What held me down now was pure, undiluted will—the same kind of will that I suspected had backed up events presaged by phrases like “Let there be light.” It was far more than human, beyond simple physical strength, and if I’d been the Incredible Hulk, I was pretty sure there was no way I’d have been able to tear myself free.
“Ahhh,” said Mother Winter, during one last stroke of the leaver. “I like nice clean edges to my meat, manling. Time for dinner.”
And slow, limping steps came toward me.
I stopped pressing at my bindings with my limbs and started using my mind instead. I didn’t try to push them away, or break them, or slip free of them. I simply willed them not to be. I envisioned what my limbs would feel like coming free, and focused on that reality, summoning up my total concentration on that goal, that ideal, that fact.
And then I crossed my fingers and reached into me, into the place where a covert archangel had granted me access to one of the primal forces of the universe, an energy called soulfire. I had no idea how it might interact with the Winter Knight’s mantle on an ongoing basis. I mean, it had worked out once before, but that didn’t mean that it would keep working out. I felt certain that I was pretty much swallowing bottles of nitroglycerin, then jumping up and down to see what would happen, but at this point I had little to lose. I gathered up soulfire, used it to infuse my raw will, and cast the resulting compound against my bonds.
Soulfire, according to Bob, is one of the fundamental forces of the universe, the original power of creation. It isn’t meant for mortals. We get it by slicing off a bit of our soul, our life energy, and converting it into something else.
Bob is brilliant, but there are some things that he just doesn’t get. His definition was a good place to get started, but it was also something that was perhaps too comfortably quantifiable. The soul isn’t something you can weigh and measure. It’s more than just one thing. Because soulfire interacts with souls in a way that I’m not sure anyone understands, it stands to reason that soulfire isn’t just one thing, either.
And in this case, in this moment, I somehow knew exactly what the soulfire did. It converted me, my core, everything that made me who I was, into energy, into light. When I turned my joined will and the blazing core of my being together, I wasn’t supercharging a magical spell. I wasn’t cleverly finding a weak point in an enchantment. I wasn’t using my knowledge of magic to exploit what my enemy was doing.
I was casting everything I had done, everything I believed, everything I had chosen—everything I was—against the will of an ancient being of darkness, terror, and malice, a fundamental power of the world.
A bit long of a quote from the end of Chapter 31 (for context) and the beginning of Chapter 32 in Cold Days, but I felt like it lost something if you didn't get the whole of it. Does it sound odly familiar to how he used Hellfire against Corpse Taker? It ought to.
WOJ:
2010 Bitten by Books Q&A:
259 “Does the same apply to hellfire/soulfire. What would happen if Harry were to take up Lasciel’s coin and then try to use soulfire and hellfire together? Would that result in Harry dying horribly?”
Those are different. They’re really two sides of the same coin–but they can’t really exist together like that. They aren’t explosively reactive, but they aren’t additive, either. Which one came into the person to be used would depend on the person who was using it, and what they were using it for. Angelic types have access to both. Which one they use is partially what determines what /kind/ of angels they are. (Emphasis added)