Reaper(Cradle #10)(121)

It had to be him. He was wearing one-of-a-kind armor, and he hadn’t changed his appearance at all.

But Ozriel still didn’t recognize him. His senses insisted that this couldn’t be Daruman. It simply wasn’t him.

The conclusion was as intriguing to Ozriel as it was impossible. He had found a way to disguise his own existence, even from Judges.

Ozriel stepped through space and into the upper atmosphere, where Daruman had created a new body for himself.

The Judge leaned his Scythe against his armored shoulder. “That’s a fine mask you have there. Where did you get it?”

Oth’kimeth, the Fiend sealed inside Daruman, snarled defiance. The red suns that were the Mad King’s eyes blazed, and he stabbed out with a bone sword.

Even as a mortal, Daruman had been powerful enough to challenge world-eaters. A blow from him should have blighted the planet.

But he was holding back. When his sword met the Scythe, space cracked and reality warped, but it didn’t break.

The Vroshir didn’t want to attract attention, which suited Ozriel just fine. He didn’t want the attention of the other Judges any more than the Mad King did.

The quiet battle between the two still obliterated stars and left holes in space.

With each exchange, Ozriel became more confident. This was certainly the Mad King. There was an extremely short list of individuals who could trade blows with Ozriel’s Scythe.

And if this was the Mad King, then he had created something that hid him from the Way. A veil on his existence itself.

Finally, as they drifted back down to the central planet of Limit, Daruman himself spoke. His voice was hollow, echoing with the emptiness of the Void.

“You hide as I do, Ozriel. Let us go our separate ways. Inquire no further into my purpose, and I will likewise respect yours.”

Ozriel gave him a mocking smile. “I can let you run…but I can’t let you keep that.”

He swung his Scythe through the veil that he’d finally isolated. A black cloth, like a delicate weave of smoke wrapped around Daruman’s soul.

The Scythe tore it to pieces, and it faded into visibility, drifting down toward the planet as scraps of cloth. They warped and twisted the world as they fell, each scrap more powerful and significant than this entire Iteration. If he left them alone, they would ascend to a higher world just by virtue of their existence.

He wouldn’t leave them alone, of course.

The Mad King took advantage of the strike on the shroud to flee, and Ozriel knew the man well enough to know that this defeat would burn his pride. Well, good. He deserved it.

Just in case, he looked into Fate to make sure that this wouldn’t prompt the Mad King to ruin his plans. He was certain that it wouldn’t. The Vroshir wouldn’t discover Ozriel’s absence before decades had passed, and the other Judges should keep them locked down.

Ozriel wasn’t leaving existence undefended, after all. Makiel and Razael were both able to match Ozriel in battle, at least when it came to open combat.

Only if the Mad King managed to find or create a truly devastating weapon could he be a threat while Ozriel was gone, and that possibility was vanishingly remote. It was only slightly more likely than Makiel disbanding the entire Court of Seven and joining the Vroshir.

So Ozriel put that prospect out of his mind and gathered up the pieces of the fallen veil.

This Origin Shroud would change everything. With that bound to him, he could hide under the noses of the other Judges themselves.

He would need to repair it, so it was a good thing he was the greatest craftsman Cradle had ever produced.

But now, his criteria for a hiding place had changed. He had presumed that he would be discovered in only a few years, but if not…if he could go without discovery indefinitely…

Then this was a chance to start over.

To make a new home.



Record complete.





Lindon desperately wanted to leave the labyrinth, but he held himself back.

He could leave. This place was only ever intended as a prison for one being: Subject One. With the Dreadgod’s borrowed authority, he could eject himself to the upper layers, and then leave on his own. Just as he had done to Reigan Shen.

But with his senses hooked up to the labyrinth, he could also vaguely sense what was happening above him.

Reigan Shen and his Sages had their spirits unveiled. Northstrider and Malice were there too, and Lindon couldn’t sense his friends.

He gritted his teeth and stopped himself from leaving. If he ejected himself from the labyrinth right into Shen’s control, he would have accomplished nothing.

[We are perched on the precipice of greatness,] Dross whispered. [Plunge over the edge, and see what you may become.]

Lindon hefted Subject One’s arm in his own. “Can the labyrinth get rid of Reigan Shen?”

[It is connected only to itself, but the limbs of the labyrinth are long.] The darker Dross stretched out his own tentacles in illustration. [With no suppression field and no prisoner, it may draw your enemies deep and cast them to the ends of the earth!]

Lindon took that as a “yes.”

Subject One’s body was still slumped in the throne, which was covered by gray-white growths of flesh. Lindon held a hand over it and reached out his senses.

The humanoid Dreadgod had held dominion over this entire labyrinth…but not totally. It was older than he was, and deeper, made by those with greater knowledge and power.