Dreadgod (Cradle, #11)

by Will Wight

“Oh no, he called me a toy,” Yerin said in a flat voice. “I’m so angry that I’m stupid enough to hurl myself at a Monarch.” She slammed her sword back into its sheath.

“I have not yet begun to take from you,” Lindon said quietly.

“Yeah,” Yerin said, “catch me up a step. Why are the Monarchs and Dreadgods after us?” [We’d tell you if we could,] Dross said. [Although I’ve prepared a substitute presentation and three-act play that I think will give you as much of the general situation as I’m allowed to⁠—] “Oh, so it’s about the Monarchs letting the Dreadgods stick around. I’ll pass that to the others.” Lindon looked gratifyingly surprised, but Dross deflated. [Okay, that’s…sure. That’s just as much fun.]

“That’s enough. You have my permission. Use Blackflame.”

“Hmph.” She straightened to her full, tiny, height and smoothed the front of her outer robe. “If you didn’t mean to punish me, then you would have paid me a visit.” Lindon was struck speechless.

The sky fell before you came to visit! It really fell! I saw it!”

“Apologies,” he said quietly. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. “Why didn’t you protect him too?” she asked. The question hurt worse than he’d expected. “I didn’t think he’d need it,” Lindon said honestly.

“The rest of them,” Ziel repeated. “Except for the Silent King. The one you killed. The Dreadgod you killed yourself.” Lindon cleared his throat. “The Monarchs did most of the work.” “Oh. Never mind, then.” Ziel gave him a pointed stare.

[A Monarch who shall remain nameless,] Dross said before he coughed out a mouthful of leaves.

He released himself out of the state to find Yerin sitting on air next to him and wiping his forehead off with a cloth. “You were dripping all over your shiny new labyrinth,” Yerin said with an easy smile.

Dross manifested and gave one long blink. [I’m…that was a wink, just now. I was winking at you.]

She opened her void key and tossed the capsule in. Then she reached for the tank containing the buzzing Remnant flies, but Lindon grabbed her wrist. “No, there’s no time!” She stared at him like he’d sprouted a second head until his serious expression cracked. Yerin gave a relieved breath. “Whew, thought for a second you’d been replaced.” “Ha, no, of course we’re taking everything.”

“The illusions of the Silent King. I let my guard down.” “Gratitude for holding back.”

“I won’t take anything permanent,” Lindon said. “But you know I can’t leave you behind me with your cores full.”

[Don’t worry! I left a copy of myself behind so that she will never be without the benefit of my instruction.] “She must be grateful.” [She has tried to destroy the copy several times, but I predicted that. There are thirty-seven more of me waiting to continue.]

“Tragic,” Emriss Silentborn said gravely.

“Oh no, we’re under attack,” Larian muttered. With one finger, she plucked the string of the bow lying next to her. “Eat my best techniques, robbers! Pchew, pchew!” She clapped a hand to her armored chest. “Ack! They got me! I’ll tell my grandchildren of this battle. Let us part with mutual respect.” Then she yawned and leaned back, pillowing her head on her hands.

Shen snarled in her face. “Am I the only one who saw the stars die?” Larian spread her hands and danced backwards. “Hey, maybe the rest of us didn’t eradicate the Arelius family before learning that their founder was the interdimensional god of death. You know what they say about hindsight, don’t you?”

That left her with one question. Which could she tolerate more: a flood of energy far greater than her advancement could handle, or the thought of leaving her friends to fight alone? Against her family? Which, of course, was no question at all.

“Get moving,” Yerin said, “or get moved.”

Then they left, because no one could stop them.

[Suriel requires her full concentration for this task, and you are proving a distraction. I will accompany you instead. One moment, and I will temporarily seal her hearing so that you and I can watch together.]

“What are the odds that Makiel did not see this action?” Ozriel asked softly. Her Presence remained quiet. “Yeah,” Ozriel said. “That’s what I thought.”

As he is but a hollow mockery of mankind, let him be known as the Empty Ghost.”

Then he shoved the pocket world construct into the door.