Thunder rumbled with the Dragon’s response. “No. No deal. Whether you struggle or not, I will have what is mine. For I am the Dragon, and the sky weeps with my rage.”
With that, there came a blinding flash. The entire sky blazed with a furious, crackling, swirl of blue.
And the Weeping Dragon bit through the ghostly gray Wandering Titan.
Hunger madra dispersed along with one last roar from the Titan. The Dragon gave its own answering cry of triumph, and a thousand bolts of lightning flashed in celebration.
Can you call for help? Lindon asked.
[I realize I look healthy, powerful, and inspiring, but I’ve been working as hard as you have. I’m in no better shape than you.]
The Weeping Dragon swam through clouds, circling Sacred Valley. Storm clouds blocked out the shining blue sky, and wind whipped up.
The Dreadgod flicked its tail at the protective script, and the shield flashed into visibility for a moment.
Lindon reached the Nethergate and wrenched it open.
[Too late!] Dross shouted.
The heavens opened and countless Striker techniques rained down.
They were the hallmark of the Weeping Dragon: draconic serpents of blue-and-gold lightning. Where they fell, they consumed spirits and brought them back to the Dreadgod.
Now they rained in the millions, and all their attention was focused on Lindon.
The protective script of the Valley weakened them, but it didn’t stop them entirely. They slipped through, swimming in the air with jaws open.
Lindon considered and discarded options in an instant. He could dive for the labyrinth, but the Weeping Dragon might be able to break it from the outside in. Which would endanger everyone inside, and transporting so many of them at once would drain much of the labyrinth’s remaining power.
He wanted to use the Silent King Bow, but just the thought of summoning it made him shudder. He could barely hold it in his soulspace, much less use it.
Neither he nor Dross could come up with a winning plan, so he called up the Hollow Domain. The blue-white light flickered at first, until he forced his madra into stability.
The Striker techniques dove into his Domain and weakened themselves further. He struck them from the air like he was tearing down cobwebs.
But there was an endless number of them, and he’d been in constant battle with Monarchs. He was totally exhausted, and his movements looked unsteady and drunken.
[We need to run,] Dross said sadly.
That costs us the labyrinth.
[It’s that or our lives.]
There was no simulation behind that prediction. Dross couldn’t model the Weeping Dragon well and couldn’t spare the madra or the attention to do so at the moment.
It was a judgment anyone could make in the situation. Besides running, what else could Lindon do?
With only another moment of hesitation, Lindon staggered through the Nethergate. Expanding his awareness into the labyrinth was usually simple, but now it was agonizing. It took several tries to even get it to work, and he shuddered to imagine what it would take to actually transport countless people.
But when his awareness entered the labyrinth, he heard something echoing from a distant corner of its scattered halls. A pattern of authority.
From far away, beyond the reach of his spiritual sense, a Sage was calling his name.
Lindon, the distant voice said. Let me help you.
Lindon hesitated. This wasn’t an actual voice, just intentions translated through the labyrinth, so he didn’t recognize the speaker. They claimed they were here to help, but if he summoned them here, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself away.
He was tempted. This was a chance to keep the labyrinth.
But did this mysterious savior know they were about to go up against a Dreadgod?
He sent his own thoughts into the labyrinth. The Weeping Dragon is here, he sent.
The reply was only an instant in coming. Then hurry up!
Dross gave a mental shrug. [Give it a shot?]
The labyrinth shook as the Weeping Dragon struck again. Dirt fell from the ceiling, and the pressure inside and outside of Lindon’s spirit redoubled. He forced himself to concentrate his willpower, one last time.
“Here,” Lindon commanded. The labyrinth shifted around him.
His consciousness fuzzed. He barely avoided losing a grip on the stolen madra inside him, but he lost track of his surroundings.
Boots clanked against stones. Several pairs of boots.
A voice said something, but he couldn’t hear it. A cold hand gripped his shoulder. “The bow, Lindon. Give me the bow.”
Lindon struggled away, an instinctive reaction.
[I think you should do it,] Dross suggested. [It will make it easier for us.]
With Dross’ encouragement, Lindon reluctantly let the Silent King Bow slip from his soulspace. Without it inside him, the weight on his spirit lessened significantly, and he breathed more easily.
“Thanks!” A cheery voice said. “You can pass out now. Don’t worry, I’ll probably give it back.”
Lindon tried to protest, but he had truly hit his limit. He lost consciousness.
Larian gave a long, pleased hum as she ran her thumb down the Bow of the Silent King. “Now this is a bow. Malice is going to be jealous.”
“You’ll have to give it back,” said Del’rek of the Shann. Even in human form, the sacred elephant towered over her, and he gave her a pointed look over his tusks. “I don’t want a human Dreadgod after us.”
The labyrinth shook, and Larian pointed a finger at the ceiling. “How about a dragon one?”
Most of the others grumbled. They weren’t as happy to be here as she was.
“Pull up your pants and get to work, Eight-Man Empire!” Larian called. “Time to earn our pay!”
“We’re not getting paid for this,” Kethri muttered. Larian considered the woman a sister, but the Spider Sage was always wary about entering open battle.
“Oooohhh yes we are,” Larian responded. “Now…” She drew power from her comrades, and suddenly she was a Monarch. “…let’s try out this bow.”
Despite being an Archlady now, Mercy felt like an outsider in the battle between Yerin, Ziel, Yushi, and the Storm Sage.
Temporarily, she could borrow the power of a Herald and tilt the fight her way. But there was a difference between her and the others that she could only bridge for a few seconds at a time.
She sent arrows flying at the Thunder Fairy and helped Ziel evade the Sage’s attacks, but the other two felt a passion she didn’t. They were focused on killing their opponents.
Mercy was more worried about the broader battle.
While the Sages and Heralds clashing had cleared a wide field around them, there was still a fight between House Arelius and House Shen. The Oracle Sage was visible here and there, directing her forces, but she was the only one propping up the Arelius forces.
House Shen had the cloudships, the artifacts, and the advantage in numbers. If Yerin and Ziel could get a clear win, then of course they would tilt the battle in their favor. But a stalemate or inconclusive victory was more likely.
Her family history showed her that Sages and Heralds were hard to kill. They almost always had ways to escape.
Thus, Mercy was in conflict with herself.
Her mother would focus on the most important fighters on the battlefield. She would angle for a decisive victory over Shen’s Sage and Herald, even if she had to plot against them and bring them down later. She never forgot a grudge.
That was Malice.
What should Mercy do?
How should she use shadow madra to bring light?
When she asked herself like that, her answer became clear. For one thing, the high-level battle meant nothing if the low-level one was lost.