One by one, they met the burning red eyes of the Mad King. He hovered between them and the central planet of the Iteration, stained bone sword in one hand and dark Scythe in the other. His helmet of yellowed bone kept his face in a shadow impenetrable even to their light, and a mantle of hide ran from his shoulders to match their mantles of white flame.
He took not a step back, and his will was firm. He raised his sword to his face in a salute.
“Your courage does you credit,” the fallen hero said to the entire Abidan Court.
From the darkness between the stars of Fathom, Fiends slithered forward. Blue flashes appeared in the darkness all over as Silverlords pressed against the outside of the world. They couldn’t enter, with the Fox and the Titan both inside, but still they remained on the border. Waiting.
A host of their kind were inside already. Silverlords floated up behind the Mad King, outnumbering the seven Judges many times over.
Makiel looked over them coldly. “Surrender.”
Some Silverlords, those who had served a term in Haven before, shivered. Their wills shook. Even many of the Fiends cringed back like dogs remembering a whip.
But the Mad King did not tremble. “I sought to strike you a blow. Never did I imagine that I could topple the pillars of Heaven,” the Scythe ignited in raging darkness, “with my own hands.”
In a world called Fathom, between the Way and the Void, war erupted.
15
Ziel spoke through gritted teeth. “Why is there a Monarch down here?”
“Same reason we are,” Yerin said grimly.
“I know why. That question was for the heavens.”
Lindon wrenched open the Dawn Sky Palace. “Orthos. Blue.”
Little Blue whistled nervously and clung to Orthos’ back. The turtle glared up at Lindon. “If we can fight against the Titan, we can…”
He hesitated. Lindon checked the performance of his right arm while waiting for Orthos to come to the right conclusion.
“…be safe,” Orthos grumbled. He carried Blue inside.
Before Lindon let the portal close, he looked to Mercy. She was limbering up her shoulders and wheeling her staff around.
She gave him a forced smile. “Don’t worry! He’s weaker, I can feel it! My mother would squish him with one thumb if she were here.”
Lindon turned to Ziel. “How about you? Can you keep up?”
“No,” Ziel said. He hefted his hammer. “But I won’t get in the way.”
That was good enough for Lindon. He let the Dawn Sky Palace close and opened his other key. Not only could he feel the strain this time, but he could feel the invisible mechanisms of authority inside the key stretching and warping.
If he did this too many more times, he was going to break it.
Yerin had reached into her own key and withdrawn her Heart’s Gem. She rolled the ruby of congealed blood onto the floor, where it began exuding billowing clouds of blood aura.
The blood was steadily eaten away by the hunger, but it would fuel her techniques. Swords spread out from her as well, scattered around the floor. They were practically drowned out by the Heart’s Gem and the hunger, but they helped.
She stood defiantly in the center of the room. Her sword, robes, and most of her hair were black. Her eyes, Goldsigns, and one lock of her hair shone red.
Yerin was ready. And she wasn’t hiding.
Mercy had webbed herself to the far corner of the ceiling, bow ready. The dragon head at the center of the bow glared amethyst beams, and she bit her lip in concentration as she held an arrow half-forged.
Beneath her, Ziel was Forging ring after ring around his hammer and each of his limbs. He must have been exerting himself, and the tips of his horns glowed as green as his madra, but his face was as blank as ever. The gray cloak on his back billowed with force.
Eithan stood next to Yerin in fine pink-and-blue silks. He looked…disturbed. His usual smile was missing, as it had been for most of the time they’d spent in this room, and he smoothed his short hair down though it didn’t need it. He looked agitated, which might have made sense in the situation, but it didn’t match what Lindon knew of Eithan. The man should have greeted even certain death with a grin and a joke.
Lindon controlled the aura generated by the natural treasures in his void key to send weapons floating out. Wavedancer wouldn’t help much, since flying swords operated on ambient aura, but he had plenty of other constructs available.
As the balls of Forged madra flew, crawled, or rolled out seemingly of their own accord, Lindon steadied his own breathing and looked to Eithan.
“Are our odds that bad?” he asked quietly.
[Yes,] Dross said, but Lindon hadn’t been talking to him.
“I may be making it look worse than it is,” Eithan said. “I was already in quite a mood.”
“Good.” Lindon strapped three launcher constructs to his left arm. “Let’s take it out on him.”
Spiritual pressure rippled out over the entire room, shaking the surface of Lindon’s construct. He felt Reigan Shen’s will, and Mercy was certainly right. This wasn’t a Monarch at full power. He must have spent months in the suppression field, and the power of hunger would have taken bites out of him.
In a way, that was more terrifying.
Because his will settled on them like the tide as Reigan Shen strode out of the shadows. He looked like he’d spent a year living in the desert. The white-gold mane of his hair and beard was matted and overgrown, and his clothes were ragged and patched. He had cases, bottles, and containers of every description belted all over him.
A pair of swords hung at his hips, one huge and shining orange and one thin as a needle. A shield had been slung over his back, and a lens covered Shen’s left eye.
And in his eyes was all the confidence of a Monarch.
He didn’t look like someone who had survived the wilderness. He looked like the wilderness had survived him.
“Eithan! It seems I owe Subject One some thanks. I could use an Arelius guide.” He glanced up to the symbol on the wall. “Especially here.”
At some point, Eithan had recovered his smile. “I’m flattered! I didn’t think you’d trust me, given my track record at guiding Monarchs.”
“I was talking about your Remnant.”
“I have a suspicion he wouldn’t be any more pleasant to deal with.”
“I’ll find out for myself.” Reigan Shen looked to Yerin and nodded. “Uncrowned Queen. Your performance was magnificent, and Red Faith is quite taken with your methods. I’d be more than willing to work with you.”
Yerin shrugged. “No blood spilled between us. You want to get friendly, it depends on what you want to do with the Dreadgods.”
Lindon, Ziel, Mercy, and Eithan were now spread out to flank the Monarch as Yerin stood boldly in front of him.
Reigan Shen didn’t seem to mind their positioning at all. He openly examined Yerin with a sudden interest. “I think we might be able to work together. I intend to finally bring the Dreadgods under control.”
“You’d bet that you can?”
“I’m betting everything.”
Gleaming red-chrome madra slowly expanded from Yerin, and her sword lifted to point at him. “Love to test the edge of somebody who can hold a Dreadgod’s leash.”