[Makiel is in contact with Tal’gullour,] her Presence informed her.
If she hadn’t been so totally concentrated, that possibility would have chilled her. What was Makiel doing, communicating with a Vroshir home-world? Together, he and the remaining crew of the fortress could shut down her working. They could ensure that the Reaper remained lost.
Sure enough, she felt a working begin to warp the space around her. She started to struggle until she caught the target.
Tal’gullour was targeting Makiel.
“What are you doing, Makiel?” Suriel asked through gritted teeth.
“I am no longer Makiel,” he said. His voice was no different than normal. “I retired my position. And I’m helping you. I’m not as skilled of a Phoenix as you are, so I’m borrowing the systems of Tal’gullour.”
She read the working and saw that it was true. This was some kind of transference ritual.
Transferring his life.
“Makiel, stop,” she ordered.
“My name was Tommess,” he said. “And I intended to give up my position on our return anyway. Consider this my revenge.”
When she realized what he meant, she gave one dry laugh.
“He will hate this,” Suriel agreed.
By the way Ozriel reckoned things, he would consider it a loss to be resurrected at the cost of Makiel’s life. A loss he would never be able to wipe off.
Though the outward signs were few, Suriel felt the life fading from inside Makiel. He became less with every passing second.
And her blue, healing fire grew stronger and stronger.
“It’s going to work,” she assured him.
The wrinkles by Makiel’s eyes deepened as he smiled. “I know. I know…everything.”
It was perhaps the most like Ozriel the man had ever sounded.
The second the light in his eyes faded, Ozriel reappeared in a column of sapphire flames.
He looked down at his hands and patted his own chest in disbelief. “You really did it! I said I was counting on you, but I didn’t actually believe you could do it.”
“Makiel—” Suriel began, but Ozriel waved away the rest of her sentence.
“I know,” he said. He gazed at the body floating in space, and Suriel saw the weight of ages and the sadness of the Reaper reflected in him again.
“I know everything,” Ozriel said softly.
Lindon Consumed a spear from the Bleeding Phoenix before it crashed through the center of a city. Undirected blood madra still sprayed all over the buildings, but that much they could handle.
As Lindon cycled the power to refresh his body and spirit, he consulted with Dross.
Can we hold on?
[I’ve told them how long we have! At this rate, we’ll be lucky to last another minute.]
Lindon had trouble recognizing his own emotions. On the one hand, this was the first time he felt hope in this battle against the Dreadgods. On the other, all his bridges away had been cut.
If they won here, the world was changed.
If they lost…in the best-case scenario, he would be stuck behind alone. In the worst-case, he would finish his transformation into a monster and destroy Cradle himself.
The Wandering Titan hurled a golden bolt of Forged madra the size of a small mountain. Lindon would dodge, except the Phoenix had carved out a globe of madra that isolated him from the rest of the world. The spatial barrier would break when the Titan’s attack crashed into it, but then it would be too late to avoid it.
He had no choice but to block.
Lindon filled the globe with the Hollow Domain and himself with the Soul Cloak. When the Titan’s Forger technique crashed through the spatial barrier, Lindon punched it.
Though the attack was vastly larger than his body, his strike cracked it into pieces from top to bottom. The fabric of space trembled and quaked from the collision of forces.
[Now would be the time to do a countdown,] Dross said, [but I don’t want to depress you.]
The Dreadgods had locked Lindon in place for long enough. Now, they were closing in.
His Empty Palm tore away a chunk of the Titan’s Enforcer technique, but he deflected a beam of light from the Phoenix just a beat too late. That put him a moment behind when trading blows with the Wandering Titan, so he was even further behind.
Lindon didn’t need Dross to show him the potential outcomes narrowing. He could feel the inevitable end of the fight closing in with every imperfect block sending shockwaves through his body, every forced dodge that strained his spirit.
He still wouldn’t give up. He pushed for every ounce of speed, and for any ideas that might turn the situation around.
But he found that he wasn’t as frightened as he’d expected. If he died here, he still would have made it further than anyone had expected.
And, in a way, this was appropriate. He had always been destined to die at the hands of the Dreadgods.
[Now!] Dross shouted, but he wasn’t talking to Lindon. A white light flashed in front of Lindon’s face, and for a moment, the world lost all color.
Yerin’s six spread sword-arms rang like an entire cathedral full of bells.
The Endless Sword technique tore into the other two Dreadgods. Powered by a Monarch and with the influence of the Death Icon, the technique chipped pieces out of the Wandering Titan and splattered tiny chunks of the Bleeding Phoenix.
To the Dreadgods, that was the equivalent of a scratch from a branch. Lindon himself could have walked through the technique and sustained only minor injuries, much less the Wandering Titan.
But it had come at the right time.
The pressure lifted, and Lindon saw a way out. He flew through a gap between the Dreadgods, Yerin pushing to keep pace with him.
“Gratitude,” Lindon said between heavy breaths.
“Bleed and bury me, that was too close!” Yerin shouted. “You cut it too close, Dross! You hearing me? If I listen to you again, it’s because I’m cracked in the head! One more second, and he’d be Dreadgod food!”
[Oh, less than that. But you made it! You did make it, so no harm done. In fact, I think I deserve praise.]
Lindon’s Empty Palm blasted apart a parting shot from the Phoenix. “Where are the others?”
He was asking Yerin, but Dross responded. [They’re not quite so fast as Yerin, but you’ll find out yourself in three…two…]
Five powerful spirits stepped out of a portal nearby, and Lindon felt them arrive. Two of them unveiled themselves, tapping into their Icons as a form of introduction.
A detailed, steel-plated shield shared space in the sky with a shining, blooming flower.
Even the Dreadgods slowed down, though they didn’t retreat. Lindon weighed the spiritual pressure of both sides.
Sha Miara, Reigan Shen, and two Dreadgods.
Emriss Silentborn, the Eight-Man Empire, Mercy, Ziel, and Yerin.
Mentally, Lindon split the enemies in half. “Which Dreadgod would you like?” he asked.
Yerin snorted. “Give you two guesses, and the first doesn’t count.”
Lindon spoke again, and Dross relayed his words to the others on the battlefield. “Everyone, I would be grateful if you could contain the Bleeding Phoenix and keep the enemy Monarchs away from me. I will face the Wandering Titan.”
Ziel’s muttered voice sounded like it was coming from next to Lindon’s ear. “Advance to Archlord, he’s a Sage. Advance to Sage, he’s a Dreadgod. Advance to Monarch, he’s off to kill a Dreadgod on his own.”
A moment passed, and then Ziel’s voice came again. “Dross? You didn’t send that to him, did you?”
Yerin started to fly off, but hesitated and turned back to him. “Didn’t mean to advance, swear on my soul. Got a little lost. Then Dross told us the trouble you were in…You’ll catch up to us in half a second, okay?”
Lindon forced a smile. “All that matters is that you’re alive.”
He was trying not to think about what was going to happen after the battle. Especially since they still had Dreadgods left to kill.