Itâs an electric shock that never ends. The current runs from his fingers up his arms to his shoulders through his neck until it reaches his head and as it flows back the other way Magnus can comprehend nothing but energy. Blue light and wind comes not just from his fingertips but from every pore on his body; his arm hair stands on end to make way for the shocks expelling from the follicles. The power is his, and he is the power, totally, wholly, without exception.
Demons squeal beneath him. He barely registers their pitiful sounds, his own mindâs howl of exertion with every passing second too loud to allow other noise. He is at once ignorant of their movements and hyper-fixated on them. There is no room for thought, for considering motivations or next moves, only where to direct his next scream of power, towards anything moving and demonic. The others are somewhere amongst the battle, supplementing his fury with their own blades and claws and fangs, but he cannot be sure that they are not caught in his storm. Perhaps if he were clear minded he would be concerned. He is not.
Even with his rage, the waves of demons keep advancing, necks and heads contorting upwards to reach him, end his massacre. But he strikes them down before they can even set their sights, over and over, skin feeling as though it will tear apart at any moment, the howl of his mind finding its way into his voice, until the lines of adversaries wane. Yet he remains frenzied, glowing and killing and screaming at empty space, his senses aware of nothing but the wind and the pain-
His eyes burn with light-
His veins pulse with electricity until they are fit to burst-
A strong hand grabs his arm and the wind stops. The current short circuits, eyes blink and find focus, skin melts back into place, and the relief is so abrupt that Magnus barely realises that he is falling the short distance back to earth. No impact comes. Instead he is drawn in by two arms and held against a solid body. A face presses into his hair and Magnus smells sandalwood, immediately familiar for himself and now for another, the man currently holding him, whose own hair seems to stand on end with the residual electricity from Magnusâ skin, chest heaving with exertion from battle with either the demons or with Magnusâ fury. Magnus lets out a crackling breath and a hoarse attempt at speech before sparks clear from his throat and he can whisper the word into the welcome silence.
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