[Don’t worry!] Dross encouraged her. [The Bow wants the same thing we do. It wants to be used. Well, don’t worry about that. There’s plenty else to worry about.]
She let him draw her attention upward, to the Weeping Dragon, who was looking away from Yerin and toward Mercy. Its pained rage and wounded pride filled the air, choking her.
In that sense, it was a good thing she was holding a Dreadgod weapon. Instinctively, the Silent King Bow rose to the challenge, mentally roaring back at its brother and taking the pressure off her.
Of course, she then had to pick up the arrow.
One Penance arrow had fallen at her feet. She touched it, and death flashed through her body like dark lightning. Not pain; death. A cold shiver that made her certain she would die in seconds just from touching the arrow.
[Lindon crafted the bow and arrows for you to use when you were ready. You can establish authority over them long enough for a shot, it’s just…well, you’re not quite ready. We don’t have any time left, so you have to do it anyway. This will be hard.]
Mercy firmed up her concentration, letting her mother’s willpower bleed out from the Book’s seventh page and carry her. The Weeping Dragon was a threat to her and her family, and she hated it. She was going to erase it from the universe. Even its name would be forgotten, swallowed by shadow and obliterated.
That much allowed her to pick up the arrow and fit it to the string. That hatred synergized well with the arrow’s lethal purpose and the Silent King’s anger. She would be able to get a shot off, she knew.
But she hesitated.
Dross cried out to someone else, and Orthos, Little Blue, and Ziel all unleashed techniques to block the Weeping Dragon. The Dreadgod’s wave of lightning could have collapsed Moongrave’s wall, but the three managed to turn it aside before it reached Mercy.
She stood, wrestling with her own will.
That hatred she felt before wasn’t just from Malice. That was malice itself.
I am not Malice. I am Mercy.
Forcibly, she changed the nature of her willpower. She changed her own intentions.
To the arrow, she silently whispered, This is a necessary death. We’re cutting out a cancer.
To the bow, she said, We are the ruler, so let’s defend our subjects.
To herself, she said, This isn’t an act of malice. It’s an act of mercy.
Though it took only an instant, she felt her power subtly change. She couldn’t control it easily—in fact, she felt like a toddler trying to lift a horse—but now it was hers.
Penance gleamed as she pulled back the arrow on its shining string. Her will surrounded and focused it all as the string came back to her cheek.
Her madra channels were strained to the point of bursting. Dross was shouting warnings in her ear; something about her mind being overtaxed. But she was in a state of pure focus.
The Weeping Dragon’s claw descended on her, but she locked her sight on its head. The blessing from Cladia Arelius meant that Mercy could see her more clearly than usual, and even her concentration felt sharper. She had no room for distractions.
Mercy released the arrow, and the rush of power she’d unleashed overwhelmed her.
As she blacked out, she didn’t fall into the shadows of her mother’s hatred. Rather, she fell into comforting, soothing shadows.
Her last thought before she passed out was confidence that someone would save her.
The Weeping Dragon’s claw fell, and Yerin used her Flowing Sword to catch it.
Her sword shone red-and-silver, but even with all her power and the assistance of her Remnants, the Dreadgod’s claw was still shoving her down to the ground. Closer to Mercy.
Do something, Dross!
[Already done! Look!]
She didn’t actually look, but the blessing of the Oracle Sage helped her see a dark star of power flashing toward the Weeping Dragon.
Mercy’s arrow. She’d unleashed Penance.
Its copy, at least. Lindon had used the prototype Penance arrowheads to make his three arrows, but Yerin was clearer than anyone on the difference between these and the original.
The true Penance didn’t need to make contact or to be shot from a bow. It didn’t unleash an attack, it just decided who was dead.
This carried the same intentions, but watered down. The Weeping Dragon’s castle-sized jaws snapped down onto the arrow.
Lightning and an ancient, defiant will crashed against Mercy’s shot.
Yerin didn’t know who held the edge in that contest, but the Dreadgod’s focus on Penance pulled pressure away from its claw. She shoved it aside.
Red essence sprayed from a crack in her sword. Not a good sign; Netherclaw was breaking down.
That wasn’t much of a twist. The sword had been made for fights between Archlords, not to be swung freely against Dreadgods and Monarchs. Every Reaper’s Sword technique cut into the weapon’s lifespan.
But Yerin took her stance again.
[There’s a limit to the number of times you can use that technique. You know, right?]
She drew her sword back. Yeah. Sword can’t take it.
[This is what I was afraid of. You can’t take it, Yerin. You can’t.]
Yerin hadn’t taken stock of her own condition since leaving the Oracle Sage. She’d stolen power from a Sage and a Herald, using those to keep herself going, but that was slapping a cast on a broken arm.
The longer she kept fighting, the worse she’d be. She was on her last legs.
Take a breath or two, Yerin told Dross. I can’t even feel it.
[That’s a perfect example of why I’m worried.]
The Penance arrow finally tore through the lightning gathered between the Dragon’s fangs. But the Dreadgod’s attack still deflected the arrow. Instead of shooting down the Weeping Dragon’s throat, it blasted off to the side.
Harmless.
Mercy’s attack had taken a significant amount of the Dreadgod’s madra and attention to deflect, so it wasn’t useless. But it hadn’t left a wound.
Yerin would have to do it herself.
She took the stance and prepared the Reaper’s Sword.
“Enough!” the Weeping Dragon shouted.
Its authority crushed Yerin. The will of the Dreadgod was as fierce as a storm and as imposing as the greatest of dragons. It ruled this space absolutely.
She struggled against its willpower, forcing her arms along. Yerin could move, could maybe use some techniques, but her Reaper’s Sword was shut down. It was too delicate a balance to maintain.
[Block it!] Dross shouted. [Block! Block!]
Yerin activated Netherclaw’s binding and a pair of silver-edged red claws were Forged into the air over her head. With those, the sword itself, and all six of her sword-arms, she defended.
The Weeping Dragon’s claw slammed down onto her.
Despite the supernatural strength of her Steelborn Iron body, she was still too weak. She felt as if a building collapsed on her—no, if a building collapsed on her now, she would shrug it off.
She felt as if a Dreadgod had crushed her.
Crunching came from bones all over her body, and half her vision shut down. She couldn’t feel her right arm anymore, so she grabbed her sword in her left.
Yerin felt no pain.
The Remnants she’d stolen made it over to her. They had largely fallen apart, losing their shape, but they still focused their remaining power and will into a shining storm protecting her overhead.
She fed on them, forcing her body back into shape.
Another lightning-sheathed claw fell. She attacked it with a slash of madra.