There was no trace of Lindon left anymore. She was facing down the Void Sage. The Master of the Labyrinth. The Dreadgod.
And he was here to kill her.
Her powerful body didn’t matter before this pressure. She struggled not to bend like a straw at the bottom of the ocean. Her spirit ached, and she felt like it would twist and devour her from the inside-out.
Her oldest fear.
She remembered this hunger, remembered being a parasite that wanted to hollow her out. Now she faced it again, and she trembled.
But still she pushed back. She had her pride, and she’d wrestled with her Blood Shadow years before it had become Ruby. She remembered being the Blood Shadow, grappling with Yerin from the inside, and even that added to the strength of her will. She would never give in.
She pushed back hard, gazing into Lindon’s eyes, watching for him to slide back a step.
The aura around him rippled, causing a slight breeze to tug at his clothes, but he didn’t move his hands from behind his back. He didn’t even blink. He only gazed back, his will unbending steel.
She wouldn’t give in. Not if it killed her. She locked her knees and met him defiantly, even when she felt blood trickling from her nose. All her madra cycled rapidly—at least, as much as she could make it move—and she gripped her fists until her fingernails broke skin.
Only when Lindon ratcheted the pressure up again did her body fail her.
She was flattened to the ground, though he let up instantly. And while she had prepared herself for the possibility of losing, she was still filled with shame.
She had thought she’d stand a chance.
Lindon looked over his friends coughing, groaning, and shifting on the ground. “Apologies,” he said. “Are you all right?”
He could feel that they were unharmed, but a round of groans answered him.
“I hate you,” Ziel said.
“How about a break before we try again?” Lindon suggested.
Mercy threw a pebble at his head.
After another round of willpower training and a few hours of rest, Lindon was ready to begin individual training. He started with Orthos.
Orthos and Little Blue were together, and when Lindon had sensed that, he had at first assumed that Little Blue was supporting Orthos as he pushed himself.
The truth was closer to the opposite.
Blue gritted her teeth and braced herself as her body flickered purple. Beside her, a Blood Shadow sheathing a weapon started to melt away from a mace made of dark metal. The spiritual parasite slid through a scripted hunger spear, its power flowing into Little Blue.
When Lindon had sensed her straining, he had thought she was pushing herself to scrub Orthos’ spirit. Instead, Orthos was standing over her, taking up most of the Blackflame training cave and bellowing encouragement.
“A dragon does not hesitate!” the turtle roared. “She decides her goals and she seizes them! A dragon does not surrender!”
Little Blue’s scream was a high, piercing whistle, and she briefly swelled to half Lindon’s height. Then she compressed herself back down to about a foot tall, and a cloud of blood essence rushed up and out of her.
She fell back onto the rock, breathing heavily. Like Dross, she didn’t need to breathe, but she imitated the habit from the people whose spiritual power made up her body.
Then again…
Lindon paid more attention to the feel of her spirit through their bond. She had developed significantly over the years, both spiritually and physically. It was hard to tell for sure without a direct scan—which he didn’t want to use, lest he distract her—but she might really need to breathe soon.
If that were true, she was almost ready.
“She’s feeling strong,” Lindon said aloud. He was speaking to Orthos, but he knew Blue would hear it. Sure enough, he felt a spark of gratification from her.
“She may be stronger than I am now,” Orthos responded. Lindon was surprised to hear him say it, but it could be true.
Spirits were hard to compare to sacred artists or sacred beasts, and Blackflame was much more obvious than pure madra, but in many ways she gave off the spiritual pressure of an Overlady. In terms of her density and state of existence, she reminded him more of advanced Archlord Remnants.
[Spirits have similar requirements to advance, but they often don’t go through discrete levels of advancement until after Archlord,] Dross said to them all.
“I’m fully aware of that,” Lindon said.
[I know, but I like to look knowledgeable. It’s my one role. Do you have to take that from me?]
Lindon moved closer to Little Blue and scanned her. Sure enough, she had developed lungs and a heart, though she probably didn’t strictly need them yet. More importantly, she could handle another dose of his soulfire.
He sat down next to her. “I think you’ll be the easiest one to advance.”
She gave him a smug cheep.
“Once you’re recovered, I’ll give you some soulfire.” After she stabilized, her advancement would be down to absorbing Lindon’s madra. In a few weeks or a handful of months, she would have adapted to the full power of his pure core.
Then it would come down to her to advance to Herald.
He looked over her again. She had been with him longer than anyone but Yerin, and now that he thought of it, she had pushed herself harder than he realized. Even processing his scales would have been a trial for her at first.
“You’ve worked hard,” Lindon said. He dipped his head to her. “Gratitude.”
Without sitting up, Little Blue opened her mouth.
“Oh, of course.” With a moment of concentration, Lindon Forged a scale. It wasn’t the full power he was capable of, but it was balanced and stable. He matched it to Little Blue’s current level, as he estimated it.
Her head deformed to swallow the coin, though the scale dissolved into energy as it went down her throat. She patted her stomach with a satisfied sigh.
Lindon looked to Orthos.
“I have eaten what you left for me,” the turtle rumbled, “but I have a long road to travel. I don’t see how I can make it in time.”
Lindon had left Orthos elixirs and scales meant to prepare him to receive greater powers. In Lindon’s opinion, that didn’t even count as the first step.
“Are you willing to do what it takes to join me?” Lindon asked.
He half-expected a jibe in response, but Orthos’ red-and-black eyes met him seriously. “I am.”
“Then listen, both of you.” Lindon drew himself up and radiated a grave air through his bond with the two of them. “You won’t make it to Monarch. Not in the time we have left.”
They exchanged glances, and he felt their mild confusion.
“Of course not,” Orthos said.
[Orthos, your body and spirit are too…well-established. Venerable. Old, can I say old? If you had been an Archlord for three hundred years, it would be fine, but you were a Gold. Herald is out of the question for you.]
Orthos glared at him. “I did not ask.”
Little Blue whistled a question.
[No, you can be a Herald, don’t worry. But you gathering the required wisdom and insight to touch an Icon would be…ah…hmmm…]
While Little Blue sat and innocently waited for the end of that sentence, Lindon cut in. “You won’t be Monarchs in your own right, but you’ll be able to borrow my power. You will be ready to fight the Dreadgods, the same as any of us.”
Of course, all those problems had solutions. If Lindon was willing to stretch the Monarch artifacts further, he could bend the rules for Little Blue and Orthos. But preparing them to reach Monarch would cost more effort and borrowed authority than everyone else combined.
Even with fortunes stolen from all over the world, Lindon didn’t have the resources for that. Not to mention the time.
Both Orthos and Little Blue trembled inwardly when he mentioned fighting Dreadgods, but they remained resolved.