Reaper(Cradle #10)(117)

The Blood Sage, Silent Sage, and Storm Sage arrived first, followed soon after by the Herald of Abyssal Palace.

To them, he presented a sealed silver box. “I have succeeded,” he said gravely.

All their eyes lit up at once. As well they should. This binding was the mythical item that their idols had sought since time immemorial.

“The enhancement field is functioning at full capacity,” Red Faith reported. “However, with Subject One removed, the hunger aura will exceed our containment at any time. I recommend we hurry.”

“We should,” Reigan agreed. “I will begin the process. One of you stand guard here.”

All four cult leaders gave him a blank look.

“Why?” the Storm Sage asked. He wore his confusion so openly that Reigan wanted to claw his face off.

The masked Herald of Abyssal Palace placated him. “We will place our best sacred artists here.”

“No. Yourselves. Do it…” He caught himself, took a deep breath, and moderated his tone before these allies. “…because I have requested it of you.”

The Storm Sage shrugged both shoulders and sank to the ground, leaning his back against the door and whistled idly. He snatched up a flower and started pulling its petals off one by one.

Red Faith gnawed on one finger as he gazed on Reigan Shen, and as usual, Reigan couldn’t tell if the Sage was sizing him up for a betrayal or lapsing into drooling lunacy.

“Do you have a question, Red Faith?” Reigan Shen asked.

He was weakened badly after such a long stay in the labyrinth, and the Sage knew it better than anyone. But one advantage of being Reigan Shen is that no one else knew what cards you had to play.

Even when your hand was empty.

Reigan met the Sage’s eyes with complete calm, and eventually Red Faith pointed to the sky with a bleeding finger.

“As I said, it will be for the best if we hurry.”

Without waiting any further, Reigan Shen seized the wind aura—it was all but the last of his soulfire—and drifted into the air. He held the silver box aloft, and he projected his voice with Herald lungs. He didn’t trust the rest of his soulfire to carry his voice.

“I am the Emperor of the Rosegold continent, and I have returned in glory. I invite my peers to witness my triumph.”

The Eight-Man Empire appeared first, of course; Reigan wouldn’t be making a speech if his allies weren’t closer than his enemies. Some hovered in the air near him, some lounged on clouds, and some stayed on the ground.

But their presence made it clear that they would defend him when Malice and Northstrider drifted closer.

The two human Monarchs were side-by-side, Northstrider muscled but covered in rags and Malice finely dressed but soft. Neither of their appearances did them justice, in Reigan Shen’s opinion.

Malice’s voice was carried to him on the wind. “You come to us so boldly, weakened as you are. Tell me, now that you have your prize, how do you plan to leave with it?”

Northstrider simply glared.

“Why do I feel like I have been severely underestimated?” Reigan asked. Now that he was back in his element, with aura nourishing him more at every second and his own spirit restoring his body, he was starting to enjoy himself.

“As I said all along, we could have shared this bounty together. I would have relished your wealth of experience—both of you—and would have been willing to set aside our years of rivalry for mutual benefit.”

“Is that what you told Tiberian?” Malice asked.

Reigan raised his eyebrows and looked from one of his peers to the other. “Tiberian wanted us to kill the Dreadgods and ascend. Would you have allowed that?”

Now that he’d recovered some of his power, he could spend a fraction on theatrics. He summoned a goblet and a jar of wine. A construct poured for him.

“I interrupted my work for this,” Northstrider said. “I will not come all this way and then allow you to escape.”

“Ah, but you see, I don’t need to escape.”

With one hand, Reigan Shen lifted the goblet to his lips. With the other, he tapped the silver cube in a throwaway gesture. It unfolded, unveiling the core binding of the Slumbering Wraith.

Its authority screamed through reality, warping the world in an invisible vortex. Color seemed to leech from everything, and immediately an image formed in the sky overhead.

A widened mouth full of sharpened fangs.

The Hunger Icon.

The Sages braced themselves against the exposed power of Subject One, but none of the Monarchs batted an eye. The Eight-Man Empire, protected as they were by their armor, looked on only with interest.

Malice’s eyes shone purple, and she radiated fury, ready to summon her armor at any second. “If you call the Dreadgods here, you will all perish with us, I promise you that.”

Reigan feigned surprise. “Here? I don’t need them here. Not yet.”

Then he activated the binding in his palm.

Invisible power and white aura thundered out from him, traveling along invisible, metaphysical paths. He had never known this was possible, never gained the insight necessary into the mechanics of reality, until Tiberian gave him the hint.

Then he’d researched on his own. He’d consulted with the Sage of Red Faith, even gathering the Dreadgod cults to gain their knowledge on the invincibility of the Dreadgods.