Cradle ascension box set, p.70
Cradle: Ascension: Box Set, page 70
She almost slipped him a mental message and commanded him to go back…but a distant shadow of Fate flickered through her mind and stopped her.
Malice hadn’t been able to monitor the rest of the battle as closely as she liked, but only three had effortlessly resisted the Dreadgod’s mind-control technique. She had the willpower and spiritual resistance of a Monarch, Charity specialized in mental Enforcer techniques…and then there was Lindon.
His mind-spirit hadn’t been overwhelmed by the Silent King. Come to think of it, such a spirit designed by Northstrider combined with a Sage’s will made him well-suited for this battlefield.
He could be an asset. If he didn’t get vaporized in the first second.
Lindon erupted in a globe of pure madra, wiping out some techniques and weakening others. His cloud dispersed, but he stayed floating on aura in midair.
The King locked eyes on him, and she felt a flare of hunger and dreams as the Dreadgod tried to devour his mind.
But that was one working not focused on her.
Malice swung her bow like a staff, and the army blocked with a shimmering shield. At the same time, she focused on the portal.
“Close,” Malice commanded.
The portal shuddered as the remaining will of the Dreadgod resisted hers.
Malice pushed against him, clawing for any advantage. She didn’t have much time. If Lindon held him for a whole second, that would be impressive enough.
Lindon’s senses were drawn into an imaginary space, and he fought to escape. His body could be torn apart on the outside, and he would feel nothing.
But Dross’ dark-purple shape drifted by him and stopped him with a tendril on his shoulder. [This is a world without time.]
Lindon stopped wrestling to escape. If he understood Dross correctly, that meant that this place only existed in his imagination. Time on the outside would crawl as his mind was accelerated.
It certainly looked like a world without time: an endless white void. Just him and Dross.
Then, suddenly, a giant tiger.
As Lindon had seen before, the Silent King was recognizably a white tiger, but just as recognizably not a natural one. It had no fur, only smooth pale skin with black stripes like slices into a moonless night. Its face resembled a detailed Remnant’s rather than a sacred beast’s, and its crown shone bright as the sun.
“You chose to disobey me,” the King purred. “I told you what the consequences would be.”
Scenes appeared, replacing the featureless background. Lindon saw through the perspective of half a dozen different people.
Ziel and Orthos fled down a dark hallway, the Archlord desperately covering for the turtle.
Yerin fought side-by-side with the Blood Sage, both wounded and rapidly healing against a barrage of blood techniques that turned the night crimson.
Mercy surrounded herself with black webs and covered her body with amethyst armor, loosing arrow after arrow in defense of a crowd she couldn’t abandon.
Kelsa and Jai Chen huddled in fear on dirt as indistinct shapes flashed around them.
His parents, seen through a window, huddled and waited for the boundary field around them to fail.
Each scene wrapped icy fingers around Lindon’s heart, but he focused on the limited perspective of his family. The Silent King wasn’t showing him their surroundings.
“Pardon,” Lindon said, “but could you show me a different view of Kelsa?”
The tiger tilted its head.
[Oh yes,] Dross said eagerly. [I want to see The Fleshripper in action.]
“A different view. Very well.”
Kelsa and Jai Chen had been fighting in the Twin Star Sect territory in Serpent’s Grave. Now he saw the city from far away.
Smoke rose from it. It reminded him forcibly of the night the Jai clan had attacked the Arelius family.
The view of his parents had changed too; now, instead of a close-up on their house in Serpent’s Grave, he saw more people scurrying around the wreckage of surrounding buildings. Running. In chaos.
Under attack from another Dreadgod.
The view of Yerin now showed him the Redmoon Hall cloudship swaying drunkenly, its cloud base broken. The view of Orthos showed him an ancient castle crumbling.
“Are you proud of your plans now?” the Dreadgod asked.
Those icy fingers gripped Lindon’s heart…and his own fingers of white hunger madra squeezed into a fist.
His body wasn’t really present in this mental space, but he felt no difference. The hunger of the Slumbering Wraith was still there.
“Why me?” Lindon asked.
“You have trespassed on our domain,” the Silent King said. The giant tiger prowled around Lindon and Dross. “You’ve stolen a piece of us. You belong to us.”
Lindon held his arm up and forced his fist to un-clench. “Then why don’t you tear this from me?”
The white space over the tiger blackened, becoming an endless abyss. The Void Icon.
The Dreadgod looked up into its depths. “You have made our hunger part of your soul. The authority suits you. You belong with us.” The views of Lindon’s friends changed to people living ordinary lives, working in harmony. With white rings over their heads.
“Joining me is not the slavery you imagine,” the Silent King continued. “It is unity. You retain your will; indeed, you are useless to me without it. I merely coordinate you to exert more power than you could separately.”
Lindon began to speak, but the Dreadgod anticipated him.
“My hunger? I feed on excess dream aura, just as Dross does. Small enough that no one misses it. This is a symbiotic arrangement. With a word from you, your loved ones can be safe. I can ensure that they are never endangered again.”
Lindon did feel the pressure of his loved ones in danger, as he felt the weight of the Dreadgod’s will urging him to agree.
But most of all, he was confused.
“You had to know I wouldn’t agree to this.”
The tiger crouched down and laid its head on its paws. “I would be disappointed if you had, the first time.”
The chill around Lindon’s heart expanded.
“My mind can endure in this state for subjective years,” the Silent King said. “Dross is bleeding madra to bear the burden instead of you, but his power is finite. When he runs out, you will last until your will erodes, followed by your brain.”
Fury burned a hole in Lindon’s heart.
What was left was a cold, dark hole.
A void.
The Dreadgod continued to speak casually. “That will take only seconds in reality, but to us it will feel like a year. Or perhaps a decade, depending on how long you hold out. So, Lindon, you have rejected my first offer, and my second. What about my thousandth? My ten thousandth? How many times can you succeed before you fail?”
Lindon turned his mind and spiritual perception to Dross. Sure enough, he was leaking power.
Dross gave the Dreadgod a crazed smile. [As I approach the embrace of darkness, I grow only stronger!]
Lindon turned back to the Silent King. “Apologies, I will have to decline. But I do agree with you in one respect.” Even though it was a mental space, Lindon took a moment to straighten himself. He rearranged the badge on his chest, smoothed his hair, and took direct control of his shaking arm. He faced the giant tiger directly.
“We do belong together.” The Void Icon bled into his voice. “When I Consume your spirit and tear out your heart, you will be with me forever.”
The Dreadgod had some no-doubt clever response, but Lindon reached out for the space around him.
This wasn’t a manipulation of space. It was a technique. The Dreadgod had him in an illusion, meaning he was trapped inside the Silent King’s power.
Lindon unleashed the arm of Subject One. He stopped holding its power back, and felt it resonate with the endless, insatiable hunger of the Void Icon.
“Consume,” the Void Sage said.
The images on the white background flickered like reflections on a pond as thoughts and madra slammed into Lindon. Ancient will kicked him like a horse, but he powered through the Dreadgod’s resistance.
As the Silent King responded, its voice warbled. The connection between them was growing thin. “Ambitious. Let’s see if your protector can hold up.”
The Dreadgod raised a claw and flicked it at Dross, who shone with purple madra as he braced himself.
Lindon reached out with his left hand and caught the claw.
“Wrong again,” Lindon said. “He’s not my protector. I’m his.”
Dross had overburdened to protect him from the strain of a Dreadgod’s mind once.
That was one time too many.
[Lindon,] Dross muttered, [You are steadfast and reassuring, but I am approaching my limit.]
Indeed, the memories from the Silent King were flowing through Dross and into Lindon. As Lindon had experienced before, another’s identity was drowning his. He remembered ruling a jungle, remembered controlling thousands of minds. Battling ancient Monarchs. Remembered the thirst for new memories, new experiences.
[Lindon?]
“Consume.”
Lindon couldn’t think about anything else. He had one singular focus, and he didn’t need to survive to achieve his goal.
As long as he didn’t bend.
“Idiocy,” the Silent King said, though his voice was faint. “This is a fragment of me. You can’t…reach…”
Lindon moved a step forward, even as the space flickered. Even when he forgot what he was doing.
He kept Consuming, and he walked forward.
[Lindon!]
The power rushed through him and eroded his thoughts, but he kept pushing.
He would push until he broke.
At first, Dross enjoyed the thrill of approaching doom. The risk made him feel alive.
Then Lindon had started to fight against the Silent King, and Dross felt much as he had when the sky blackened: that at least they would die together, as one.
Then Lindon took the blow meant for him.
Dross could see every one of Lindon’s thoughts. He had to push to access memories, but surface thoughts were harder to ignore than to witness. So he heard it, clear as a song, when Lindon resolved to die before Dross.
And Dross heard what Lindon meant by “Dross.”
In the weeks since Dross had come back to awareness, he had tried several new personalities. Lindon had looked at the problem like a Soulsmith, trying to find a solution. To fix him.
The reality was, Dross knew how to return to his old self. He had known…perhaps not the entire time. There was a while after waking when he had been very confused.
He knew, though. He knew how to return.
But the old personality had failed. He had failed Lindon by breaking.
Dross was looking for a new Dross, a better Dross. One that wouldn’t flinch in the face of death and could endure the threats they faced. He liked his current personality, which helped him to enjoy those moments of danger.
Even though, every time Lindon said Dross’ name, he was asking for the old Dross. The original. The one he’d been before.
Which made Dross wonder: if my personality changes, will he throw me away?
That was an unworthy thought, and one he was embarrassed to have. Lindon had proven himself many times, and Dross could search through the man’s memories at leisure. But now, he admitted to himself that the main reason he had stayed in his current configuration was to see what Lindon would do.
Would Lindon try to forcibly recreate the old Dross? Would he get used to the new one? If Dross’ personality changed, would Lindon grow to hate him?
Now, he heard what Lindon meant when he challenged the Silent King. He knew who Lindon swore to protect with his life.
This time, when Lindon said Dross, he meant Dross. In all his mutations and transformations. Dross, his companion. His mind-spirit.
His friend.
And Dross found that he didn’t need his new personality anymore.
He shook the darkness off his form, and the skin of his projected form became brighter to match his old outlook. He searched his memories, shifted his perspective…
His shame doubled.
Some of the things he’d said were so embarrassing. And had he really held a new form just to test Lindon? He had issues.
All that realization occurred almost instantly, and Lindon was still in trouble. Dross had to do something.
Fortunately, Dross was positively bursting with stolen power. Not enough to hold back a Dreadgod forever.
But enough to make a change.
Lindon was drowning in alien thoughts, clinging to his determination like a rock in the middle of raging rapids.
Then he heard an old, familiar voice.
[Lindon! Wow, you really are hanging in there, huh? Blink twice if you’re still sane!]
Lindon’s resolve shook.
[Sorry! Sorry. Don’t let me distract you with my self-revelation. But since you’re blocking the Silent King’s will, I’m going to slow this space. It’s too fast, and that’s going to boil your brain. I mean, uh…yeah, “boil your brain” is accurate.]
Lindon couldn’t spare much concentration; even listening to Dross was loosening his grip and weakening his focus.
But he was sure that sounded like a bad idea. Slowing down the dream meant his body would be vulnerable.
[That is what I mean, yes,] Dross conceded. [But it also means we can get help. And I’m pretty sure help is on the way.]
“No help can come for you,” the Silent King said casually. “You’ve done well to hold on so far. Give it another year or two and we’ll really see what you’re made of.”
The Dreadgod’s voice was strong again, and Lindon didn’t have the awareness to wonder whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
But he felt the white space shake when Dross struck. It was like a purple earthquake.
The Dreadgod’s voice shivered with it, and came back mid-sentence. “…worthwhile. Who can help you here?”
Dross struck again, and it was like Lindon was trapped inside a drum.
The Dreadgod’s pressure let up, and Lindon had enough time to realize how much stolen power was running through his spirit. If he didn’t vent some of it, his Paths were going to get corrupted.
So Lindon struck out with dream madra, Dross shaped it, and Lindon added to it the weight of his authority.
“Even if you escape, what will it—”
“Begone,” Lindon commanded.
The Void Icon wiped out the dream, and Lindon came to realize he was on the ground with his right arm stretched out toward the Dreadgod in the distance.
His channels were still bursting with dream madra, and he quickly Forged it.
A purple-white ring spun into existence all around him, semi-solid and overflowing with power that radiated brightly in his spiritual sense. If he didn’t know better, he would say it felt like it was made of Monarch scales.
[Void key!] Dross insisted. [Void key, quick! Before somebody takes it!]
Dross opened Lindon’s void key himself, without waiting for a response, and Lindon tossed the ring in. It tried to sink through the floor, but a void space was limited. It wouldn’t get far.
Dross materialized, and he shone violet, sending up sparks from his eye and his teeth. [Wow, and I thought I was strong before! When I finish digesting this, I’ll be…meaty.] He flexed one tentacle, which suddenly bulged with muscle. [See? See, Lindon? This is what you said I’d—]
Lindon stood and threw his arms around Dross.
“Welcome back,” Lindon whispered. His eyes burned with tears.
Dross returned the embrace and sighed. [Sorry. I made you suffer longer than I meant to.]
Lindon stepped back, though it turned into a stagger. His thoughts were difficult to arrange, and he felt like his nose should be bleeding. But his spirit blazed with power.
[Yeah, you’re in very strange shape.] Dross looked him up and down. [Your thoughts are going to need some genius mind-spirit to stitch them back together, but you stole enough energy from the Dreadgod that your spirit is better than ever. Once I finish sorting all this dream-aura, your mind and I will both be…well, if minds could advance, we’d be doing that.]
Lindon moved dizzily, but he could feel a battle shaking the ground. He tested his arm and found it unharmed.
And still hungry. Always hungry.
The Silent King’s army still fought in the distance, but the Void was steadily closing. Malice stood in front of that while another familiar presence fell down from the sky. Trailing a red dragon of blood and hunger madra.
Northstrider.
“Is that the help we were waiting for?” Lindon asked.
[I thought him distracting the Dreadgod was our only chance, but you outperformed my expectations. I thought the Silent King would…hm. Is there a more flattering term than ‘eat you like a mouse?’]
Lindon let the sound of Dross’ familiar chatter wash over his chaotic jumble of thoughts like a soothing rain. As he did, he watched the battle.
Northstrider’s attack landed on the King and blasted away a significant chunk of the army below, but he had only destroyed an illusion.
Lindon pointed to a gray, washed-out shape sneaking away from the fight. It was hard to concentrate fully, but it looked almost like the silhouette of a giant tiger.
“And what’s that?” Lindon asked.
Dross peered into the distance. His eye widened.
[If I had to guess—and I do, since elaborate guessing is my job—I would say that we’ve eaten enough of the Silent King’s madra that we can identify it in person.]
“I see,” Lindon said.
His anger that resonated with the Void Icon had not gone away. If anything, it burned deeper and colder than before.
“You saw all of its memories that I did?”
[In a few seconds, I think my model will be very accurate. The Silent King’s mental assault is its deadliest power. Physically, it’s…well, it’s still a Dreadgod, but a small one.]
