You know typically telling someone to calm down will produce the opposite effect.
He's trying, okay. Actively, one-hundred percent, trying to not kill Istredd. Lucifer, who's had no trouble with plans for genocide and typically only keeping people alive for selfish reasons; Lucifer, who previously would condemn anyone that wasn't an angel, writing them off as lesser beings.
He's trying, Istredd. Perhaps the benefit is that he is lesser than he should be. His full strength very well could have just melted through Istredd's mind in the same way as having a vessel that can't contain him. But while this isn't easy it's... workable.
It's working.
He just... has... to let go.
He breathes, tries to ignore the bleed of power--the absolute last thing he needs is his siblings catching a whiff--just as the ear-piercing whine reaches a higher octave and the glassware in the room threatens to shatter.
This isn't easy for me. Just... I need...
He needs to channel it. Keep the entire mess of everything he is held to a pinprick and focus on the link, not the power backing him. He shudders, and releases the tension that's been holding together the entire mental storm--a little physical, a little ethereal. He lets go of the last pieces, the last real fight.
The burst is momentary. Lucifer's eyes flare their telltale red. As he sags forward, maintaining eye contact, shoulders slumped, a radiance filters into the room with himself as the epicenter, and the silhouette of unfurling wings bathes the wall behind him.
As the whine in the air fades, the red, the radiance, the shadow all fade with it; but, for just a flash, in Istredd's mind's eye, he will have seen the entire white-feathered true wings.
Eugh...
The tempestuous storm ebbs, and the only waves left are Lucifer's exhaustion.
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He's trying, okay. Actively, one-hundred percent, trying to not kill Istredd. Lucifer, who's had no trouble with plans for genocide and typically only keeping people alive for selfish reasons; Lucifer, who previously would condemn anyone that wasn't an angel, writing them off as lesser beings.
He's trying, Istredd. Perhaps the benefit is that he is lesser than he should be. His full strength very well could have just melted through Istredd's mind in the same way as having a vessel that can't contain him. But while this isn't easy it's... workable.
It's working.
He just... has... to let go.
He breathes, tries to ignore the bleed of power--the absolute last thing he needs is his siblings catching a whiff--just as the ear-piercing whine reaches a higher octave and the glassware in the room threatens to shatter.
This isn't easy for me. Just... I need...
He needs to channel it. Keep the entire mess of everything he is held to a pinprick and focus on the link, not the power backing him. He shudders, and releases the tension that's been holding together the entire mental storm--a little physical, a little ethereal. He lets go of the last pieces, the last real fight.
The burst is momentary. Lucifer's eyes flare their telltale red. As he sags forward, maintaining eye contact, shoulders slumped, a radiance filters into the room with himself as the epicenter, and the silhouette of unfurling wings bathes the wall behind him.
As the whine in the air fades, the red, the radiance, the shadow all fade with it; but, for just a flash, in Istredd's mind's eye, he will have seen the entire white-feathered true wings.
Eugh...
The tempestuous storm ebbs, and the only waves left are Lucifer's exhaustion.