The Remnant popped like a bubble and she tumbled to the ground, rolling through the grass. She shouted and slashed at Lindon, but no claws followed the motion.
An arrow split her heart a moment later, and she vanished.
Pride stood triumphantly over the spot where her body had disappeared, pointing at the empty space. “He was driving us back into an ambush!”
Lindon stepped close enough that he loomed over Pride, emphasizing the fact that Pride's head only came up to his collarbone. He was so furious he felt like he was channeling Blackflame.
“Did you not know she was there? I saw her on the way in!” Well, Dross had, but that was the same thing. “How is it an ambush when we're together and they're split up? They just wanted to meet up without attracting attention!”
Spirits vanished all around them as beasts and sacred artists alike veiled themselves to approach.
Pride's eyes were hard as purple stones. “You almost pushed us into a trap. I saved us.”
“You turned us into bait! How are our teams supposed to get to us now?” They were already surrounded by enemies.
Mercy landed to the side, grabbing them both. “Let’s have this conversation while running for our lives, what do you think?”
They ran together, Pride and Lindon keeping their speed down for Mercy, who couldn't fly without her bow.
Lindon swept his perception behind him, and his breath caught at what he felt. There were at least seven, maybe eight or nine enemies behind them. Their veils kept him from identifying their exact position, their Paths, or whether they were sacred artists or beasts. If some of them had veiled themselves more thoroughly than others, there could even be more.
The worst of it was, they weren't fighting amongst themselves. They were chasing the Akura team as though they'd been put on a scent.
[That's what we get for standing out!] Dross said in a panic. [They think you're extraordinary! Quick, let me talk to them and I’ll let them know the truth.]
At that moment, Lindon’s spiritual sense lit up as he felt a column of light descend from the sky. He jumped up as he ran, grabbing a branch and pulling himself high so he could push through the leathery leaves overhead and take a quick look.
Only a hundred yards in front of him, a column of golden radiance descended from the clouds. A dot in the center had to be the crown. And it wasn’t alone; to its left and right, two more beams of light shone as a pair of crowns floated down.
Three crowns. Enough for a full team to advance to the next round.
Everyone would be headed for them, and he was caught between the prize and his pursuers. Trapped.
~~~
Yerin had fought against greater numbers more than once, but these weren’t a handful of back-country sect disciples who’d managed to finally advance to Truegold. These were five of the deadliest Underlords of their generation.
When the fight started, it was brutal.
The three Ghost-Blades slashed out, Forging spectral swords the size of cattle as they swung, and clearly they had trained together. Their attacks came at subtly different angles only a whisper apart, so there would be no avoiding all three.
As they struck, Yerin felt the walking fish of the Tidewalker sect conjuring bubbles of dark liquid madra. They held back, waiting to react as she did.
Last year, Yerin would have dealt with the Ghost-Blades’ attack and fallen for the Tidewalker follow-up. Maybe she could have survived the first volley, with the help of her Blood Shadow, but she would’ve lost in time. These opponents were too coordinated, too well-trained and too used to working together.
But she had a team of her own.
Yerin ignored the attacks and activated the Endless Sword. The three swords of the Ghost-Blades rang like bells, aura erupting from them like a storm and shredding their clothes and skin, drawing light wounds and knocking them around like hurricane winds. Even the Tidewalkers caught the edge of it, staggering back from the sting.
She attacked. Eithan defended.
He was in front of her before she saw him move, blowing the Forged madra apart with Striker techniques of his own. And from above, Naru Saeya launched a burst of green wind madra as the Ghost-Blades still reeled from Yerin’s attack. From experience, Yerin knew it would snare them and drag them off-balance—easy prey for a blade.
The three of them had reacted together, months of training crystallizing in action for the first time.
But the enemy had training of their own, and greater numbers.
A defensive construct on one of the Ghost-Blades activated a yellow shield that blocked Saeya’s Striker technique, so he stood strong as she dove in. The Tidewalkers refocused on her, Yerin whipped a horizontal Striker blade of her own at them to pull their attention back, and Eithan had to deal with further attacks from the other two Ghost-Blades.
They traded exchange after exchange in a quick second, Forger techniques blowing apart, Striker techniques tearing the leaves from trees, blades of aura grinding up earth. Stroke and counterstroke, attack and defense, from eight Underlords with no wasted time.
The air shook with continuous thunder. Yerin’s spiritual sense strained to keep up, and her channels burned as she quickly switched from technique to technique. A chain of explosions blasted the forest around them in one long roar, and in seconds the jungle around them was a clearing of debris and churned soil.
Yerin moved as quickly as she ever had in her life, blasting away a Striker technique aimed at Saeya, ducking aside so Eithan could get a shot at an enemy behind her, driving her blade at one enemy and slashing her sword-blades behind her at another.
Even so, they were outnumbered.
Naru Saeya was the first to slip, a little too slow to block as she raised her sword with a wounded arm. She winced, instantly taking a Forged blade to the chest. A quick flood of green madra blocked it, but it sent her flying into a tree and then to the ground.
Yerin covered her with a surge of the Endless Sword, but therefore she couldn’t cover Eithan, who had to focus on his own defense at redirecting a stream of water madra. Their formation collapsed, and then they were three individuals struggling to defend themselves.
Only a breath later, golden light streamed down from the sky. It poured through the leaves overhead; she couldn’t see well enough to see how distant it was, but it couldn’t be far.
Eithan reacted as though he’d known the crowns were coming, taking advantage of the momentary flicker in his enemies’ attention to let out a detonation of pure madra. His power swept over everyone, dense enough that it must have been reinforced with soulfire, and wiped away every active technique. Water madra fell apart, Forged blades vanished, Striker techniques died in midair, and Enforced punches fell limp on their targets.
The only one not affected was Eithan, who rushed toward one of the Tidewalkers to stab her with a sharpened stick, but the loss of madra had only disrupted her for an instant. She was already Enforced again, slapping him aside and stepping away so she and her partner could focus on them together.
Yerin could do nothing; it was all she could do to keep the Ghost-Blades from closing in on the wounded Saeya. The Naru helped as best she could, grabbing at them with her Ruler technique, but their enemies’ soulfire-aided aura control was enough to keep them safe.
Yerin was on the verge of bringing out her Blood Shadow—an ability she hadn’t yet revealed—when her spirit warned her, and she realized why Eithan had wasted so much madra on a split-second interruption.
It hadn’t been an attack.
It was a signal.
Black dragon’s breath lanced out from the trees. One of the Tidewalkers reacted in time to defend with a wide bubble of water madra, but the distraction allowed Eithan to land a blow on him. The fish-man’s eyes bulged, and he flew back, tumbling through the bushes. His partner ran after him a moment later, and the two of them lost no time before scampering away.