Dreadgod (Cradle Book 11) (99)

Lindon couldn’t spare much concentration; even listening to Dross was loosening his grip and weakening his focus.

But he was sure that sounded like a bad idea. Slowing down the dream meant his body would be vulnerable.

[That is what I mean, yes,] Dross conceded. [But it also means we can get help. And I’m pretty sure help is on the way.]

“No help can come for you,” the Silent King said casually. “You’ve done well to hold on so far. Give it another year or two and we’ll really see what you’re made of.”

The Dreadgod’s voice was strong again, and Lindon didn’t have the awareness to wonder whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But he felt the white space shake when Dross struck. It was like a purple earthquake.

The Dreadgod’s voice shivered with it, and came back mid-sentence. “…worthwhile. Who can help you here?”

Dross struck again, and it was like Lindon was trapped inside a drum.

The Dreadgod’s pressure let up, and Lindon had enough time to realize how much stolen power was running through his spirit. If he didn’t vent some of it, his Paths were going to get corrupted.

So Lindon struck out with dream madra, Dross shaped it, and Lindon added to it the weight of his authority.

“Even if you escape, what will it—”

“Begone,” Lindon commanded.

The Void Icon wiped out the dream, and Lindon came to realize he was on the ground with his right arm stretched out toward the Dreadgod in the distance.

His channels were still bursting with dream madra, and he quickly Forged it.

A purple-white ring spun into existence all around him, semi-solid and overflowing with power that radiated brightly in his spiritual sense. If he didn’t know better, he would say it felt like it was made of Monarch scales.

[Void key!] Dross insisted. [Void key, quick! Before somebody takes it!]

Dross opened Lindon’s void key himself, without waiting for a response, and Lindon tossed the ring in. It tried to sink through the floor, but a void space was limited. It wouldn’t get far.

Dross materialized, and he shone violet, sending up sparks from his eye and his teeth. [Wow, and I thought I was strong before! When I finish digesting this, I’ll be…meaty.] He flexed one tentacle, which suddenly bulged with muscle. [See? See, Lindon? This is what you said I’d—]

Lindon stood and threw his arms around Dross.

“Welcome back,” Lindon whispered. His eyes burned with tears.

Dross returned the embrace and sighed. [Sorry. I made you suffer longer than I meant to.]

Lindon stepped back, though it turned into a stagger. His thoughts were difficult to arrange, and he felt like his nose should be bleeding. But his spirit blazed with power.

[Yeah, you’re in very strange shape.] Dross looked him up and down. [Your thoughts are going to need some genius mind-spirit to stitch them back together, but you stole enough energy from the Dreadgod that your spirit is better than ever. Once I finish sorting all this dream-aura, your mind and I will both be…well, if minds could advance, we’d be doing that.]

Lindon moved dizzily, but he could feel a battle shaking the ground. He tested his arm and found it unharmed.

And still hungry. Always hungry.

The Silent King’s army still fought in the distance, but the Void was steadily closing. Malice stood in front of that while another familiar presence fell down from the sky. Trailing a red dragon of blood and hunger madra.

Northstrider.

“Is that the help we were waiting for?” Lindon asked.

[I thought him distracting the Dreadgod was our only chance, but you outperformed my expectations. I thought the Silent King would…hm. Is there a more flattering term than ‘eat you like a mouse?’]

Lindon let the sound of Dross’ familiar chatter wash over his chaotic jumble of thoughts like a soothing rain. As he did, he watched the battle.

Northstrider’s attack landed on the King and blasted away a significant chunk of the army below, but he had only destroyed an illusion.

Lindon pointed to a gray, washed-out shape sneaking away from the fight. It was hard to concentrate fully, but it looked almost like the silhouette of a giant tiger.

“And what’s that?” Lindon asked.

Dross peered into the distance. His eye widened.

[If I had to guess—and I do, since elaborate guessing is my job—I would say that we’ve eaten enough of the Silent King’s madra that we can identify it in person.]

“I see,” Lindon said.

His anger that resonated with the Void Icon had not gone away. If anything, it burned deeper and colder than before.

“You saw all of its memories that I did?”

[In a few seconds, I think my model will be very accurate. The Silent King’s mental assault is its deadliest power. Physically, it’s…well, it’s still a Dreadgod, but a small one.]

“Dross,” Lindon said, “show me.”



Information requested: how to rid the world of the Silent King.

Beginning report…

Whoa, I can see so much more now! It’s like the future was covered in smoke, but it’s gone now. Was it me that changed, or the world? What a great view to appreciate at another time, when your brain isn’t simmering.

For now, let’s take a look at the patterns of this army.