“Twelve hundred years ago, the highest Clerics of the Necromancy Order got together and constructed a sigil which bestows upon its user incredible strength and complete and utter invulnerability. Are you aware of this sigil, Grand Mage?”
“Of course,” said China. “The Meryyn Sigil – elegant and intricate, its beauty is marred only by the simple fact that it doesn’t work.”
“They were Necromancers,” Wreath smiled. “You really think they’d let one of their secrets out without keeping something back? Physical activation is necessary in order for the sigil to start working. But the High Clerics, in their wisdom, decided that strength and invulnerability were gifts to be used only by those who had proved themselves worthy Necromancers – sorcerers who have mastered death. They thought the future would be full of such people."
[...]
She pulled back the sleeve of her T-shirt, revealing the whole tattoo. Long swirls of solid black tumbled from her shoulder. They twisted round her bicep, linking with angular slashes that ran from the triceps to just above the elbow. Between these shapes were a dozen different markings that, by turn, bisected, separated and joined the two sections. It was a sigil comprised of smaller sigils, a tattoo that China had never tried before. She was, however, confident it would work.
[...]
While she fell, she focused on her magic, focused on the energy inside her, tried to summon the barrier that would protect her when she landed, the cushion of light that had made her bounce off the tree by the roadside.
But nothing happened.
She could feel the magic, it crackled between her fingertips, but she didn’t know how to summon it or control it and now she was dropping towards certain, stupid death and she was going to die and her tattoo began to burn—
And she landed on her feet and her bones didn’t break.
She straightened up, peeked inside her jacket. The sigil glowed on her arm. She was invulnerable. Cool.
She reached out with her hand and then reached out with her magic, and white lightning sprang from her fingers and hit Darquesse, made her stumble.
The injured Cleaver forgotten about, Darquesse whirled, and her look of anger became a look of curiosity.
“Well now,” she said. “Look who’s got herself a whole new bag of tricks.”
“Damn right,” said Valkyrie, striding towards her.
“What are you, an energy thrower? Your magic is bubbling and boiling inside you. I can see it from here. It’s impressive. It’s … different. You’re not just an energy thrower, are you? There’s something else. Your magic is purer than …” Darquesse frowned. “What are you?”
“I’m stronger than you.”
“Well,” Darquesse said, smiling, “we’ll see about that.”
She hit Valkyrie full force and a thousand suns exploded behind her eyes, and when Valkyrie’s brain came back online a moment later she was tumbling backwards down the street. She came to a sprawling, ungraceful stop beside a parked car, and waited for her head to clear. Apparently being invulnerable didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel pain. Good to know.
Valkyrie stood, rubbing her jaw.
“You’re not this powerful,” Darquesse said, walking after her. “You may have got your fancy new magic, but you can’t be this strong. They’ve done something to you, haven’t they? Have they boosted you? Did you finally step into the Accelerator? Did it drive you insane?”
Strength tingled through Valkyrie’s veins. She waited until Darquesse was a little closer, then punched her hands through the car beside her and stepped back to fling it. But the doors tore off and she ended up throwing them instead. And they missed.
Darquesse laughed. “Super strength isn’t as easy as it looks, is it? See, you’ve got to think about these things. If you want to throw a car, you’ve got to grab the body.”