by Will Wight
But Yerin wasn’t alone.
Mercy stepped up, radiating the power of a Truegold, firing black arrow after black arrow into the enemy. They seemed to blast from the surrounding shadows, impacting Meira’s wrists like ink stains. They didn’t seem to hurt the Underlady, but they slowed her down, forcing her to spend time and madra burning them away.
Yerin let madra flow into her sword. “So you know, you should keep away from that scythe.”
Mercy gave her a sidelong glance. “I planned on it.”
Light flashed like a green sun rising.
Meira stood, surrounded by a vibrant aura, her blazing scythe held in both hands. Around her, vines rose from the ground; some of them looked to be black roots manipulated by a Ruler technique, whereas others were clearly Forged of life madra.
“Where is he?” Meira asked again. “Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Whereishewhereishewhereishewhereishewhereishe?”
Her gaze was no longer dead. Now it was feverishly hot.
More vines, both black and green, shot up from the ground. The pressure around the Underlady grew stronger and stronger.
“She's got one too many cracks in her head,” Yerin muttered.
Mercy poured all her spirit in to a single arrow that grew darker and darker as it absorbed layers of shadow madra. “Would you mind keeping her off me?” Mercy asked, voice tight with strain.
Would have been easy enough if their opponent wasn't a Lady. A tidal wave of plants slammed into them with the force of an Underlord soul, and Yerin pushed her Endless Sword as hard as she could. An invisible wall of sword aura churned the physical roots to mulch like a thousand spinning blades, but the bright green vines of madra were unaffected. They slithered through like hungry snakes, and Yerin had to slash and spin with her white sword and her six Goldsigns, keeping them away from Mercy.
After only a breath or two, Yerin was about to be overwhelmed. She pushed herself harder, but her madra channels were strained, and she was moving too fast.
Finally, when she could hold no longer, she leaped out of the way.
Purple eyes shone as Mercy faced the enemy, a black arrow thrumming with power sitting on the string of her bow. The weapon, taller than Mercy, was woven from slick black strands knotted like vines. Its violet-eyed dragon’s head sat in the center of the bow’s shaft, the arrow emerging from the dragon’s mouth. This was the weapon Mercy had inherited from her Monarch mother. She called it Suu.
Without a word, Mercy loosed the arrow.
It blasted through the air, growing in power as it went, until it flew like a dark and hungry void toward the Underlady. She stood with a loose wall of roots around her, and for whatever reason—whether she didn’t sense it coming in time, with all the shadow aura around, or whether she didn’t consider it a threat—the arrow struck Meira in the chest.
It slammed into her with what Yerin would describe as a flash of darkness, sending a chill through her spiritual sense.
…and it did nothing.
Mercy drew in a breath.
The black arrow stuck from Meira’s chest, but she glanced down at it dispassionately. A moment later, a flash of green reduced the weapon to essence.
Mercy’s spirit faded from Truegold back to Highgold. Her weapon shifted from a bow back into a staff, and she leaned on it, sagging down.
Yerin didn’t know if Mercy had truly given up, or if she was counting on her identity to save her. But Meira turned her attention to Yerin, which left Yerin with precious few options.
She looked within herself, to the red mass of ravenous power that had been strangely quiet throughout the fight. As though it had been waiting for her to call.
Yerin turned to the ball of life aura that hung in the air nearby, slowly dissipating. Vibrant green aura was running through her arm again, replacing what she’d lost, but it had come from the lifeline running down her spine. That line was getting noticeably thinner. Which couldn’t be good.
But there were chunks of her life lying around. She might as well put them to use.
“You hungry?” she asked.
The Blood Shadow surged out.
It was a featureless copy of her, like a rough model of red clay, and unlike the last time she’d seen it, six red blades stood out on its back to mirror her own Goldsigns. The Heaven’s Drop had increased its power to dangerous levels. And here she was, giving it more.
The Shadow flowed toward the life aura in the air, greedily trying to take it. And failing.
Meira lowered her scythe, preparing to dash forward.
Desperately, Yerin cast back in her mind for the method the Blood Sage had outlined for feeding his Blood Shadow. Her control over life aura was poor, her ability to weave soulfire only basic, but she strained to reach out to the life aura that had once belonged to her. To push it into the Blood Shadow.
She still felt a connection to the severed aura. She couldn’t swallow it—it was separate from her now and couldn’t be reclaimed. The Sage of Red Faith’s dream tablet had been very clear about that. But it had still come from her. She could choose to feed it to the Blood Shadow.
It was only that getting it to move with her pathetic control was like trying to tip over a bottle by blowing on it.
The hazy globe of green drifted slightly…
And the Blood Shadow snapped it up like a bird taking a fish.
She’d barely had to touch the aura at all. The Shadow was greedy for it, and the sense of its presence swelled as it slurped up the life aura. Its hair, a mass of red color, split into strands. Lines appeared on its face; suggestions of eyes, a nose, a mouth.
It was still tied to her by a strand of madra that extended to her core, and she could feel it suddenly pulling through that strand like it was inhaling through a reed.
Not life, this time. The aura in her blood. The strength of her body.
Weakness flooded her, and she fought back by powering her Steelborn Iron body with madra, but the Shadow was taking from her spirit too. Even the pathetic few wisps of soulfire she had managed to gather in her soulspace slipped away, devoured by the parasite. Its blades were becoming sharper, its eyes clearer. It was draining her dry.
The Blood Shadow had slipped its leash.
Chapter 10
As the Underlord hunkered down under his shield, hiding from the Void Dragon's Dance, Lindon begged Dross for a plan. His madra channels were strained by the use of so many techniques so quickly, his spirit burning with the effort. His body ached, and he panted for breath even after such a short fight. He'd been strengthened in Ghostwater, but not enough to take on an Underlord for long.
[I’ve built a very nice model of Prince Kiro’s behavior,] Dross said. [If he doesn’t have any more combat techniques, then it will be completely accurate! But he absolutely does. No question.]
Lindon finally couldn't hold the Void Dragon's Dance any longer. The furious cyclone of fire and destruction would continue for a few more breaths, but then it would run out. And if the Underlord wasn't seriously injured, then Lindon was almost out of tricks. He had madra to spare, enough to drag the fight out for twice as long, but he'd been forced to push his body and spirit past their limits to keep up with an Underlord. He wouldn't be fighting at his peak condition, so he had no confidence in being able to kill or outlast the prince.
But the Skysworn and the Redflower family had gotten away.
Mission accomplished, Lindon said to Dross. He opened his void key for an instant, tossing Harmony’s axe back inside. Eventually, his soulspace would be large enough to hold the weapon, but he hadn’t reached that point yet.
After closing the void key, he ran.
Behind him, the Void Dragon's Dance began to fade away as Lindon sprinted into the shadows of the forest. The Soul Cloak sprung up around him as he ran, though his channels ached with the use of more madra. He would have to ask Little Blue for help after this.
[You were amazing back there, by the way. That ambush? And the way you hit him with a sucker
punch before running away! Honestly, you've exceeded my expectations. Well done.] He sounded completely sincere.
Lindon felt a thrill as he ran through the forest of shadows. He'd done it. Ever since he'd traded blows with Naru Gwei, he'd wondered if he could stand up to an Underlord. And he had; he was no Lord yet, but he was standing on the stage.
How strong would he be once he finally advanced?
Having Dross in his head was the edge he'd needed. The way the spirit smoothed out his thoughts was a subtle advantage, but noticeable when he fought someone who had him outclassed in both power and speed.
Lindon vaulted over a fallen tree, ducking a shadowy creature that he couldn’t quite see. It was thanks to you, he said in his head.
[Aw, don’t mention it. I mean don’t mention it to me, because I already know. Do mention it to others. Spread the word.]
A moment later, he added, [And also, this is entirely up to you, but you might want to consider running faster.]
Lindon extended his spiritual sense behind him. Sure enough, there was a heavy presence crashing through the forest, barreling through trees like an ox through tall grass.
Kiro had recovered.
[And would you look at that, he does have more techniques! I knew he must.]
Yellow aura surged beneath Lindon's feet, and the earth surged up into a wall, trying to block him in. Lindon leaped, powered by the Soul Cloak, and the Ruler technique couldn't catch him. He rode on top of the wall for a moment as it rose, then jumped down.
A needle of gray madra speared through the wall of packed soil where he had stood a moment before. A Striker technique to follow up the Ruler technique.
Lindon kept running, glancing back to see Kiro crash through layers of stone, armor glowing with a silver-and-yellow corona. He didn't even slow down as the earth wall that he'd created slowly collapsed behind him.
[Oh, this is fascinating stuff. It’s all going into my model of him, let me assure you.]
Kiro thrust his sword forward, and the blue sparks on the blade flared. A lance of smooth blue lightning flashed forward; it clearly wasn't the prince's madra, so it must have been the binding in his weapon. It struck at Lindon's feet, and the ground beneath him burst.
Thanks to Dross' existence and the flexible power of the Soul Cloak, Lindon reacted even before he thought. He borrowed the force of the explosion, leaning forward, twisting in the air and grabbing a branch overhead, then swinging on the branch to throw himself forward.
[Woohoo!] Dross shouted. [Oh, that was amazing! Go back, let's do it again!]
Do you have a plan ready yet?
[I'm running on the excess dream aura produced by your mind, so I wouldn’t say I’m drowning in power up here. I’m most of the way done, though. Call it sixty percent.]
Lindon spared some attention from his Soul Cloak to send a trickle of pure madra to Dross at the base of his skull. He wasn't sure it would work, but it was similar enough to how he had cycled the power of the Spirit Well to Dross before.
[I appreciate that, I do, but it’s not really helping. Sorry. If you could upgrade your brain, that would really be ideal. Or some dream elixirs, those would be good too.]
Lindon resolved to get Dross some dream elixirs. So long as Kiro didn't catch them.
He heard a distant echo in his thoughts as Dross began to speak again, suggesting he was contacting the others. [Hello! Hello out there, we could use some backup. A little help would be nice before we're killed by this big armored man. Any assistance you could spare would be greatly appreciated. Any at all. Very soon.]
Lindon had been fleeing in the direction he'd come from, so hopefully they were close enough that Yerin and the others could hear them now. The shadow aura muffled everything, but maybe...
His thoughts were interrupted by a wall rising in front of him. He jumped and grabbed a fistful of compact soil in his Remnant hand, which sunk in more easily than his hand of flesh, but walls were rising on his left and right as well. He started climbing, but he felt danger behind and released his grip.
Gray madra speared through the wall again, and Lindon drew on Blackflame. His madra channels burned, and he spun around as he landed, unleashing a bar of dragon's breath two fingers thick. He swept it behind him blindly.
The attack splashed into Kiro's shield less than ten feet away and dissipated, leaving the metal glowing with heat. Lindon backed up, gathering more madra, but Kiro closed that gap in no time. He loomed, his bulky armor making him a massive silhouette, and then slammed his red-hot shield into Lindon's chest.
The impact crushed Lindon into the packed earth and stones, clipping his chin, bruising his ribs, and driving the breath from his lungs. He opened his void key, reaching for the axe with his left hand, but Kiro kicked his hand away. He couldn't reach, and after a moment he lost concentration on his void key and the opening vanished.
Pushing the shield against Lindon's chest, Kiro stabbed him.
He was aiming for the neck, but as the blade approached, Lindon twisted with all the strength he could muster, getting his left hand up and trying to push away the blade. The sword sliced into his shoulder, the inside of his arm, the palm of his hand.
He screamed at the pain, his mind fuzzing, but his body wouldn't let him lose consciousness. If he did, he would die.
So he lashed out with his right hand.
The fingernails of his Remnant arm were slightly tipped like dull claws, and they dug into Kiro's helmet. The Underlord ignored them for a moment...until he noticed that the hunger binding was active, drawing madra away. And his armor was made entirely of madra.
Lindon scooped away a handful of his helmet like butter, peeling it away from his face. The veins of his white arm filled with gray.
Kiro instinctively jerked back, pulling away.
And Lindon vented his arm.
Whatever Kiro's Path was, it had aspects of earth and force, so even aimlessly shoving it out carried a kick like a horse. The Underlord staggered back, giving Lindon an opening.
Though it burned his spirit, Lindon kindled the Burning Cloak and kicked away, shooting out of the earth walls that blocked him in on three sides. He fled as fast as he could without looking back, trying to ignore his agonizing wounds. He left blood trickling behind him.
[Oh! There's somebody! Hey, help!]
Dross' voice gave him new strength, and he looked up, fixing on the new figure.
It was Mercy.
Her purple eyes were wide as she popped out of the shadows, riding on her staff, pulling it to a halt as she saw him. Her hair had grown long enough to cover her ears now, and it whipped in the wind of her movement.
Lindon himself skidded to a stop. He took quick stock of his injuries.
Then he kicked off in another direction.
She may have demonstrated the power of a Truegold before, but she was still only Highgold. He couldn't put her in danger.
He glanced back to make sure that Kiro was following him. He hadn't gone far; he could still see the three-walled prison of earth through the trees, and the armored Underlord running away from it. But he wasn't running for Lindon.
He headed for Mercy, shield and sword in hand.
Lindon shouted to draw his attention, Burning Cloak flaring in spite of his madra channels' protest. He dashed back the other way, throwing himself at Kiro. With a quick motion, he reached into the void key and pulled out Harmony's axe.
Kiro reacted as though he'd expected Lindon to return all along, pivoting smoothly and bracing his shield for the impact.
Though his shoulder screamed in pain, Lindon hit the shield with his axe and all the explosive force of the Burning Cloak, slamming the Underlord backwards.
Or so he intended.
Instead of flying away, the Underlord stood as though he were nailed to the ground. The force transferred through him, kicking up a savage wind behind him that tore up soil and leaves, even stripping bark from nearby trees.
Undeterred, Kiro struck out with his sw
ord, and Lindon raised his Remnant arm to protect his face. It wouldn't hold, but maybe it would prevent the Underlord from splitting his skull.
The sword rang like a bell, jerking backwards as though Kiro had struck an invisible stone.
Though Lindon couldn't see Kiro's expression, the prince must have been as shocked as Lindon was. He looked around for the new enemy, giving Lindon space.
Before Lindon could move, he was grabbed and tugged backwards. Black strings of Mercy's madra pulled Lindon away, and he let them pull him behind a large tree. Mercy crouched next to him, looking over him with worried eyes. She paused a moment when she saw the weapon in his left hand, but shook it off, wadding up a purple cloth to push against his injuries.
Lindon didn't spare another thought for her. His Bloodforged Iron body was pulling madra to his wounds, and he was trying to ignore his aches and pains and watch Yerin's fight. But it wasn't Yerin.
Not entirely.
Yerin's Blood Shadow stood before Kiro. Red robes flapped in the wind, a five-fingered hand held a pink-bladed sword, and six sword-arms stuck out from her shoulders. Yerin's eyes—painted in crimson—watched the Underlord, and Yerin's smirk was on her face.
Lindon had never seen the Blood Shadow with such detail before. At first, he was relieved; Yerin must have had a breakthrough of some kind in order to get her Shadow to this level.
But that wasn't the only possibility.
A shiver of dread passed through him, and he watched the trees behind the Blood Shadow. If the parasite completed its goal and devoured Yerin completely, it might have looked like this. If she were still alive, she’d be following soon.
“What is this?” Kiro asked. “Have you bound a Remnant to your service?”
The Shadow's red smile grew wider, and she beckoned Kiro with her sword.
A green light blossomed from the darkness behind her, and another woman came rushing out. She was gray-eyed and gray-haired, wearing a shabby dress, and she carried a scythe with a blade of green flame.
