That was starting to feel like a mistake.
He swept the Staff of Condemnation in from the side, but an Archlord flying sword deflected him. He hadn’t had the time or attention to spare to activate the binding in the staff, so the sword was enough to stop him.
By that time, gold light was rising from the seams of the young Underlord’s armor. It felt like half a dozen sacred artists all Enforcing themselves at once.
Maraan’s wariness grew to full-blown alarm.
This was obviously a suicidal technique. No Underlord’s body, spirit, or mind could afford the burden of so many powerful techniques at once. If most of them were bindings embedded in the armor, that would only make the burden worse.
Era, the Truegold priestess and his second-in-command for this post, brought out a simple construct like a writhing birdcage the size of her two hands. She hurled it down, and he quickly recognized her good judgment.
Just in case, he pulled the same construct from his own soulspace, throwing it down at the Underlord’s feet and jumping back out of the way.
Pillars rose from all around the armored Underlord as the Ruler technique in the construct pulled the rocks and loose grit and hardened them into a stone cage. At the same time, bands of earth madra were Forged around the outside, and the pillars themselves were Enforced.
Maraan breathed more easily when he saw that the young Underlord was still standing there, gushing madra from his armor. The power for which he’d damaged his own soul had been too much for him, and now it was all he could do to control it while standing still.
Their Deep-Fathom Prison constructs were quite complex, not to mention expensive and difficult to produce. They were designed to trap Underlords, and with two of them layered on top of one another, the pillars formed an almost solid wall.
“Good work,” Maraan called, but Era was doubled over and panting. The Deep-Fathom Prison was an Underlord construct and would be difficult for her to activate.
Maraan circled around so he stood between the prisoner and Era, lazily cycling his next technique. He had intended to kill this young man from the beginning, both to teach the Akura clan a lesson about taking Abyssal Palace lightly and to study his arm, which appeared to be made from pure hunger madra.
Now he could finish Lindon off at his leisure, or just wait until the suicidal techniques took their toll.
“Acolytes retreat!” Era called back down into the canyon.
“No need for that,” Maraan said, though he didn’t say it loud enough for the acolytes to hear. He couldn’t contradict his second in front of them. “He’s quite—”
The armored Underlord punched through both prisons with one blow.
Stone and madra blasted forward for hundreds of feet. If Era had been standing in their way, she would have been shredded.
Maraan’s years of experience did not go to waste. He spun, activating his Staff of Condemnation and fueling the Embrace of the Titan with soulfire. The butt of his staff slammed into the black breastplate in a blow that would have collapsed a castle wall.
It was like throwing a fistful of straw at a bull.
Lindon crashed into him, but Maraan stood his ground. His soulfire-fueled Enforcer technique blazed around him, the yellow image of the Wandering Titan solidifying as the will of the Dreadgod itself lent him its strength.
He stood with the solidity of mountains as he pushed against this young Underlord.
Pushed…and was shoved back.
His shoes slid across the stone, and as he dug in, drawing on his earth madra to make himself heavier and more solid, he continued to move. Even the stone beneath his feet began to crack.
The boy had given up the nimble movements he’d shown before, and he hadn’t launched a single Striker technique.
But he didn’t need to. Maraan’s muscles strained.
That flying sword of his flashed at Maraan’s back, and Era managed to deflect it with a Striker technique, but it only banked around for another attack.
Lindon drew his fist back, and Maraan felt his own death approaching.
At the risk of damaging his own channels, he poured all the madra he could into another Striker technique.
The Eruption Ring technique had been modeled on one of the Dreadgod’s powers. It released a wall of madra all around, shoving enemies back, and with great control it could be focused in one direction.
Maraan blasted a solid wall of force and earth madra in front of him to give him some space.
The wave of yellow power splashed over the armored man like water.
He crashed through the Eruption Ring with his fist swinging.
Maraan held up the Staff of Condemnation and focused all his effort on his Enforcer technique, but when the punch landed, his vision whited out for an instant.
His back crashed into the side of a plateau. He made a crater in the rock.
His Embrace of the Titan faded.
His mask cracked in half.
He stared blankly forward, too dazed to feel pain or much of anything. A black visor turned to him, and then Era was there.
Her expression was hidden by her priest’s mask, but he could feel the desperation in her spirit as she leaped up and wrapped her body around him.
A black figure loomed over them, shining gold, as Era crushed a blue ball. A gatestone.
An instant later, they were back in the Abyssal Palace itself, the fortress that now hovered over Sky’s Edge. He and Era rolled to a halt on the polished floor, and only then did the pain penetrate.
His ribs were fractured, his arms useless, and he couldn’t feel his legs. Era struggled to her feet, groaning, and then he saw that her sleeve was a ragged, bloody, empty mess where her left arm used to be.
An acolyte cried their names and ran for help.
Maraan let his pain wash over him. With trembling effort, he turned to look at the Staff of Condemnation, which had snapped into two pieces. An Overlord weapon he had been given along with his position.
His head fell back down to the tile.
This was his own fault for not paying more attention to the Uncrowned King tournament.
He had thought of the competition only as a way to prove their value to Reigan Shen and for his apprentice to gain experience. But Maraan knew Brother Aekin’s strength better than anyone; he had practically raised the boy.
Aekin could not handle opponents like this. And this boy hadn’t even made it into the top eight.
No…Lindon hadn’t beaten him under tournament conditions. In fact, he’d given his life for this temporary power.
If he wasn’t dead now, he’d be crippled for life.
Maraan consoled himself with that knowledge as he allowed the acolytes to carry him to medical care.
He spoke with great effort to Era as they were both gathered up. “What…was his name?”
“Lindon Arelius,” Era responded grimly.
“We struck…a great blow…killing him. They will…want…revenge.”
The fights had been mostly bloodless so far, but this was worthwhile. Maraan may be in recovery for a few weeks, but the Akura had lost one of their rising stars forever.
Lindon peeled himself out of the armor, letting Little Blue berate him as he fed each plate back into the void key.
He deserved her lecture. Not for the reasons she was upset, but he deserved it nonetheless.
She was angry that he hadn’t accepted her help, and insisted that he could have made quick work of the enemies using her power.
He didn’t regret leaving her in storage, but with every piece of armor he loaded back into the void key, he couldn’t help calculating how much repairs would cost.
Fifty or sixty points, he suspected. And the fight had earned him zero more.
Well, the twenty from completing the assignment of clearing out an Abyssal Palace tower, but he was always going to get those.
[We have information on how the prototype performed in real, live combat!] Dross said cheerily. [That will cut down on costs in the long run, since instead of performing more tests in the boring world of flesh, we can perform them inside my amazing mind.]