Malice sighed. “I know what you think of me, and I know I may tend to be spiteful and a touch…tyrannical. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Let me return this to you, Mercy: revolution always costs blood. Do you know how many people will die in this change of the world? Do you know how many people have already died?”
Mercy’s face clouded, so Malice pressed her advantage. “Tell your friends to ascend instead. You can even go with them, if you insist on leaving me. I know Lindon is stuck here at the moment, but we can certainly figure out ways around that.”
Malice didn’t know any ways around that restriction, but a solution probably existed. It must be easier than reaching the level of Monarchs in less than a decade, which Lindon had already done.
“I can’t do that, Mother,” Mercy said sadly. “I can’t leave when I could have helped.”
Malice looked deep into her eyes. “Whatever you come to think of me, however you remember me, know that I truly believe this: the world is best as it is. And I will sacrifice anything to keep it that way.”
A burst of Silver Heart madra and an answering flare of red from Yerin told Malice that her contingency plan had begun.
Mercy stayed uncharacteristically calm. “What did you do?”
“I can’t let you go to Lindon,” Malice said. She turned her hands around to grab Mercy’s. “Most of them, I will take prisoner.”
Slowly, Malice saw steel fill up her daughter. Under other circumstances, she would feel proud of Mercy.
“Yerin won’t let you capture her,” Mercy said.
“That’s right.” Malice didn’t shy away from the truth. “These are the decisions you have to make, to rule as a Monarch. Hate me and run from me if you wish, but you’ll learn.”
Other than Mercy, the others had been separated into cells designed for them. That wouldn’t be enough to hold Yerin—it was hard enough to capture an average Herald, much less one with her unique advantages—but Charity’s techniques were suited to the role of jailer.
Silver Heart madra would put Yerin to sleep. She had some mental enhancements, but Charity could overcome them with the aid of the script formation in the cell. Then Charity would kill her.
Malice had seen it play out in Fate already. When she killed Yerin, Lindon would come for revenge. She needed hostages for that situation.
It was a delicate balance, and not ideal, but Malice was certain it was her best plan.
Barring some of the unpredictable variables.
Tears glistened in Mercy’s eyes, and despite everything, Malice did feel some sympathy for her daughter. The girl was still very young.
“That was your last chance, Mother,” Mercy whispered. “I wish you’d taken it.”
“What?”
The future warped around Malice.
She found herself once again in the World of Night, looking into the future. What had once been an insignificant, flickering shadow now loomed large. An obstacle standing in her way.
An owl.
While Malice consulted the future, she distantly felt her hands wrenched apart by Mercy’s Herald strength. The World of Night fell away, leaving Malice staring into her daughter’s sad eyes.
“We’re ready, Aunt Charity,” Mercy whispered.
Sword-and-blood madra swelled, and one wall of Malice’s castle exploded inward. Yerin strode in, sword in her hand glowing with her Enforcer technique. Her eyes, so much like Fury’s, blazed red.
The dragon-turtle and the Sylvan Riverseed, both in human form, walked beside her. They would be a hazard. They were contract-bound to Lindon, so he would know anything she did to them.
The former leader of the Dawnwing Sect was last, bearing a silver shield in one hand and a massive hammer in the other.
Finally, Charity. Her granddaughter.
Charity’s eyes were even colder than usual, her very will ice.
“You concealed this from me?” Malice asked softly. “How long ago did you start?”
“I tried not to. I wanted to follow you, as I always have. But how can the family follow a Matriarch who betrays her own children?”
Malice didn’t have a mind-spirit, but she had advantages of her own. The world around her slowed to a crawl.
Charity’s silver sickle was in her right hand, buzzing with deadly intention. Power ran through Yerin’s sword.
Three Sages. Three Heralds.
Their numbers were not as much of an advantage against Malice as they assumed.
Rage bubbled up in her heart, dark and ugly, and she returned her perception to normal time. “Kneel,” Malice ordered.
And she released her own Netherworld Empress.
The image of the Empress shattered the ceiling above her as it loomed like her shadow. The technique enhanced her willpower, pushing it down on each of them.
Strong they may have been, but they were her subjects. In her domain. And she was still a Monarch.
One by one, they crumpled under her authority.
Yerin was the only one who remained on her feet, though she bit her lip and cycled her madra to its limit to remain so. Nonetheless, it would cost her in concentration to carry the weight of Malice’s will.
Still holding her daughter’s arm in an iron grip, Malice glared over the others. “When I am finished with you, no one will remember you ever existed at all.”
First, she had to disable her daughter. She drove a solidified sword of shadow into Mercy’s chest.
Bloodline armor shattered as it formed, though it did block Malice’s first attack. Before she could strike again, she saw an incoming shadow from the future. Yerin, leaping for her.
Malice weaved out of the way and struck at Mercy again.
This time, Mercy caught the blade in one gauntlet. With a burst of strength worthy of her Herald advancement, she broke Malice’s grip.
Malice could wrestle for a hold again, but she was tired of fighting like a mortal.
Shadow burst from her and tore her own floating castle apart. It was time to remind the entire world who Akura Malice was.
If it cost her some rebellious children, that was a cheap price to pay.
26
Reigan Shen kept pace as Lindon fought off not one, but two Dreadgods.
Empty Palms covered the sky and warped the aura of an entire region. Dragon’s breath burned molten holes through the hearts of mountains. Clouds of Blackflame aura produced dark tornadoes of flame that scorched the Wandering Titan and affected the weather for miles.
That didn’t even take into account those Dreadgod weapons, for which Reigan burned with greed. The shining white halo’s effects were largely unseen, though any Monarch could sense the trades of dream aura that represented a mental battle, but the swords made from the Weeping Dragon were as dramatic as anything else.
Storm-clouds followed overhead, crackling with lightning. Bloodspawn that spread from the Phoenix wrestled against a rain of animated draconic bolts, and thick lightning of concentrated aura hammered the Titan. The swords themselves flashed against the Dreadgods, turning attacks with thundering blows that cracked space.
Lindon hadn’t even used the Weeping Dragon’s breath, though Reigan could sense the binding that would make that possible. He was holding that tactic in reserve, waiting for the opportune moment. Like the Dragon itself had done.
All of Reigan Shen’s calculations and predictive artifacts suggested that Lindon would lose. It would be a difficult battle, but he couldn’t stand up to the combined might of the Dreadgods.
But no one knew better than Reigan Shen how the future could shift, and there were too many factors altering Fate to be certain of anything. When he observed with his own eyes, Lindon’s victory was a disturbing possibility.
He wasn’t pressuring the other Dreadgods, of course, but he was matching them evenly. A horrifying feat.