glared at the Dreadgod. “I will defy this beast with all the power of a leaf drifting on the wind!”
[Oh, and you’re not going to get in our way by making us cover for you? That’s impressive.]
“I make no such promise,” Eithan said. “But I can’t let you stand up against a Dreadgod without me. It’s a bit earlier than I planned, but who could object to one little life-threatening practice run?”
Yerin squeezed Lindon’s ribs and then slipped away, stepping onto a purple Thousand-Mile Cloud of her own. “Have to say, I’m not looking for death here. If there’s nothing we can do, we’re leaving, even if I have to grab you both by the neck and drag you off.”
The Titan still hadn’t stirred. It remained searching for something. Or waiting.
But as Lindon looked at Yerin and Eithan on either side of him, mist formed in his eyes. They didn’t need to be here. If he had full control over his abilities, he would have sent them back.
At the same time, he was glad they were there.
“Gratitude,” Lindon said.
[Awww, that’s sweet. Very sweet. But I’m going to need you all to focus so that we don’t die. First of all, none of us move until the Titan does, even if you stand still until your fleshy human feet decay.]
“We won’t have to wait quite that long,” Eithan said, spinning his black fabric scissors around his thumb. “The Titan is famous for its…lethargy…but when it is ready to move, it does so quickly.”
[So, objective one: we’re holding it back as long as we can. If we lose and it breaks through the mountain, we leave.]
Lindon wasn’t happy about that, but he knew that if the Titan left the suppression field, their chance was up. If they couldn’t match the Dreadgod inside the valley, they would have no chance outside.
[Objective two: don’t die. Wait, how about we make that objective one?]
Almost casually, the Wandering Titan began drawing its hand back for a swipe. Wind swirled around them, snatching at their clothes and pulling their Clouds.
The fear and pressure returned. Eithan’s smile dropped, and madra flowed through his black scissors. Yerin pulled a sword in each hand, one white and one black, her gleaming red Goldsigns extended.
Lindon focused all his panicked energy and his resolve on the Dreadgod’s hand. Whatever technique it was about to use, he needed to be ready.
But it was no technique. The Titan swiped at Mount Samara like a child knocking over his own sandcastle.
Every fiber of Lindon drew to a point. He pushed past the rules of the world, substituting his own will.
“Stop!” Lindon shouted.
The Titan’s hand slowed, as though it had been caught in an invisible net. Then Lindon felt an outside consciousness pushing against his own; a mind he’d felt before, when he had Consumed some of its thoughts.
But the Wandering Titan had been sleeping then.
This time, it turned its attention to the force restricting its hand in dull annoyance. Lindon’s working tore like spiderwebs.
It was like a cat had clawed the inside of Lindon’s head. His vision blanked out as madra streamed from both Yerin and Eithan.
An instant later, when he could see again, Lindon saw Eithan’s Striker technique—the Hollow King’s Spear—breaking on the boundary of the suppression field. It faded from a clear, defined spear to a diffuse stream of madra, though it still impacted the wrist of the Dreadgod where it landed.
It pushed the Titan’s arm. Slightly. Like a gentle breeze.
Yerin’s gleaming silver-red madra broke as it entered Sacred Valley too, but it rained down on the Titan in a thousand needles. The Dreadgod swatted at its own chest in irritation, then roared.
Lindon felt the sound in his bones.
He cycled madra to his ears to stop from going deaf, but even as the roar drowned out all sound, Dross spoke into their heads.
[As reluctant as I am to encourage this insanity, if we’re going to do this, then it’s time to go inside.]
While they would weaken steadily inside the field, they wouldn’t be in there long enough to reduce to Jades. From within, they would be more effective. At least a little.
Together, they flew toward the Dreadgod.
From that moment, Lindon had no time to think.
A ball of stone and chaos formed in the Titan’s hand, and a blue-white Spear of the Hollow King pierced it through. Now that the Spear didn’t have to pass through the wall of the script-circle, the technique looked like a real spear, in full physical detail. However, it