But with Dross’ help, he could.
At the same time, Orthos and Little Blue both threw the spirits into the air.
Mercy caught the squishy ball of dream madra that shot toward her, and the feel of it delighted her.
She’d heard about this project of Lindon’s while they were in the pocket world, though she hadn’t expected it to be ready yet. This was another weapon.
And a friend.
[Into the back of your neck!] Dross sent to her. She felt the exact spot warm up.
Malice’s instincts, absorbed from the Book of Eternal Night, warned Mercy against this. She was attaching a mind-spirit to her soul permanently. This should not only be done with careful surgery, but allowing another independent will to inhabit her body was inviting a parasite. She should never do this without clipping its independence.
Mercy ignored her mother’s instincts and went with her own. She slid Dross into place.
Seconds later, her mind and senses opened up.
[Wow, I like it in here!] Dross said from inside her mind. [That’s a top-quality human vessel you have. Lindon should have been born to a Monarch.]
Hi, Dross! Mercy thought, hoping he could hear the message. Welcome!
[You’re even nicer to me than he—AAAHHH it’s a Dreadgod! Right, timing! Yes! Are you ready?]
Here, Malice’s instincts served her well. Her will sharpened like an arrow as she pointed at the Weeping Dragon.
Can we kill that?
[That depends on you. Do you see that bow?]
Thanks to the sight loaned by the Oracle Sage, she did. A purple light highlighted the target in her vision, and she shot toward it.
[You are a lot angrier than I realized you were,] Dross observed. [It just goes to show that you never really know someone until you’ve nested inside their memories.]
Help me kill it, Ziel thought.
The Weeping Dragon was ruining the entire visible landscape with its body, but he could feel its will gathering. Storm clouds poured out of nowhere as the aura was agitated, and rain began to fall once again.
[We’re going to kill it. Well…I said that with a lot of confidence, but without Lindon waking up, I’m—no offense, but I’m not working with top-quality tools here. Now, listen, I can feel that you have a lot of issues to work out, but this isn’t Ziel’s time to shine, all right? You’re going to be running interference and support.]
Whatever gets it dead.
Ziel didn’t need the credit. He didn’t need to be the one to deal the final blow.
He would do whatever it took to see the Weeping Dragon dead.
[That’s the spirit! Now, get ready, because we’re starting in one second.]
Ziel had been ready for years.
More than angry, Yerin felt…arrogant, she guessed.
She had sentenced the Dreadgod to die. Now was the time to execute.
[That would be Eithan’s influence on you,] her Dross pointed out. [Or…Ozriel’s. Ozmanthus’. Whichever. Using his techniques won’t hurt you, probably, but they might change you.]
Yerin was listening with one ear, so to speak. She hurtled across the ground toward the Weeping Dragon like a silver-and-red comet. The Dreadgod was drawing itself together, and this was a creature that had just left a scar on the moon.
She needed to hit it now, if at all.
[More importantly, why am I red?] Dross asked.
Her new spirit looked and felt like Dross in every way. Except he was red.
Hold a second, I’ll ask my mind-spirit, she responded.
[Yes, all right, I should know, but I can only guess. I have synergized with the matrix of mind enhancements that are already here. Maybe that accelerated my development. Or maybe you like the color red so much that it spilled over me too.]
The Weeping Dragon’s eyes focused, and she could feel the rage behind them. They landed on her, and the storm instantly clawed at her with furious wind and lightning.
Yerin’s stability in midair was taken away as the Dreadgod took over all the wind aura in the area, but she took a stance even as she fell. She brought her sword back and slipped into the mentality of the Reaper.
At the moment, it was easier than ever. She had a target to kill.
[Here’s an example of how useful I can be!] Dross said brightly. [You remember that old, dull memory you’ve been using for inspiration? I’ve cleaned that up for you!]
The image of Eithan in black armor shone in her mind. Clearer than she’d actually seen it. She wondered if Dross had taken Lindon’s memory and put it together with hers.
[That’s exactly what I did. And I added a bit of my own in there. I’ve also seen a lot more of Ozmanthus’ memories than you have, so I’ll throw in a little taste of his mentality.]
Yerin’s desire to kill the Weeping Dragon sharpened as though honed on a whetstone. She could feel Ozmanthus’ lethal will inside her, conveyed from Dross’ memories. When he wanted to kill, that desire was honed to a perfect edge.
The arrogance she had been feeling, the position of an executioner, suddenly fit. All her powers, her mind, and her stance were in unity. Inside and outside.
Something echoed, deeper than physical reality, as she swung her sword in a slash. The Reaper’s Sword.
For the brief instant she unleashed the technique, the world turned black-and-white.
The Weeping Dragon’s claw flashed into place, trailing lightning, and clashed with the madra in her slash. Only her madra was pushing against the Dreadgod’s claw, not her sword itself, but she still put the full power of her physical body against it.
She should have been launched a hundred miles away, but she stood her ground in midair. She even stopped falling.
Then the force overwhelmed her and she did fly back. So did the upper body of the Weeping Dragon.
Soon enough, it stopped itself and so did she. In the air.
Yerin wasn’t manipulating the wind aura around her. She floated with nothing but her will.
[Great job! Now let’s stay alive until we can try again.]
Lightning crashed down around her. Ruler, Striker, and Forger techniques colliding in an implosion of thunder.
Her twin Remnants covered for her. The spirits of two of the greatest storm artists in the world kept the Weeping Dragon from searing Yerin like a steak.
“I have defied the great one!” the Storm Sage’s Remnant whispered, and its laughter was the crackle of lightning and the snap of thunder. “My defiance is my tribute!”
Yushi’s spirit was more cooperative. “We will cover you until we break.”
They were less than they had been in life. Yerin could feel them falling apart, especially because some of the parts that broke off flowed into her. The compatible pieces stuck to her, and the ones she couldn’t handle were vented out behind her in crackling sparks.
Though they wouldn’t last long, they could buy her a few breaths.
The Weeping Dragon moved its attention to the side, and she didn’t need Dross’ warning to know what the Dreadgod sensed. Someone had drawn a weapon powerful enough to threaten its life.
Mercy held the Silent King Bow.
How long can he ignore me, would you say? Yerin asked. She took a stance.
[Not much longer. I’ll give you the timing.]
Mercy couldn’t believe Lindon had controlled a weapon like the Silent King Bow. Even as unbelievably powerful as he had become, it was easier to believe that the Bow was controlling him.
It whispered to her, promising anything. She could scarcely trust her own thoughts.
Without her small understanding of the Bow Icon and the support of her seventh page, she wasn’t sure she could have even picked up the white-striped bow at all. Most of that authority wasn’t even hers; it was borrowed from what her mother had left in the Book of Eternal Night. And from Suu.