Uncrowned (Cradle Book 7)

by Will Wight

  Weakness.

  How do I fix a broken Lindon? I think mine needs replaced.

  “Fighting her will hurt us both, Dross,” Lindon says. He cannot speak in his own voice, but Dross understands him. “It will be better if she wins.”

  Yes, is this the Soulsmith? Can you transplant a Remnant spine into my sacred artist?

  “I'm not going to hurt her. It isn't worth it.”

  You're hurting her now!

  Lindon hesitates, bringing his attention back to Yerin's expression. Anger was her response to pain.

  “I’m giving her what she wants.”

  She wants you to listen to her, Dross says. His mental voice is quiet.

  Lindon has no response.

  She wants you to see her full power, and she wants you to trust her to handle yours. She wants to see the real Lindon, not…is it too much to call you a cringing wreck? That sounds like too much.

  Lindon watches her face. Yerin has been angry with him before, but never so disappointed.

  He wants her to be happy with him. Proud of him.

  He wants to show her how far he's come.

  Now, are you going to show her?

  Lindon lets out a mental sigh. “I thought you didn't understand humans.”

  I don’t understand any of this. But I do listen.

  Lindon steels himself. For the first time, he turns his mind to the problem in front of him. To defeating his rival.

  “If we're going to do this,” Lindon says, “then we're going to win.”

  Report complete.

  ~~~

  “DROSS!” Yerin roared, the Final Sword taking shape around her blade. It looked like a massive madra replica of her weapon, complete with hilt and guard. It was hazy at the edges and translucent, not as smooth or complete as her master’s, but she could sense its power even so. And now she was turning it against Lindon.

  She was furious. Furious with Northstrider, first off, because pitting them against each other had been a sneaky trick. That was the move of a coward and a thief, not a Monarch.

  And every second the fight crawled on, she grew angrier with Lindon. In his other fights, he had been amazing. She wanted to fight that Lindon. She wanted to test herself, to see if she could measure up, and to show him what she could do. In a fair world, they would have only faced each other after they were both Uncrowned, but who lived in a fair world?

  When she had seen Lindon against her in this arena, she had been bitterly disappointed, but also excited. Where else except this tournament could they fight without holding back?

  She had hoped he would feel the same way.

  Yerin fell, plunging her massive technique down on Lindon's shield. The bright silver-and-white light of her technique Forged into a heavenly sword that crashed into him like a deadly wave. Madra screamed as the two powers clashed, sending off blinding sparks, and the ground rumbled with the force.

  The Final Sword chewed through his barrier in seconds, and her heart dropped. Dross hadn't been able to persuade him either.

  This was not how she wanted to win her crown.

  The last of the barrier shattered, but as soon as she was through, her blade clanged against something solid. And stopped.

  The sword Wavedancer. Its broad blue-tinged bulk hovered over Lindon like a second shield.

  But it could only block so much. A waterfall of silver power still thundered down onto Lindon, washing over the flying sword.

  Her feet only touched the ground as her technique began to fade, and she pulled her master's blade away. The sword-light died. For an instant, she expected to be jerked away from the arena instantly, her anger still unsatisfied.

  Then she realized Lindon's presence hadn't disappeared.

  A solid turtle's shell rushed at her chin. Yerin caught it on one of her sword-arms, but Lindon had anticipated that. He pivoted into her, plunging his white fist into her gut.

  Breath rushed from her lungs and she flew back, head ringing. Her spiritual perception caught the madra lingering around his skin, and she realized what he'd done. He had blasted pure madra from all over his body, covering him in an inch of spiritual armor. Eithan's technique.

  The sword-aura had still passed through, which he must have weakened with soulfire control. But he couldn't have stopped everything that way.

  Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of him as he followed her. He was covered in blood...but his eyes had life in them. He loomed over her, blood matting down his black hair, shield braced in his left hand and his Remnant hand still tightened into a fist. Wavedancer hovered over his shoulder.

  Though his clothes were torn and madra essence streamed from cracks in his shield, his spiritual pressure pushed against her like she was facing a deadly enemy.

  Finally, Lindon had shown up to the fight.

  Before even landing, she spun in the air, sweeping her master's sword at him. She had dropped her Flowing Sword technique already, so this was a raw hit with no Enforcer technique, but her strength was enough that it would send him flying and create some space.

  The Burning Cloak sprung up around him, outlining him in black and red. Her sword passed over his head as he ducked low.

  And she lost him as he vanished.

  Her spiritual sense followed him as his burst of speed carried him behind her. She landed while striking out behind her with her Goldsigns.

  Lindon didn't step into their reach. Instead, three feet from her back, he shoved both of his hands forward.

  Two bars of dragon's breath shot toward her.

  She almost wasn't fast enough to react. Her six sword-arms closed into a cage behind her, flowing with her madra and with quick flames of soulfire.

  The Blackflame madra hit, the heat searing her back and her spirit, but her madra held it off. Still, she wasn’t on the Path of the Endless Shield. If she let him land hits, he’d roast her alive.

  Reaching her perception inside her spirit, Yerin called for help.

  The Blood Shadow peeled away from her front, a spiritual copy of Yerin in shades of crimson. As it materialized, it drew the black sword from Yerin's second sheath.

  Ruby lips twisted into a smile as Yerin's red copy saw the opponent.

  “Lindon,” the Shadow whispered, drawing out his name. The parasite laughed as it leaped over Yerin, swinging its blade down at Lindon's head. Scarlet hair trailed behind it, and its laughter was like a bubbling swamp.

  Yerin would have preferred not to call the Shadow against Lindon. It had some strange fascination with him. But if she wanted Lindon to let loose, she had to do the same.

  The stream of dragon's breath cut off as Lindon defended himself, his shield knocking the black sword aside. Without pressure on her, Yerin turned and joined the fight.

  Now they were back to where the fight had started: Yerin on the offensive and Lindon scrambling to save himself with his shield.

  But there was a world of difference this time.

  Soul Cloak flowing around him, Lindon moved like a new person. His shield stopped her blade, its binding activated for a fraction of a second to block the aura of her Endless Sword, while with the other hand he drove a massive Empty Palm at the Blood Shadow.

  The huge blue-white palm print crippled the Shadow for a moment, but he had already begun a new attack. His eyes became red circles on darkness, and his calm blue-white nimbus turned to furious black-and-red. Powered by the Burning Cloak, he dashed back from Yerin’s Striker technique, struck the paralyzed Blood Shadow with a backhand blow of his shield, and swept a finger-wide dragon's breath at Yerin.

  He wasn't as strong as she was, so he never met her blows strength-for-strength. He deflected at just the right angle, slipped aside by inches, dodging and counterattacking in the same fluid motions.

  He fought Yerin and her Blood Shadow, directly, without backing down. Guided by Dross and his new combat training, he moved as though he could see her every motion a second in advance.

  Together, in that empty world, they danced.
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  Yerin's anger had blown away. She exulted in the fight, and whenever she had to abandon an attack to stop a stream of deadly madra aimed at her face, joy built in her heart.

  This was it. This was what she wanted.

  Lindon saw her at her best, and he moved up to meet her. She didn't need to hold back for him...and he pushed her forward too.

  To match each other, they needed to be at their peak.

  Her spirit shouted a warning, and she cast her perception upward. A broad, swirling bank of black and red aura hung over their heads like stormclouds. Every time Lindon switched to Blackflame madra, he molded the aura a little more, gathering it, setting it spinning. Preparing his Ruler technique.

  While fighting, he was building a Void Dragon's Dance.

  Yerin laughed out loud. She and her Blood Shadow leaped away from Lindon without a signal, creating distance. She reversed her grip on her master's sword, holding it point-down.

  Lindon didn't wait for her to use the technique. He reached up with his left hand, extending Blackflame madra, pulling a cyclone of fire and destruction from the sky. In an instant, it would consume the entire stage. She had nowhere to hide.

  “Surprise,” Yerin said.

  She activated her master's sword.

  ~~~

  It had taken Lindon and Dross both to the point of exhaustion to keep up with Yerin and her Shadow. His madra channels and body throbbed with the effort of switching cores so many times so quickly while fighting. They had pushed his body, mind, and spirit to the limit.

  It had been exhilarating, but he couldn’t enjoy it yet. He had to win. For that, he had prepared his Void Dragon’s Dance.

  Weaving the Ruler technique while keeping Yerin's attention all on him had been nothing short of a miracle, but he'd done it. He felt when her perception rose to the sky and she and her Shadow leaped away, preparing their defenses. He had caught her.

  But when he pulled spinning fire from the sky, certain in his victory, Yerin's sword burst into icy white light.

  It glowed, sharp and cold, for just an instant. Yerin had carried that sword for three years, since the day after they'd met. He had never seen her activate the binding, never heard her talk about it.

  He'd forgotten it.

  [I, uh, I did not model that.]

  White Archlord madra swallowed up the stage.

  Frigid cold pierced Lindon to the bone as ice madra saturated the air. White haze swallowed the entire arena-world, now a domain of wintry fog. He could still see clearly, but the cold seeped through his muscles, stinging his spirit.

  Sharp white stars hung in the air, like snowflakes frozen mid-fall. They resonated with sword aura, like the points of ten thousand knives.

  On top of all that, there was something...strange about this world of frozen blades. He was finding it hard to move. Either this madra had aspects he couldn't sense that were holding him in place, or there was another property to this technique. Even his madra seemed half-frozen, his cycling as sluggish as honey in winter.

  Yerin sagged onto the ground, holding herself up by her master's sword. Sweat ran down her face, and she heaved deep breaths, her spirit weak. She had strained herself to activate an Archlord binding. Lindon couldn't believe she'd done it at all. She met his eyes, glowing with satisfaction.

  [You know what’s amazing? Those Diamond Veins,] Dross said. [One big technique after another, and she hasn’t even torn her madra channels apart. She really got the best of you in the prize department, didn’t she?]

  Yerin may have had to recover from the sword's technique, but her Blood Shadow didn't. The spirit moved easily through the frozen space, smiling, holding a black sword in her pink-tinged hand. She swept a Striker technique at him, winking as she did.

  In an instant, Lindon and Dross ran through his options. He had several. All of them required a sacrifice, so he chose the one he preferred.

  While the silver-and-red wave of madra rushed at him, Lindon poured madra and soulfire into his right hand.

  Back when he’d advanced to Underlord, he had absorbed the power of the Archstone. It hadn’t replaced the binding in his arm, it had only altered his original technique…and made it stronger.

  Now, he pushed that binding beyond its limits. Hunger madra rushed out, drawing in everything, as though his hand had become a hungry void.

  The Blood Shadow skidded to a halt on the ground, fighting the pull, clawing her way backward. Yerin rose to her feet, gathering her power and preparing to attack.

  Lindon's entire mind and soul were caught up in guiding the technique. The arm was already beginning to splinter; if he lost control for one second, the limb would explode with the technique incomplete, and he would be at the center of a massive detonation of unstable madra.

  The arm, set free, howled with gluttony. It greedily consumed all the spiritual energy in the space. The Striker technique swirled into him, along with the pale strands of icy madra from the Sage's sword. The freezing white mist flowed like a river into his arm...and almost burst it. The Archlord madra was far beyond anything the arm—or Lindon—could contain.

  When the wintry world started to crumble, Lindon's spirit reached its end.

  Dross, help! Lindon begged.

  [Uh, listen, I will. I'm not saying I won't. But that's going to be it from me, do you hear me? It's going to take everything I have.]

  Just do it!

  Without another word, the spirit added his will to Lindon's.

  The Remnant arm had begun to burst at the seams, leaking madra, but together the two managed to wrench the spiritual power around. He used his pure madra to push it, direct it, keep it from consuming his spirit from the inside. His hand had devoured some of the essence, but there was far more than it could contain.

  It was all too powerful for Lindon to contain, but he could push it in a certain direction. Guide it.

  He vented it toward Yerin.

  A river of pale madra far bigger than Lindon's body thundered out of him, deafening as it tore the air. It was a rush of white and silver light, with streaks of red and even black. The unstable, imbalanced rush of power sprayed over Yerin's entire half of the stage, engulfing her and her Blood Shadow.

  Focused, it would have easily destroyed them both. But Lindon couldn't focus it—he could only channel it.

  When the deluge ended, he staggered, his arm hanging limp at his side and hissing out madra. His vision doubled, and his spirit screamed in pain. His pure core was tapped out, and Dross was exhausted.

  But he had decided to win. Yerin wanted him to give this his very best, and he wasn't done yet.

  Before the massive cloud of madra had settled, Lindon readied his one good arm and tapped his Blackflame core.

  ~~~

  Working together, Yerin and her Blood Shadow managed to turn the tide of overwhelming madra that Lindon had managed to send their direction.

  It had been close.

  They had stood shoulder-to-shoulder, swords out and shining with madra, fighting the river of power with everything they had. Her Shadow laughed the entire time, even as the mix of spiritual energy screamed around them, and for once Yerin agreed.

  This was what it meant to go all-out.

  Her Blood Shadow lost power, bleeding ribbons of madra. Yerin's whole body trembled with effort, her madra pouring out of her like water from a leaky bucket. A little more control, and the attack would have wiped them both out.

  But Lindon couldn't direct an Archlord's madra any more than she could. Together, she and the Shadow hung on until the flow tapered off.

  When it did, she wobbled on her feet, her own breath harsh in her ears. The unfocused power still hung in the air like a white cloud flashing with dozens of other colors. The chaotic madra blocked out her spiritual perception and all her mundane senses.

  Sweaty hair stuck to her forehead. Her core was dim, almost empty. She could sense the Blood Shadow's weakness as well, but Lindon couldn't be in much better shape. Hurling an attack like tha
t had to be almost the same as taking it head-on. He had to be done.

  A spear of dragon's breath broke the cloud.

  The Blood Shadow took the black-and-red bar of madra on its blade. The spirit stumbled back, falling and catching itself with its sword-arms.

  Yerin slashed a Rippling Sword horizontally through the cloud. She was shooting blind, but maybe she'd get lucky.

  A shield shoved through the white madra, three feet from her face. It shattered her Striker technique, and then turned sideways as Lindon straightened his arm.

  In that moment, she saw him as their enemies always had. He towered over her, built like a guard tower, his eyes burning circles of red on darkness. His clothes were shredded and burned. Drying blood streaked his skin. His right arm hung mangled and useless against his side.

  Her heart swelled with pride.

  Dark fire kindling in his palm reminded her the fight wasn't over. On instinct, she brought up her sword against his budding Striker technique. Though little energy remained in her limbs, her Steelborn Iron body made sure her swing was a vertical blur. She cut through the Blackflame fireball, breaking it, and before Lindon could conjure another, a red Rippling Sword flew at him from the side.

  He turned to face it, and Yerin created space between them.

  This was her last chance. He would outlast her in a prolonged fight; of course he would. He was a madra monster. Even his wounds would heal in time, though she wasn't sure if his Remnant arm would come back. Knowing him, he probably had a way to repair it.