Lindon rolled his right shoulder and his Dreadgod arm quivered eagerly. “Then let’s get started. Orthos, release one of the black dragon Remnants, if you don’t mind.”
He’d left most of the Remnants for Orthos’ use, and at the request, Orthos released one of the Underlord Remnants from his void key.
There were Gold spirits in there too, but clearly Orthos did not mean to have an easy start. That wasn’t bad thinking. He could Consume the easiest Remnants when Lindon and Dross weren’t around to help.
Close to mindless, the serpentine spirit of red-and-black flame dove at Lindon. Lindon caught it effortlessly in his right hand, ignoring its snarls and snapping jaws. He spoke loudly to be heard over the thrashing Remnant.
“I’m going to transfer everything I can to you, but it’s not just madra. There’s still willpower and memories left in the spirit, and traces of blood and life essence. I’m going to send it to you and help you separate it all, but you’ll have to endure and control it on your own.”
[Not everything, of course,] Dross pointed out. [We’ll start with about forty percent of the mental power, because you don’t have me. Your brain is like…have you ever filled an eggshell with so much egg that it cracks from the inside?]
“No,” Orthos said. “No one ever has.”
[I find that unlikely.]
Lindon tried to keep them both focused. “This will strain you. You’ll have to wrestle directly with the remaining will of the dragon, and you may experience a moment where you aren’t sure who you are. We’ll help you as much as we can, but ultimately it will be up to you.”
Orthos braced all four of his feet on the ground, and smoke rose from his shell as he cycled his Blackflame madra. “I will know what you have endured all this time.”
That made even Lindon hesitate as he remembered all the discomfort and disorientation he’d endured when Consuming others for the first time. But they wouldn’t advance in record time without breaking some rules.
And Orthos said he was ready.
[I’ll give you a countdown. One and a half, one, now!]
Lindon Consumed the Underlord Remnant. It dissolved and flowed up his arm in an instant, barely a sip compared to the bites he’d taken from Dreadgods and Monarchs. His arm seethed in dissatisfaction, having received a faint mist when it expected a solid meal.
He kept the limb under control, carefully separating the energies from the Remnant while keeping them intact. It was harder than just drinking them himself, but still a trivial task.
The memories would have been more difficult to deal with if not for Dross, and a Remnant’s memories were always fractured and faint compared to a living being.
[This isn’t really forty percent,] Dross whispered to Lindon. [But it’s enough for now.]
While keeping careful control, Lindon poured the power through his contracted bond to Orthos.
The turtle shuddered as energy entered him. He took the Blackflame madra easily, of course, cycling it to his spirit and using it to condense his core. The few remaining wisps of gray soulfire settled peacefully as well.
Wrestling against the Remnant’s willpower was harder. When the madra left Lindon’s control, it still had some of the spirit’s original will left animating it, and that power tried to take control of Orthos’ spirit.
The temperature in the cave rose several degrees, and Little Blue whistled in concern. Black-and-red sparks flickered into being here and there, and Orthos’ body shuddered.
Green life essence and crimson blood essence settled in next, carrying yet more of the dragon’s will. Then the memories rushed through.
Weaker these thoughts might have been, but Lindon still felt spikes of emotion associated with fractured images. Rage and terror against a distant human figure with silver runes spinning around her. Protective love for a clutch of eggs. Confusion and awe at the sight of a mysterious aura phenomenon that lit the horizon with a rainbow.
These were some of the few broken memories that had survived this dragon’s death, and Orthos tossed his head as he received them, his eyes rolling wildly in his skull. He struggled as though against an invisible leash, but he couldn’t escape.
Lindon’s heart tensed. Neither he nor Dross could fight through this process on his behalf. They had made it as easy as they could, but Orthos would have to do this himself.
“Where…” Orthos muttered. “Who…” He looked at Lindon in panic, and dragon’s breath kindled between his jaws.
Lindon stood calmly before Orthos, hands clasped behind his back. He radiated complete faith and confidence through their bond.
And so, he noted, did Little Blue. She sent Orthos cheers both audible and otherwise, running around him in circles as though to inspire him with her energy.
A moment later, the cloud passed from behind Orthos’ eyes. The dragon’s breath died inside his mouth, and he settled heavily onto the ground.
“So that’s what it’s like,” he rumbled. “I hate it.”
Lindon scratched the side of his head instead of responding. It wasn’t a pleasant process, but Lindon still found it satisfying. It was the most direct way to improve.
[Think of it this way: only three more of those, and then you’ll be ready to advance to Overlord!]
Orthos coughed out ash.
[…maybe four,] Dross corrected.
Lindon rested a hand on Orthos’ head. “It’s a big step. Rest and cycle. Tomorrow, I’ll give you the hunger weapon I made for you, and you can try Consuming one of the Golds on your own.”
Even from that one Remnant, the turtle was noticeably stronger. This was the fastest way to strengthen him, but Lindon was still worried.
For one thing, this method would only work for Orthos and Little Blue, and Blue would only need a few more treatments. For Orthos…
[Fourteen,] Dross said cheerily. [Four Golds, to get him used to the memories. Then five more Underlords, three Overlords, and two Archlords. I won’t tell him yet, though. Keep it a surprise!]
Lindon pictured fourteen more treatments. They wouldn’t get easier to endure, either. Lindon would have to ramp up the portions of willpower and memory that he transferred, and Orthos would need longer to rest between each one.
They also didn’t have enough Remnants. They only had two Overlords and one Archlord.
[I don’t want you to start thinking I approve of Consuming sentient spirits, because I don’t want you to eat me, but we do have a Herald spirit too. Maybe just a sip…]
Lindon looked to the cave’s ceiling, where a huge black-and-red spirit had quietly curled up and pretended he didn’t exist. Noroloth, the Remnant of an ancient black dragon Herald, hadn’t even cycled the abundant Blackflame aura that suffused the air here. At least, not since Lindon walked in. That was the Remnant equivalent of holding a breath.
Noroloth shuddered at Lindon’s gaze but gave a shaky smile. “I apologize for not greeting you, Monarch! I was terrified that I might interrupt your time with your students.”
Lindon suspected that was true.
The spirit of the black dragon prince looked less like a natural dragon than most of their Remnants. He was red, for one thing, with black only showing in patches here in there and in the black-and-red flames that burned around his back. His head was more than double the width of the rest of his body, his jaw exaggerated into an underbite, and his tail dissolved to smoke.
That tail wagged now. His smile looked hideous on his too-large head.
“I would like you to supervise Orthos’ training,” Lindon said. “I’m sure you have insights into the Path of Black Flame that would serve him well.”
“Of course, Monarch, of course! Whatever you wish!” The Remnant’s smoky tail wagged faster.
Dross materialized in front of Noroloth’s face and glared at him. [I still don’t trust you, new guy.]
Noroloth’s tail froze.
“I have no doubt he can handle it.” Lindon patted Little Blue and rested his hand on Orthos’ head. “You all can.”