even really know. She’d be cracked in the head if she wasn’t willing to risk one weapon.
“Got it. Grab my eye when you want me.”
[I’ll have to signal the others, but you…just do it when the foot comes down, all right?]
“Not likely to forget that one.”
[You won’t have to remember it for long, because I can’t hold this anymore. You ready?]
She tried to nod. Dross must have gotten the picture, because the world came roaring back to normal speed.
The Titan’s foot came down.
19
Lindon didn’t hear what Dross said to the other five. He just felt the spirit splitting his attention so many different ways, and time stood still while Dross delivered his instructions.
When he finished, everything happened at once.
The Titan’s foot came down. Yerin’s madra flared beneath it, so powerful that it felt like she was pouring her entire spirit into one attack. But it wasn’t an attack; white mist and points of ice-cold light burst into being around her, consuming the Titan up to the knee.
Its foot landed, but was frozen in place. Lindon was astonished at the power output of the weapon, but it was overshadowed by worry for Yerin.
Not that he had time to dwell on it. There was too much else going on.
Green rings had bloomed one after the other, stretching off to the south. Ziel flew through the air like an arrow, each ring of script hurling him into the next. Lindon wondered why Ziel hadn’t used that technique to escape, but his question was answered by a quick scan of his spirit.
He was straining his channels and running out of madra. He couldn’t keep this up for long.
As he flew in, another spiritual presence caught Lindon’s attention. Mercy dashed in, covered in her Akura bloodline armor, and she wasn’t flying. She was running.
She was already the size of a tall building, and she carried something tucked under her right arm.
No, Lindon realized what the object was as soon as he noticed it.
It was Orthos, all curled up in his shell.
Orthos, whose body was slowly filling with soulfire.
When the Titan found its leg stuck by Yerin’s technique, it threw a punch at Mercy. A golden nimbus covered its fist: the original version of the Enforcer technique the Abyssal Palace cultists had used.
The wind from the punch was like the breath of a hurricane.
Mercy slipped under the punch. Her armor was still growing, and Lindon knew from his experience with Harmony—and his own research—how much of a burden the armor put on the spirit. The larger it was, the harder it was to control. But she moved with liquid grace as she ducked the punch.
Then she took a lightning-quick tail to the breastplate.
It cracked, and Lindon fully expected the armor to shatter. Instead, despite what must have been horrific spiritual pain, she braced her feet and stood her ground.
As she did, Mercy lobbed Orthos through the Dreadgod’s legs.
And the turtle began to grow.
Soulfire burned away by the second as it expanded Orthos’ body. He landed with legs the width of tree trunks, but they grew to cover houses in a moment. Soon, he was half the height of the Titan.
The Dreadgod turned over its shoulder, madra building between its jaws.
[That’s your cue!] Dross shouted.
On his Thousand-Mile Cloud, Lindon shot forward.
No matter how much madra he poured into the cloud, it would be a few seconds before he reached the Titan. It would have shoved Mercy back and released its technique on Orthos by then. Dross had called him in too late.
Green light flared behind Lindon.
He couldn’t spare the attention to turn and watch, but he wished he could. His spiritual senses treated him to the feeling of Eithan flying through the air like a thrown spear.
He was kept aloft by his own aura control, so Ziel’s circle only added acceleration. As he flew closer, Lindon heard a voice, which started soft and steadily grew louder as its source approached.
“Jump!” Eithan called as he flew past Lindon’s face.
Mercy endured another heavy blow, falling to one knee under the pressure. The Titan unleashed a stream of powerful earth madra with its breath. Orthos shoved himself into position, and—though he took a glancing blow on his shell that left cracks and a lancing pain that Lindon could feel through their bond—he and Mercy managed to wrestle the Dreadgod around to face Lindon.
It didn’t cut off its Striker technique. As it braced itself on its tail, it refocused on the next target it saw: Eithan, whose madra was blazing like