But the Mad King said he had a plan for Ozriel. He insisted that the Abidan were going to fall.
Li Markuth had no choice but to trust him.
He took a deep breath, trying to summon the enthusiasm he’d felt last time. Seven years ago, he had thought he’d found a loophole in the rules, and that he would be allowed to rule Cradle like a king. He was a native, after all, and he wouldn’t be opening the Iteration up to others.
He had thought he was invincible, and that he was going to have one of the most famous worlds in existence under his absolute control.
Now, Markuth tried to bring just a little of that feeling back.
“Don’t worry about those two in the sky,” he said after a long period of silence. “They won’t be back. Now, I deserve a break. Let’s go meet this Wei Grand Elder.”
Li Markuth spread his wings and drifted into the air, hovering over the Elders beneath him. He didn’t outpace them; an entourage was important for appearances.
And speaking of appearances…
With a simple flex of wind aura, he summoned dark clouds in the sky. They spread out behind him, a heavenly cloak that announced his coming.
He drifted up to the stage, where two young Lowgolds were clashing. One held a spear while the other clutched a steady shield. The one with the shield, strangely enough, had two cores. Perhaps a quirk of genetics, like certain families born with six toes.
The young sacred artists were from the Wei and Kazan clans, but he shoved them apart with wind. All the clans of Sacred Valley would soon belong to him.
Li Markuth lighted on the stage and looked around regally. The murmurs of fear and admiration at his arrival did bring back that feeling he was looking for, at least a little.
“I am Li Markuth, Grand Elder of the Li clan,” he announced. “I hear the Grand Elder of the Wei clan has ruled the Valley in my absence. Now I challenge him.” He looked toward the Wei clan, though he saw no one that he would call a Grand Elder. “Wei clan, I challenge you. Prove to me that you deserve to rule. And I will show you the true heights of the sacred arts.”
Of course, Markuth wouldn’t be limiting himself just to the sacred arts. He had mastered arts from other worlds, but no one here would know the difference.
A man rose from the Wei clan section. He wasn’t sitting separately, or with the other elders, but Markuth knew he must be the Grand Elder from the description his descendants had given him. And from the way the other eyes in the crowd naturally turned to this man, as though waiting for his response.
The man was tall and broad. He wore black-and-white robes, with a patch of burnt orange and sky blue on the breast. A badge, in the style of the Wei clan, hung over his chest. This one was white, made of wintersteel, and bore the old character for ‘Empty.’
A Sage, then. He must be particularly good at veils, or the bandages sealing his arm had even more of an effect than it seemed.
The Wei Grand Elder’s entire right arm was wrapped up in scripted bandages. Not scripts that would help with injuries, but those that restrained and veiled power. Perhaps he had a Divine Treasure in his arm; the Li Elders had mentioned the man’s right hand with fear.
Markuth supposed he could be concealing his Goldsign, except the man’s Goldsign was clear. His eyes were black, with white irises that seemed to glow. Clearly, he’d made a contract with a sacred beast to reach Gold.
Those eyes were wide and intense as they locked on Li Markuth.
Markuth hadn’t felt a spiritual scan, but there were other ways of sensing power. At least someone here appreciated his strength.
That response alone put Li Markuth in a better mood. He gestured to his own black-and-white ensemble. “I see you’re already wearing my colors. Once you understand the difference in our powers, you may surrender. I will need a capable second-in-command.”
Still, the Wei Grand Elder didn’t speak. He was certainly disturbed, from his eyes and small shivers throughout his body, but Li Markuth couldn’t feel any madra from him.
The Wei man hopped onto the stage like any Iron. Markuth expected him to begin unwrapping the seal on his arm, but he didn’t. He reached into his outer robes and pulled out a small, blue marble.
Markuth froze at the sight of it. He couldn’t sense anything from the object, so it didn’t seem to be a construct made by Soulsmiths, but he recognized that light.
“Li Markuth,” the Wei Elder said. “Do you remember me?”
A shiver ran up Markuth’s spine. Lightning crackled along his wings, and he drew his sword. “Who are you?”
“You killed me once.” The man spread open his left hand, and pure madra gathered in his palm. “Gratitude.”
Finally, Markuth recognized the emotion that was shaking this man. It wasn’t terror, as he had assumed. It was rage.
Li Markuth raised his guard.
Wind aura hardened around him, the very air growing thick to block physical impacts. He released a bizarre song from his heart, which echoed imperceptibly, protecting his mind and will from strange things.
Madra Enforced his body, and his bones were etched with the Seventy-One Words of Fortification, a reinforcement technique favored by lower-level Titans.
Markuth’s sword shimmered between reality and unreality. With it, he could cut anything. Workings of the Sages, Fiends from the Void, even the strange powers of the Abidan Ghosts.
He could feel power from the Wei Grand Elder now, but it was dim and muted. Like it was covered by a heavy shadow.
In fact, everything had gotten dark.
Markuth realized he couldn’t feel the clouds overhead anymore. He glanced up, only to see that the clouds were gone.
The sky had been swallowed up in a void.
A scream of warning came from the song that hung around him, and the Wei Elder vanished.
It wasn’t that Markuth lost track of him. At his level, he hardly needed eyes to follow an opponent’s movements.
The man vanished.
Next thing he knew, something slammed into Markuth’s back. It shredded his defenses and blasted through him, with an impact as though someone had crashed a ship into his spine. A cold power tore through his spirit.
Markuth slammed into the wall around the arena.
The wall itself could not harm him, crumbling like dust at his collision, but his spirit was in chaos. He tried to launch himself into the air, terrified of a follow-up attack, but he could hardly control his body. He staggered out of the rubble instead, almost losing his footing.
Pure madra. But it hadn’t just diluted his madra, it had wiped entire portions of his spirit clean.
The Wei Grand Elder stood on the edge of the arena, looking down on Markuth. The white circles in his eyes blazed.
“You felt it that time, didn’t you?”
“Tell me who you are! Are you from Haven? Are you with the Abidan?” There was little interaction between inmates of Haven except under specific circumstances, and Markuth was certain he knew the few others who had originated from Cradle.
His mind churned, but he couldn’t remember anyone remotely matching this man’s description. His Presence was no help, having been grown for a different purpose.
The Wei Elder hopped casually off the arena and strolled closer. “My name is Wei Shi Lindon. We met seven years ago. Right here.”
A dim memory surfaced in Markuth’s mind.
He could remember virtually everything that had happened to him since his ascension. The memory wasn’t dim because of age, but because he’d paid it such little attention.
“Are you that child?”
There was a boy that might have grown into this man. A lanky teenager who had been nearby and had ended up dying. Markuth wasn’t even sure what exactly had killed the boy. The slightest movement of his wings might have sliced him in half.
He’d never wasted a thought on the kid.
Markuth doubted the memory even as he had it. Seven years wasn’t nearly enough to turn a Foundation-stage child into this.