtur's overwhelming power.
"That's enough!" Kaecilius shouted, stepping forward to grab Solomon's burned hand and sever his connection to Vishanti. Glancing at the three unevenly scorched but still brilliant gemstone rings on Solomon's fingers, Kaecilius quickly understood how Solomon had managed such an incredible feat. The magic had bypassed Solomon's body entirely, flowing directly through the rings. The Sorcerer Supreme had ensured that Solomon's body would never directly bear Vishanti's power.
No wonder Solomon and Wong were the only ones at Kamar-Taj unable to tolerate the bland cabbage soup served at the headquarters cafeteria. Wong's appetite was a simple matter of gluttony, but Solomon's inability stemmed from the absence of external magic sustaining his physiological functions. Both, however, had notoriously large appetites.
Kaecilius didn't say this out loud, but he couldn't help recalling something the Sorcerer Supreme had said before Solomon was even born. He was beginning to piece together bits of her plan, but the full picture still eluded him. From what he could see, the Ancient One had always treated Solomon as if he were a child playing with a dangerous toy—whether it was the holy relic of the Shroud of Turin serving as his baby blanket or the terrifying magical power at his disposal.
Perhaps, one day, Solomon's own magic would be sufficient to sustain his body, like Bayonetta, who could rely on magical stasis to fake death and sleep for 500 years. But for now, he was still too young.
In every sense of the word, Solomon was still too young. Just like those young temple acolytes who followed me here, Kaecilius thought. Damn it, I never thought I'd say something Mordo always says about me.
Mephisto, leaning against one of the Hell Gate's towering columns, seemed to echo Kaecilius's thoughts. "Youth brings with it impulsiveness, recklessness, and fearlessness," the devil remarked, brushing his long crimson fingers, tipped with black nails, against his cloak. His expression twisted in disgust, and he looked as though he might retch at any moment.
Even the most gruesome scenes of carnage were mere entertainment to a devil, but pure positive energy was their true nemesis. To Mephisto, Kamar-Taj's sorcerers were little more than filthy children playing in the mud. Yet the flood of overwhelming positive energy was akin to having an entire septic tank dumped over the head of an ordinary human.
As Solomon's face grew visibly anxious, Kaecilius placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry," Kaecilius said softly, using words he normally despised, "The Ancient One has prepared for this. We only need to let things play out."
"What preparation?"
"I don't know exactly," Kaecilius admitted. "I was never good at math or physics. It has something to do with negative energy particles, I think. The Ancient One explained it, but I didn't understand. Besides, the ones executing this plan aren't from Kamar-Taj."
"Who then?" Solomon asked, surprised. He would have slapped his forehead if his burned hand weren't currently being held by the witches. Why would the Ancient One entrust something so crucial to others? Unless...
"The Merlin School," Kaecilius answered.
"Then I'm ready," Solomon said, glancing at the monstrous forms beginning to emerge from the Hell Gate. "I'll just have to push harder."
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