Underlord (Cradle #6)(50)

Mercy lowered her bow and actually responded to the Underlady.

“No!” she shouted.

And that said it all, really.

Meira reversed her grip on her scythe, leaning forward like she was about to use quarterstaff techniques. Yerin had trouble thinking of a scythe as a practical weapon, but the difference in power would make up for that.

“Where is he?” the Underlady asked.

The pressure from her suddenly flared, green light wrapping around her feet, and she dashed forward.

A blink later, Yerin was staring into empty gray eyes from five feet away, with a fiery green blade sweeping up from below.

Yerin jumped to the side, lashing out with the Endless Sword as she did so, and there was a sudden heat on her sword-wrist. Then a chill.

The green flames of the scythe had brushed past her skin. Without even cutting her, it had taken away a chunk of her life aura.

She didn't know much about her lifeline, but she didn't want to lose any of it. It represented the power of her life force itself. Had she lost a day off her lifespan? Or would she be weaker for the rest of her life, if she didn't replace it? She didn't know.

But she wasn't about to take a solid hit from that scythe.

She opened her Copper sight for an instant, bearing the pain that came from opening it in the Night Wheel Valley. She caught a glimpse of a green ball of liquid-looking green life aura hanging in the air where it had been chopped away from her. Meira's scythe swept after it, still hungry, looking for more of Yerin to cut.

Yerin activated the Endless Sword.

The silver aura around her sword rang like a bell, sending force resonating out. Yerin controlled it, directing it like a gust of wind, so an invisible blade struck the haft of Meira's scythe.

The Underlady's blow was knocked backwards, but Meira spun with it, reversing the scythe and bringing the butt of the weapon up toward Yerin's chest. One of Yerin's sword-arm Goldsigns swept up to intercept, and another lashed forward, sending a Rippling Sword technique at her opponent like a deadly crescent moon.

With one sweep of her scythe, Meira knocked the Goldsign aside, crushed Yerin's technique, and forced Yerin back a step. Her strength wasn't too much greater than Yerin's—her Iron body obviously specialized in something different—though she had been reforged in soulfire.

But Yerin wasn’t alone.

Mercy stepped up, radiating the power of a Truegold, firing black arrow after black arrow into the enemy. They seemed to blast from the surrounding shadows, impacting Meira’s wrists like ink stains. They didn’t seem to hurt the Underlady, but they slowed her down, forcing her to spend time and madra burning them away.

Yerin let madra flow into her sword. “So you know, you should keep away from that scythe.”

Mercy gave her a sidelong glance. “I planned on it.”

Light flashed like a green sun rising.

Meira stood, surrounded by a vibrant aura, her blazing scythe held in both hands. Around her, vines rose from the ground; some of them looked to be black roots manipulated by a Ruler technique, whereas others were clearly Forged of life madra.

“Where is he?” Meira asked again. “Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Whereishewhereishewhereishewhereishewhereishe?”

Her gaze was no longer dead. Now it was feverishly hot.

More vines, both black and green, shot up from the ground. The pressure around the Underlady grew stronger and stronger.

“She's got one too many cracks in her head,” Yerin muttered.

Mercy poured all her spirit in to a single arrow that grew darker and darker as it absorbed layers of shadow madra. “Would you mind keeping her off me?” Mercy asked, voice tight with strain.

Would have been easy enough if their opponent wasn't a Lady. A tidal wave of plants slammed into them with the force of an Underlord soul, and Yerin pushed her Endless Sword as hard as she could. An invisible wall of sword aura churned the physical roots to mulch like a thousand spinning blades, but the bright green vines of madra were unaffected. They slithered through like hungry snakes, and Yerin had to slash and spin with her white sword and her six Goldsigns, keeping them away from Mercy.

After only a breath or two, Yerin was about to be overwhelmed. She pushed herself harder, but her madra channels were strained, and she was moving too fast.

Finally, when she could hold no longer, she leaped out of the way.

Purple eyes shone as Mercy faced the enemy, a black arrow thrumming with power sitting on the string of her bow. The weapon, taller than Mercy, was woven from slick black strands knotted like vines. Its violet-eyed dragon’s head sat in the center of the bow’s shaft, the arrow emerging from the dragon’s mouth. This was the weapon Mercy had inherited from her Monarch mother. She called it Suu.

Without a word, Mercy loosed the arrow.

It blasted through the air, growing in power as it went, until it flew like a dark and hungry void toward the Underlady. She stood with a loose wall of roots around her, and for whatever reason—whether she didn’t sense it coming in time, with all the shadow aura around, or whether she didn’t consider it a threat—the arrow struck Meira in the chest.

It slammed into her with what Yerin would describe as a flash of darkness, sending a chill through her spiritual sense.

…and it did nothing.

Mercy drew in a breath.

The black arrow stuck from Meira’s chest, but she glanced down at it dispassionately. A moment later, a flash of green reduced the weapon to essence.