Open Doors and New Worlds
Some practice goes better than others.
It had taken him a little over a week to track down the source of his newly acquired power, the one he'd taken from that random woman. The stick she'd used didn't seem to obey him, although he could feel something in it. But after some searching into the words she'd shouted in various worlds, he came across a series of books. They told him everything.
He was able to find a similar world without a problem. His discussion with Ollivander has been deeply frustrating- the man required money he didn't have, talked endlessly about things that didn't concern him. A year ago, he would have been so fascinated, he would have asked thousands of questions. Now he only wanted a wand that would work.
He eventually had to resort to pickpocketing, which included a trip to an entirely different world with an entirely different Ollivander, and Sylar had the pleasure of repeated the whole damn thing again. The man was infuriatingly like his old self, and Sylar couldn't help but respect that, a little. Still, he was nearly ready to crush the man's skull when he finally received his 13" yew with the dragon heartstring core.
It crackled with power, and he'd been excited, but after three hours of doing practically nothing with it, he was bored.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he repeated, and the paper twitched yet again. He flung the wand down and twitched his finger- the piece of paper jumped up and folded itself into a paper airplane, then ripped itself into confetti.
"This is useless," he said to no one, scowling. Why did he even bother taking her brain? He could already do all of this. He sighed and picked the wand off the floor, then flipped through pages of the book he'd gotten down the street from the wandmakers'. No mention of the first thing he'd seen her do. But he did remember it.
There was a bird outside his window, sitting on the windowsill. He didn't open it, merely pointed at it and said levelly, "Crucio." The effect was immediate, as the finch curled unnaturally into itself, letting out a loud noise that shouldn't be possible from such a tiny thing.
Sylar smiled and watched for a moment before finally letting go. So that was it- he'd merely been trying spells that were too easy.
That was easy to fix.
It had taken him a little over a week to track down the source of his newly acquired power, the one he'd taken from that random woman. The stick she'd used didn't seem to obey him, although he could feel something in it. But after some searching into the words she'd shouted in various worlds, he came across a series of books. They told him everything.
He was able to find a similar world without a problem. His discussion with Ollivander has been deeply frustrating- the man required money he didn't have, talked endlessly about things that didn't concern him. A year ago, he would have been so fascinated, he would have asked thousands of questions. Now he only wanted a wand that would work.
He eventually had to resort to pickpocketing, which included a trip to an entirely different world with an entirely different Ollivander, and Sylar had the pleasure of repeated the whole damn thing again. The man was infuriatingly like his old self, and Sylar couldn't help but respect that, a little. Still, he was nearly ready to crush the man's skull when he finally received his 13" yew with the dragon heartstring core.
It crackled with power, and he'd been excited, but after three hours of doing practically nothing with it, he was bored.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he repeated, and the paper twitched yet again. He flung the wand down and twitched his finger- the piece of paper jumped up and folded itself into a paper airplane, then ripped itself into confetti.
"This is useless," he said to no one, scowling. Why did he even bother taking her brain? He could already do all of this. He sighed and picked the wand off the floor, then flipped through pages of the book he'd gotten down the street from the wandmakers'. No mention of the first thing he'd seen her do. But he did remember it.
There was a bird outside his window, sitting on the windowsill. He didn't open it, merely pointed at it and said levelly, "Crucio." The effect was immediate, as the finch curled unnaturally into itself, letting out a loud noise that shouldn't be possible from such a tiny thing.
Sylar smiled and watched for a moment before finally letting go. So that was it- he'd merely been trying spells that were too easy.
That was easy to fix.