Chapter 17

Deep in a trance, Yerin fought for her soul. And for the lives of the people around her.

She didn't even know where she was. Her body had been moving, she knew, but she couldn't tell where she was or what was happening. She might be all clear to stop struggling. To let go.

That thought whispered to her, and it was too sweet. Too sweet to trust. Out of sheer stubbornness, she clung to her uninvited guest. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd been fighting to keep it from taking over her body. From draining her dry and wearing her like a suit.

Now, she fought to keep it from leaving.

The Blood Shadow wanted nothing more than to tear itself away from her. It strained for freedom, pulling away from her spirit, but she poured the whole force of her spirit and mind on keeping it trapped within.

Why? That was a puzzle and a half. Maybe the Dreadgod was spraying so much power everywhere that the Blood Shadow was getting thirsty. Maybe she was about to beat it, and it was trying to run. Maybe it was finally leaving her alone.

But she didn't need to know why.

The Blood Shadow wanted it, so she was going to stop it.

She almost lost her grip on it when something drove a hole in her madra, but lucky for her, the Shadow itself took the brunt of that hit. It was stunned just as much as she was, so she kept hold. In fact, for a moment, she had the upper hand.

Then something started pulling.

***

Arms of blood madra wrapped around Lindon's pale right arm. They stuck as though they were covered in suckers, and the madra burned where it made contact. Being a Remnant arm, it felt more like burning his spirit than his body, but that was an ache all its own.

His madra channels, already strained by what he'd done with the Thousand-Mile Cloud, felt like tendons on the brink of tearing. The arm was already a burden on his spirit, and activating the binding was worse.

But it was working. The technique embedded in his arm had fastened itself to the heart of the Blood Shadow, and he was pulling it away from Yerin. It peeled back, inch by inch, as he stretched his spirit to its limit.

The binding had released a vortex of white light, which was meant to devour the Shadow, but the parasite fought to feed on the arm instead. They were stuck together as though nailed, but Lindon couldn't pull the Shadow the last few inches. There was still a short tether connecting the Blood Shadow to her core.

A crash came from the door as a bloodspawn exploded through and into the room. The rest of its brood followed, only to meet Mercy's vast black web.

Lindon was out of time.

With one last, wrenching effort, he pulled the Blood Shadow free.

Yerin's body shuddered and shrunk back to the ground, limp. Her chest was heaving, which led him to let out a sigh of relief. His one other concern had been that pulling the parasite free would somehow kill her.

Now, he stopped powering the binding, but the Shadow was still attached to his arm. It was a huge mass, easily half the size of Yerin's body, and most of it was a bulbous shape stuck to Lindon's palm. The rest was wrapped around his arm like the roots of a tree, and he could feel it trying to burrow inside.

It hadn't succeeded yet, but he only had a moment. Focusing the pure madra of his core, he squeezed a little more out of his exhausted spirit. His core was still half-full, but his madra channels were as ragged as old clothes.

In a focused wave, as though striking with an Empty Palm, he thrust as much pure madra as he could out of his right arm.

The Blood Shadow blasted away, losing its grip on him, and Lindon thought he could hear it hiss.

An instant later, he realized it wasn't his imagination at all.

The spiritual parasite was hissing, and snarling, and burbling like a boiling cauldron. All at the same time. It was also contorting into a roughly humanoid shape. It's becoming a bloodspawn, he thought, but he almost immediately realized that was wrong.

Or at least incomplete.

This was darker, thicker, and more real than a bloodspawn. It stood on two feet, not two oozing shapes meant to resemble legs. It had two arms and two hands, not the vague outlines of arms. It still had no face, but it looked as though it had hair. Hair cut straight across the back of her neck.

He was starting to have a bad feeling about this.

Its body inflated to twice its original size, so that now it was more Yerin's size. In fact...

Exactly Yerin's size.

His stomach dropped when a pair of blood-red, razor-sharp blades sprouted from behind its shoulders.

Lindon's spirit was tender as an open wound, and though he tapped into his Blackflame core, he felt as though five more minutes of combat might actually kill him. "Mercy," he called, without taking his eyes from Yerin's Blood Shadow. "Can you spare a little help?"

"I'm...doing...the best I can...over here," she said, her words punctuated by crashes. Blood madra sprayed close to him, but it missed him.

As the Shadow examined its hands, Yerin's eyes snapped open.

"...what did you do?" she whispered.

That struck Lindon like a kick, but he'd already ignited his Burning Cloak. Yerin's sword was lying nearby—they had taken it from her for fear that she would hurt herself with it, and he pulled it out of its sheath.

He had no idea how to use a sword, but he'd learned his lesson from the bloodspawn. Any weapon was better than none. He wasn't about to fight this blood-clone of Yerin with his bare hands.

Lindon lunged, the motion powered by the explosive movements of Blackflame. He slashed through the Shadow...or tried to, as one of its blade-arms caught his white sword with the sound of steel on steel.

"We're dead and buried," Yerin said, struggling to her feet. "It's free."

"We can kill it," Lindon said, with more confidence than he actually felt. Mercy pinned a bloodspawn to the wall, where it exploded, but neither the Blood Shadow nor the other two gave it any notice.

"This is its favorite dance. It drains what it needs, then brings that whole mess back to its mother." Yerin stood frozen, staring at it. "It's how the Dreadgod feeds."

The Blood Shadow finally looked around, though it didn't seem to have eyes. It walked over to the splatters left by one of the bloodspawn and stood in the puddle before the madra dissolved. An instant later, the puddle vanished, and a light slipped up the Shadow's legs.

"It usually kills its host, doesn't it?" Lindon said, keeping his sword trained on it. He was determined to keep his focus on any ray of hope he could find, because the alternative was to sit down and wait for death.

"Kills you or wears you like a mask," she responded dully.

The Blood Shadow's head tilted toward his arm. Mercy cried out, and something sounded like the beating of a drum. There came a great splatter like a dropped bucket of paint.

He glanced back to see her panting and exhausted, seated on the floor, her dragon-headed staff resting on her shoulder. The entire front half of the room was covered in sticky black madra, but there were no more bloodspawn.

"There's one more outcome," Lindon said, still trying to scrape together a hope. "How do the emissaries—"

The parasite moved, and his Burning Cloak ignited once again. It felt like tearing his soul in half.

***

She knew about the emissaries of Redmoon Hall, or people like them. They had gone by different names in different countries, but she'd never met one who had survived the Sword Sage.

Eithan had made it clear as glass that he saw the Blood Shadow as an opportunity for her. A step forward.

But all of those sacred artists had hunted down their parasites with purpose. They had prepared scripts, treasures, and traps. And the least of them she'd ever met was Truegold.

She couldn't do it. This was the demon that had haunted her from the inside for most of her life; she hated it with a burning passion.

And it was the one thing that frightened her.

Under the Burning Cloak, Lindon moved in bursts of speed. The Blood Shadow's motions stopped and stuttered, like it was getting used to its new shape, but it was faster than Lindon. Easily faster. And Lindon used a sword like he'd never seen one before.

She had to fight with him. Together, they might be able to drive the Blood Shadow away.

But her spirit was as exhausted as his was. She'd strained every ounce of her soul trying to keep the Shadow from taking over. In the Dreadgod's light, the parasite was stronger than it had ever been. Fighting would kill them both.

This wasn't her first hopeless fight. She could go down swinging. Maybe the heavens would send them a miracle.

But she could sense bloodspawn overhead, more and more every second. Whatever the new girl had done—Mercy, Yerin thought her name was—it had kept them out for a breath or two. Wouldn't hold for long.

Orthos should be on his way, but she couldn't feel him yet. The Phoenix was choking out her perception, so maybe he was closer than she thought. That was her only hope.

That, or...

If she could control the Shadow, that was one enemy down. One less thing to worry about. And it might make her strong enough that she could keep fighting.

That, or I could be giving them another enemy to worry about, she thought.

The Blood Shadow rushed forward, grabbing Lindon's collar and slamming him into the far wall. The blades on its back knocked the sword from his hand, and grabbed him by the shoulder.

It lifted him by the right shoulder as though he weighed no more than a child. His pale arm thrashed like a trapped snake, but the Blood Shadow stared it down.

Mercy stood up. A bloodspawn exploded at the top of the stairs, its power eating through the black web that protected them, but she didn't look to the sound. The purple in her eyes spread out until it stained the whole eye. Looked like she had gems stuck in her face.

She was about to do something, Yerin reasoned. Too bad she was late.

Yerin's anger and fear had finally come to blows, and she realized which one had always been stronger.

The rage.

She kicked off and dove for the mass of blood that had stolen her shape. It turned, slashing out at her with the blade over her left shoulder.

Yerin had one of those herself.

The two Goldsigns met with a clash, sending up red-and-silver sparks of essence. She grabbed the Blood Shadow, tearing it away from Lindon.

It had taken enough from her. Whatever it wanted, she was going to take.

Right now, it wanted freedom.

The spirit let itself become fluid again, and her hands sunk in to the wrists. The blood madra started to break down her skin, which she felt as burning. Blood madra was good at that; it controlled the body, usually tearing it apart.

That was okay. She could work better from inside.

With her will as much as her spirit, she pulled.

The Blood Shadow resisted, but it was actually easier to haul it back inside than it had been to keep it inside in the first place. It felt like the Dreadgod's aura was helping her, like it was pushing the parasite to take a new body.

It flailed, its blades slashing at her, but she stopped it with her own. With his flesh arm, Lindon seized one of its Goldsigns, wrestling it back.

Yerin gritted her teeth, still pulling. Half of the Shadow had vanished, merging inside her, sinking into her like a statue into a lake. But the top half still fought, reaching for Lindon's arm or stabbing at Yerin's face as though berserk.

Lindon pulled his arm back, and—looking like he was tearing his own skin off—he slammed an Empty Palm into its face.

Stunned, the Shadow slipped into her spirit easy as a sword into a sheath.

Lindon fell back, relaxing, though a troupe of bloodspawn were marching down the stairs. Yerin's spirit was in tatters, but she had succeeded.

Almost.

"Get out," she said, her voice little above a whisper. Mercy looked at her, frowning in confusion, but Lindon seemed to have heard. He just didn't move.

A rope of red madra burst from her core, stretching for Lindon's arm.

She barely caught it with both hands, the force dragging her across the floor. "Why?" she hissed. "Why aren't you running?"

Lindon ignored the Blood Shadow and moved to pick up her sword, walking like a crippled old man. "I'm waiting for you." He glanced up to the creatures on the stairs, then added, "...hurry, though."

She stared after him.

"If the emissaries of Redmoon Hall already did it, you can," he said reasonably.

With that, he ran to support Mercy on the stairs.

When you put it like that, it didn't sound so bad.

Instead of trying to push it back into place with her unsteady and failing madra, Yerin reached out to the Blood Shadow like it was her madra. Her spirit. Part of her.

It resisted her, of course. But this didn't have to do with advancement level. It was pure grit.

As far as that went, she wouldn't lose to anybody.

***

Lindon knew Mercy didn't really need his help. Not as long as her madra lasted, anyway, though based on her heavy breathing and the fading sense of her spirit, that wouldn't be much longer. She held the stairway with webs, keeping the bloodspawn back.

She didn't actually destroy any of them, but she locked them up. When they destroyed themselves unleashing their power, they'd break through, but she put up more barriers.

It was good that he didn't have to do much. Yerin's sword felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Mercy wiped sweat from her forehead, shooting a brief glance back at Yerin. She had been standing in one place, spirit and body still, for...too long.

"Is there anything we can do for her?" Mercy asked, sounding worried.

"We won't need to," he said. Oddly, he was confident. Eithan had implied he thought Yerin could control the Blood Shadow, and others had managed it. Yerin could do it.

And if she didn't...well, then the parasite in her body would kill him, so he wouldn't know any differently.

A bloodspawn compressed itself to slither through a gap in the web—none of them had done that before, and he wondered why. He drove his sword through it, and it froze, then shattered.

That was...strange. The Blood Shadow hadn't done that. Maybe it was a property of the madra that had gone into making the sword's blade; it had always given him the impression of icy cold.

Whatever the reason, he was glad he had a weapon that could oppose the bloodspawn without using his own madra. Because Mercy was running out.

The spirits seemed endless, and as far as he knew, maybe they were. More and more slipped through, and he had to use the sword.

It wasn't long before he could barely hold up the sword, and Mercy was breathing so long she could hardly speak. "I...have...one more trick," she said, panting. "Hoping...to save it...sorry."

Lindon couldn't imagine what she was apologizing for, but before she could do anything, the bloodspawn froze.

They didn't turn to ice, like they did at the touch of the Sword Sage's blade. Instead, they simply...stopped. Like constructs that had run out of power.

Relieved, he turned.

Yerin stood with hand held out, trembling.

And a red shadow stood behind her.

The Blood Shadow wasn't as distinct this time—it looked more like an actual shadow cast by the Dreadgod's bloody light. But it was very clearly standing an inch behind her, mimicking her every move.

"It's about time I gutted that fish," Yerin said, and though she swayed on her feet, her smile was radiant. "Stone simple. Who's in control now, huh?”

Lindon sagged down, sitting on the lid of a nearby jar. His right arm was limp, like it was made out of nothing more than wood and string, and he thought he might have actually torn open a wound in his spirit.

"Knew you'd do it," he said, using what seemed like a great effort to push a smile onto his lips. "Knew you would..."

Finally, a warm presence approached, crashing through the web on the doorway with a roar. Mercy stood abruptly, but he flopped his hand in the air to wave her down.

Orthos stomped through the bloodspawn, splattering them on the stairs, snarling. Two of them burst into dark flames, but the others were just destroyed.

"On time like a rising sun, you are," Yerin said, releasing her Blood Shadow.

Orthos growled, but shook his head to show he couldn't speak. He chomped into a nearby jar, crunching mouthfuls of the uncooked rice within.

Finger on her chin, Mercy looked at Yerin. "Does that let you command the bloodspawn?"

"Just cut them off from the mother," Yerin said, then winced. "...the Dreadgod." She brightened. "And I can do this."

The Blood Shadow formed fully this time, as though it were going to attack, and Lindon couldn't help but flinch. It stood next to Yerin...but this time, a red line stretched between their feet. The Shadow jumped up and down, waving its arms.

"It's a new weapon," Yerin said, re-absorbing the spirit. "I'll need practice."

"That's amazing," Mercy said in awe. "Can you—" She cut off, her head whirling to one side. "Oh no..."

Lindon didn't need another "oh no" in his life.

Mercy threw herself onto the ground. "She's here!" she shouted. "Get down!"

A new presence stabbed into his spirit like a light seared into his eyes. He let himself fall to the ground.

And the house above them was torn away.

It was as though a shovel the size of a mountain had scooped out the ground in a second. Between one instant and the next, the view above Lindon transformed from a dirt ceiling to a red-stained sky.

He had seen nothing but a wave of dark purple. Felt nothing but overwhelming, crushing power.

Mercy was pulling on his left arm, urging him to get up, to run. He stumbled after her, though Orthos was actually leading the way. He had bolted up the stairs like a spooked rabbit.

"Can't stay here," Mercy shouted over the rushing wind. "We need to find another—"

Whatever she was going to say was obliterated by an unimaginable crash. The sun went dark.

A wall of purple-edged darkness covered everything to the west. An enormous tower of crystalline amethyst rose from one end of the wall. And there was something above even that, something that blacked out the sky...

Mercy pulled on him again, and Yerin lurched out in front, so he followed.

An instant later, the wall vanished.

Wind actually pulled him off his feet, sending him tumbling down the street, so he lost himself for a moment. When he looked up again, the tower was gone.

No...it had moved.

The Dreadgod had taken to the sky, farther away now, but still incomprehensibly vast. It's sickle-like beak opened, and though its screech still pained his ears, it was nothing like before.

Now, it was focused on its opponent.

A giant stood beneath it, holding a spear. A giant covered from head to toe in armor of dark purple crystal. From the smooth facets of its face, a pair of violet pinpricks shone with light.

It was many miles away—how many, Lindon couldn't begin to guess—and he could still see it clearly. How large was it? There was a mountain by its knees, and when it adjusted its stance, half of the mountain crumbled away.

His brain finally snapped the pieces into place, and his jaw slackened. What he had taken as a wall covering everything to the west was just one of its boots. The tower had been its leg.

There came a flash of color and power as the two monsters exchanged blows, but he couldn't even catch a glimpse. A wall of heat and pressure pushed against Lindon's face. The skin of his scalp pressed back against him, and his eyes spiked with pain.

He fell back, but raised two fingers to his eye. Blood ran like tears.

As his Iron body pulled the last of his madra to heal his eyes, he saw bloodspawn rise from the ground…until Yerin reached out a hand and dispersed them to nothing.

First his ears, then his eyes. Though his Bloodforged Iron body had healed him so far, that still couldn't be good for him.

A black web snagged him and dragged him along the dirt road. Mercy and Yerin hauled him in, stuffing him down into a cellar door.

He fought them, though none of them had much strength at the moment. "Please," he begged them, "please, I have to see."

This was real power. These were the sacred arts that could stand over the entire world.

In this case, literally.

Mercy pushed him deeper, casting fearful glances behind her. "If we don't get down, we will die. Trust me."

He still struggled. "I beg you! I have to see this."

She halted for a second, though the wind grabbed her ponytail and tossed it around. "She’ll be fighting for days.”

Lindon stared at Mercy. Yerin, who had most of her body down the stairs already, looked up and peeked out.

"How do you figure that?" she asked. The armor covered the figure completely, and there was nothing to say if it was a man or a woman.

"I think she knows who it is," Lindon said, watching Mercy's expression.

"I should," she responded. "That's my mother."

A blazing crimson light crashed into a shining amethyst blur, and Mercy shoved Lindon the rest of the way inside. The last he saw was a wall of dust and debris headed their way before the door shut it all out.