Daruman and Oth’kimeth laughed together.
Mighty as Ozriel may be, as keen as his eyes were, he would never succeed. The Court of Seven could not be convinced, and they would be against him for this.
If Ozriel was really dedicated to his ideals, as he claimed to be, he should join the Vroshir. They, at least, saved human lives.
Ozriel brought his proposal before the Court, and as expected, there was heavy resistance. Only the new, young Suriel would have allowed it—a woman he had known for centuries by this point, as she worked her way up the ranks. And even she had misgivings.
Ozriel pled his case but was dismissed.
He accepted that. He had looked into the future and seen that this would not be an easy task. He would try again, and again.
As long as it took.
Record complete.
13
Yerin cycled her last elixir and focused on the layer of red aura around her. The Hydra blood that had caked her robes and splattered on her skin flowed off, leaving her spotless.
The same couldn’t be said for Ziel and Mercy. Ziel didn’t look particularly bothered by the dark spots that covered him and his gray cloak, but Mercy looked like a rat that had been partially drowned in mud.
Orthos had simply burned the blood away, but he was clearly unhappy. He snorted as he looked up at the entrance overhead. “How many is that now?”
Yerin had been keeping track. “Six. Bleed me like a pig if something’s not spitting them out.”
Every time they killed one, hunger spirits devoured it. They were repurposing the energy, she was sure.
She had tried to stop them as much as possible, but the hunger spirits were endless, and her power wasn’t.
The others were all tired, and she was still carrying the bulk of each battle. But her perception was warning her about what was lurking up above. It felt like the Tomb Hydras, but much deeper. Bigger. It felt like a mother, giving birth to each of the dreadbeasts that fell down.
She hoped that wasn’t it.
“I’m going up,” she said reluctantly.
Mercy threw out a hand like she thought Yerin was going to dash away immediately. “No, wait! We agreed we’d stay here!”
“They’re going to grind us like grain in a mill. We stay here, and Lindon will know exactly where to find our bodies.”
It was hard to sense anything here, since her perception couldn’t penetrate the walls and everything was soaked in hunger madra, but she had still expected to sense Eithan or Lindon by now. Something had delayed them.
Ziel sighed. “You think it’s going to slowly kill us. So you want to dive in all at once. You want it to quickly kill us?”
“Not us. I’m going myself.” Yerin didn’t want to say it out loud, but she felt like she could keep fighting even once her madra was gone. She would be ground down eventually too, but even if she was left with nothing more than her sword and the strength of her body, she could probably keep fighting for days.
If they kept fighting, Eithan and Lindon would find three bodies and Yerin. And that wasn’t acceptable. If Orthos and Mercy died, it would be after Yerin.
Ziel…he was mostly a mystery to her. Maybe he could survive without her help.
“So if we get separated, you’re leaving us here?” Orthos asked. He took a casual bite out of the Hydra’s meat.
“Guess so,” she said, but her grip shifted on her sword. That was the only reason she hadn’t dashed up the corridor in the ceiling already. If the labyrinth shifted again and sealed her off, she wasn’t confident in blasting her way back down.
And what if more of these Hydras started funneling into the chamber while she was locked away in some broom closet?
Mercy chewed on her lip and looked up, and next to her, Ziel let out another heavy breath.
“We don’t have much choice,” he allowed.
“Can you take a look and then come back?” Mercy asked.
Yerin eyed the opening in the ceiling. There hadn’t been another Tomb Hydra yet, but she could feel power gathering above them.
She had been keeping an eye on how the labyrinth shifted, though. It seemed like the tunnels closed off at the entrances, not in the middle, or they would have been crushed to paste the first time an entrance shifted while they were still in the hallway.
“Better to move quick than wait to die,” Yerin muttered. She sheathed her sword and spread her arms wide. “Come here, everybody. Family hug.”
Ziel walked over to her, still dull-eyed as ever. Even Orthos hopped from the ground to land on her shoulder. Mercy’s eyes sparkled as she joined, wrapping everyone in an eager hug of her own.
“I never thought I’d hear you say those words!”
Yerin was a little thrown off at how easily everyone had joined her. “I’m about to carry you.”
“I know,” Mercy said, squeezing Ziel with one arm and Yerin with the other. “It’s still nice.”
Yerin held on to everyone and leaped.
She had expected to have to walk the others through her plan, but since they seemed to be sharper than she’d expected, she didn’t say anything.
The second they cleared the inner entrance to the tunnel in the ceiling, Mercy spread out a web of Strings of Shadow and Ziel Forged a hovering circle of green runes. They landed on this Forged platform, and Yerin released everyone.
Mercy gave Ziel and Yerin each one more squeeze before she released. Then she patted Orthos on the head.
The aura above them was growing stronger, and though the tunnel was long—long enough that Yerin wondered if it extended aboveground—she could see the glow of death madra above her.
“Seal yourselves off when I’m gone,” Yerin ordered.
Ziel had already started Forging runes over their heads.
Yerin wasn’t sure how the platform of madra beneath her feet would hold up to a full-powered jump, so she hopped onto the wall and then bounced between the inside of the tunnels as she made her way up.
All the time, she had her spiritual perception extended. She regretted it almost immediately.
Whatever was in the chamber above her felt nauseating. Like the Bleeding Phoenix, it had a sense of hunger, corruption, and death. It felt like a ravenous pile of corpses, somehow brought to hideous life.
Her stomach twisted, but she ran her madra through her sword. If she had to end up retreating from the labyrinth, ridding the world of a creature like this would have made her trip worthwhile.
The higher she got, the more the sensation churned her gut, but she braced herself.
She still wasn’t prepared when she cleared the upper entrance.
Eyes—glowing with the pale green of death madra—glared at her from every direction. The entire chamber was a mass of disgusting flesh, endless, as far as her spirit could sense. Motion stirred in the distance, and she spotted another Tomb Hydra emerging from a slick bulbous sac.
It wasn’t the only thing in here. Dreadbeasts had half-merged into the flesh, melted, as this thing fed.
And its spiritual presence…
It wasn’t a Dreadgod. It didn’t have the endless sensation of the Phoenix or the Titan, though its corruption was equal.
She would call it a Herald, but it felt more like half a dozen Heralds stitched together and smeared across the chamber. Its spiritual pressure crashed over her, and she found it hard to take a breath as every eye in the room focused on her.