Lindon has no response.
She wants you to see her full power, and she wants you to trust her to handle yours. She wants to see the real Lindon, not…is it too much to call you a cringing wreck? That sounds like too much.
Lindon watches her face. Yerin has been angry with him before, but never so disappointed.
He wants her to be happy with him. Proud of him.
He wants to show her how far he's come.
Now, are you going to show her?
Lindon lets out a mental sigh. “I thought you didn't understand humans.”
I don’t understand any of this. But I do listen.
Lindon steels himself. For the first time, he turns his mind to the problem in front of him. To defeating his rival.
“If we're going to do this,” Lindon says, “then we're going to win.”
Report complete.
~~~
“DROSS!” Yerin roared, the Final Sword taking shape around her blade. It looked like a massive madra replica of her weapon, complete with hilt and guard. It was hazy at the edges and translucent, not as smooth or complete as her master’s, but she could sense its power even so. And now she was turning it against Lindon.
She was furious. Furious with Northstrider, first off, because pitting them against each other had been a sneaky trick. That was the move of a coward and a thief, not a Monarch.
And every second the fight crawled on, she grew angrier with Lindon. In his other fights, he had been amazing. She wanted to fight that Lindon. She wanted to test herself, to see if she could measure up, and to show him what she could do. In a fair world, they would have only faced each other after they were both Uncrowned, but who lived in a fair world?
When she had seen Lindon against her in this arena, she had been bitterly disappointed, but also excited. Where else except this tournament could they fight without holding back?
She had hoped he would feel the same way.
Yerin fell, plunging her massive technique down on Lindon's shield. The bright silver-and-white light of her technique Forged into a heavenly sword that crashed into him like a deadly wave. Madra screamed as the two powers clashed, sending off blinding sparks, and the ground rumbled with the force.
The Final Sword chewed through his barrier in seconds, and her heart dropped. Dross hadn't been able to persuade him either.
This was not how she wanted to win her crown.
The last of the barrier shattered, but as soon as she was through, her blade clanged against something solid. And stopped.
The sword Wavedancer. Its broad blue-tinged bulk hovered over Lindon like a second shield.
But it could only block so much. A waterfall of silver power still thundered down onto Lindon, washing over the flying sword.
Her feet only touched the ground as her technique began to fade, and she pulled her master's blade away. The sword-light died. For an instant, she expected to be jerked away from the arena instantly, her anger still unsatisfied.
Then she realized Lindon's presence hadn't disappeared.
A solid turtle's shell rushed at her chin. Yerin caught it on one of her sword-arms, but Lindon had anticipated that. He pivoted into her, plunging his white fist into her gut.
Breath rushed from her lungs and she flew back, head ringing. Her spiritual perception caught the madra lingering around his skin, and she realized what he'd done. He had blasted pure madra from all over his body, covering him in an inch of spiritual armor. Eithan's technique.
The sword-aura had still passed through, which he must have weakened with soulfire control. But he couldn't have stopped everything that way.
Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of him as he followed her. He was covered in blood...but his eyes had life in them. He loomed over her, blood matting down his black hair, shield braced in his left hand and his Remnant hand still tightened into a fist. Wavedancer hovered over his shoulder.
Though his clothes were torn and madra essence streamed from cracks in his shield, his spiritual pressure pushed against her like she was facing a deadly enemy.
Finally, Lindon had shown up to the fight.
Before even landing, she spun in the air, sweeping her master's sword at him. She had dropped her Flowing Sword technique already, so this was a raw hit with no Enforcer technique, but her strength was enough that it would send him flying and create some space.
The Burning Cloak sprung up around him, outlining him in black and red. Her sword passed over his head as he ducked low.
And she lost him as he vanished.
Her spiritual sense followed him as his burst of speed carried him behind her. She landed while striking out behind her with her Goldsigns.
Lindon didn't step into their reach. Instead, three feet from her back, he shoved both of his hands forward.
Two bars of dragon's breath shot toward her.
She almost wasn't fast enough to react. Her six sword-arms closed into a cage behind her, flowing with her madra and with quick flames of soulfire.
The Blackflame madra hit, the heat searing her back and her spirit, but her madra held it off. Still, she wasn’t on the Path of the Endless Shield. If she let him land hits, he’d roast her alive.
Reaching her perception inside her spirit, Yerin called for help.
The Blood Shadow peeled away from her front, a spiritual copy of Yerin in shades of crimson. As it materialized, it drew the black sword from Yerin's second sheath.
Ruby lips twisted into a smile as Yerin's red copy saw the opponent.
“Lindon,” the Shadow whispered, drawing out his name. The parasite laughed as it leaped over Yerin, swinging its blade down at Lindon's head. Scarlet hair trailed behind it, and its laughter was like a bubbling swamp.
Yerin would have preferred not to call the Shadow against Lindon. It had some strange fascination with him. But if she wanted Lindon to let loose, she had to do the same.
The stream of dragon's breath cut off as Lindon defended himself, his shield knocking the black sword aside. Without pressure on her, Yerin turned and joined the fight.
Now they were back to where the fight had started: Yerin on the offensive and Lindon scrambling to save himself with his shield.
But there was a world of difference this time.
Soul Cloak flowing around him, Lindon moved like a new person. His shield stopped her blade, its binding activated for a fraction of a second to block the aura of her Endless Sword, while with the other hand he drove a massive Empty Palm at the Blood Shadow.
The huge blue-white palm print crippled the Shadow for a moment, but he had already begun a new attack. His eyes became red circles on darkness, and his calm blue-white nimbus turned to furious black-and-red. Powered by the Burning Cloak, he dashed back from Yerin’s Striker technique, struck the paralyzed Blood Shadow with a backhand blow of his shield, and swept a finger-wide dragon's breath at Yerin.
He wasn't as strong as she was, so he never met her blows strength-for-strength. He deflected at just the right angle, slipped aside by inches, dodging and counterattacking in the same fluid motions.
He fought Yerin and her Blood Shadow, directly, without backing down. Guided by Dross and his new combat training, he moved as though he could see her every motion a second in advance.
Together, in that empty world, they danced.
Yerin's anger had blown away. She exulted in the fight, and whenever she had to abandon an attack to stop a stream of deadly madra aimed at her face, joy built in her heart.
This was it. This was what she wanted.
Lindon saw her at her best, and he moved up to meet her. She didn't need to hold back for him...and he pushed her forward too.
To match each other, they needed to be at their peak.
Her spirit shouted a warning, and she cast her perception upward. A broad, swirling bank of black and red aura hung over their heads like stormclouds. Every time Lindon switched to Blackflame madra, he molded the aura a little more, gathering it, setting it spinning. Preparing his Ruler technique.