Reaper (Cradle Book 10) Page 2

  The laboratory had long waited in disarray, with desks destroyed, papers scattered, and holes scorched in the walls. There were preservation scripts on everything, but most of them had failed, leaving odd scenarios where one half of a sheet of paper might have been aged and yellowed into illegibility while the other half looked as though it had been scribed that morning.

  Papers and scrolls were of limited value to Reigan Shen, though he scooped them all up anyway. He was looking for ways deeper into the labyrinth, so unless he found a map, there wasn’t much here that could help him.

  Here and there, his drudge spotted what he was looking for: dream tablets. It brought the treasures back in its teeth, dropping the stones at his feet. Some resembled hand-sized gemstones while others were more like dull slabs the size of his face, but he could see their dream aura as a purplish chaotic haze.

  Ordinarily, his spiritual perception would have crashed over this room in a wave, and anything he sought would fly to him on wings of wind aura. But the deeper he went, the more effect the suppression field had on him.

  In some ways, the Monarch Reigan Shen was now weaker than if he had never trained in the sacred arts a day in his life.

  But he had his own methods.

  A gray-white ghost oozed up from the floor in front of him, its arms dragging the ground, its jaw hanging loose. Empty eye sockets sought him, and it groaned in pure hunger.

  It resembled a Remnant, but was actually a Striker technique carrying enough will of its own that it acted more like a spirit. An attack from the Devourer itself, the Slumbering Wraith. Subject One.

  With his power suppressed, Reigan Shen still might have enough authority to disperse the technique. But power he lost down here would be difficult to regain.

  Historically, most of those who had explored this labyrinth had done so by staying inside only a short time. That would be Shen’s preferred approach as well, but every time he left and re-entered the labyrinth, he risked discovery once again.

  So he had prepared to stay longer than anyone had since this place sealed itself so long ago. He’d brought tools.

  Reigan Shen unclipped another construct from his belt. This one unfolded into a shining orange-yellow launcher that wrapped around his wrist. He pointed it at the ghoul and triggered the binding.

  The launcher construct was Herald-level, and thus powerful enough to reduce this huge room to ash and cave in the structure of the surrounding building. After being carried around in the labyrinth for so long, it merely disintegrated the spirit.

  With businesslike motions, Shen folded up the launcher again. If the weapon hadn’t remained in a scripted container for so long, it would have faded away already. It was only due to its faultless construction and some binding scripts that it worked at all.

  He would have greatly preferred to store his weapons in a void space, but those were difficult to open in this place, so he preserved energy by strapping script-sealed devices all over him.

  If everything went according to his plan, he would only have to open up his void space once a month. That would last him more than long enough to reach the bottom.

  He would empty this place if it took him a decade. Because in the end, he would do what no one else had ever done, and seize control of the greatest weapons ever created.

  The Dreadgods.

  All five of them.

  After the retreat of the Wandering Titan, the Bleeding Phoenix had retreated north.

  Akura Malice had regrouped, gathered her power, and followed.

  She met the Bleeding Phoenix as an equal, striking it with her bow like a staff. The blow landed on the Phoenix’s oozing red body, and the Dreadgod shrieked.

  The sound carried enough hostility that Malice had to brace herself against it, even as a bloody red dragon burst through the Phoenix’s body. Northstrider’s attack. The Bleeding Phoenix responded with a simple Striker technique—a lance of light from its open beak wider than a river.

  To others, the attack would appear large enough to swallow cities, but Malice threw herself in front and blocked it on her shoulder.

  The pressure on her amethyst armor increased, straining her spirit, and causing her to push more madra to keep the gemstone structure stable. But she spared Northstrider from having to deal with it, and he had taken the opportunity to appear behind the Dreadgod and tear another chunk out of it with a blow that blasted out the air for miles.

  The Phoenix’s eyes shone, and it screamed again. This time, Malice’s heart tightened.

  They were playing this close. Not only would they run out of power faster than the Dreadgod would, but if they damaged it too much more, its brothers would show up. The Titan was nearby. And if they managed to kill it, the situation would get even worse.

  She reserved a bit of her fury for Reigan Shen, who had forced her to fight a Dreadgod in her territory. Again. For the second—no, third!—time in five years.

  If only there were another arrowhead around to deal with him too.

  Northstrider had taken quite a beating from the Phoenix already, so he was only too happy to back up and let Malice trade blows with the Dreadgod in her towering armored form. She landed a few lighthouse-sized arrows of crystalline blue madra before the Phoenix’s simple brain got the message.

  This prey could bite back. It wasn’t worth it.

  This was how fights between Monarchs and Dreadgods normally proceeded. One of the great beasts would wander somewhere inconvenient, and then whoever owned that territory would fight until the Dreadgod decided the fight wasn’t worthwhile and wandered somewhere less valuable.

  But it was such a delicate balance to strike.

  The Dreadgods hit at least as hard as any Monarch, and they were sturdy enough that Malice could never kill one alone before having to flee herself. It was a bit like a Copper driving off a fully grown bear with a whip.

  It was better than pushing them to the brink, though. If they pushed them too far, the Dreadgods would join forces…or worse. They could awaken.

  Malice had not been a Monarch during the Dread War, but she had seen the memories of others.

  So now, when the Phoenix gave another irritated cry and retreated north, she stopped and let it happen. The crimson sky rolled away, and she relaxed. Let the Tidewalker Herald deal with the Dreadgod for a change; he had supported Reigan Shen too much in the past, and now he would pay for it.

  When the Bleeding Phoenix was no longer visible, even to her, she let her armor fade into great clouds of shining violet essence that rose into the clouds. She hovered in the air, stretching her arms and spirit at once. She got far too little exercise as a Monarch, and her armor was a serious burden. At least against a real opponent.

  Northstrider appeared next to her, clothes rumpled and golden eyes scowling.

  “Good thing I was here to help,” Malice said. “You look terrible.”

  He looked the same as always, unshaven and unkempt, with scavenged clothing. Like a homeless king. But what she felt from him was another story.

  His spirit was strained and weak, and she was sure his mind was on the verge of collapse. He had fought bitterly.

  Northstrider ground his jaw, and she detected the heat of real anger. “Do you know what you were risking, letting those children face the Titan?”

  “May I remind you that one of those children is my own?”

  “You were supposed to replace Yerin Arelius in driving off the Dreadgod, not join her.”

  “I thought things were proceeding quite well, until…” Malice’s voice gained an icy chill with all her hatred boiling behind it. “…he stuck his paws where they were not wanted.”

  Northstrider crossed black-scaled arms. “If anything, that proves how high the stakes are. Now we know for certain he can rouse and direct the Dreadgods, and he revealed that card to get rid of a pack of Lords.”

  “He has been claiming that ability for years now. I suspect that show wasn’t for us.”

  By moving the Phoenix, Reigan She
n had not only threatened to remove valuable members of the next generation—including Malice’s own daughter—but he had proved his claims to the neutral Monarchs. Northstrider and Malice had been forced to spend their own time and energy, so he had exhausted them at no cost or risk to himself. A fine move.

  This was exactly the sort of price she had expected when she gave up Fury. For a while, she would be vulnerable.

  But she could endure, and when she did, she would be in a better situation than ever.

  “Take care of those children,” Northstrider said flatly, which pricked her pride.

  “Do you think I, of all people, need a lecture from you on how to protect my own family?”

  His perception stretched out into the distance. “Perhaps you need lessons in spatial transfer.”

  She reached out on her own, and with shock felt Yerin almost immediately. Mercy, Eithan, and Lindon were all there too, their presences a bit fainter than Yerin’s.

  Had they just arrived? Yerin may have taken the Moonlight Bridge back, if it had recovered its full capabilities, but how had the others returned so quickly? The Void Icon had a good connection to spatial abilities, but if Lindon had taken them all this way unaided, he was a prodigy the likes of which the world hadn’t seen in millennia.

  She realized the truth after only a few more moments of examination. Reigan Shen’s anchor.

  Malice spared another moment of anger for the lion. Even his belongings were opposing her now.

  “Hmmm…I suppose I should return their cloudship,” Malice said, more lightly than she felt. “Leave them to me, and concern yourself instead with Shen’s next move.”

  Northstrider looked into the horizon where the Phoenix vanished, and his reflective black orb appeared over his shoulder. It flashed with madra as it communicated with him.

  “I’m going into seclusion again,” he said after a moment. “Fate has been moving…erratically.”

  Malice nodded. She could only agree.

  She had far more talent in reading the future than he did, the Shadow Icon being more connected to Fate than any of his, but he had his own means.

  “I put what forces I can spare at your disposal. The Wastelanders have agreed to protect the Blackflame Empire in my absence, and the Beast King and his fellow Heralds will help you keep the cults in check.”

  “So gracious of you.” Fury had driven off the Dreadgod cults, but not too far. They were drifting around her territory, behaving themselves for now, but she had to keep her eye on them.

  If Northstrider was vanishing again on one of his projects, then she would need help to protect herself from both the awakened Dreadgods and their cults. The unaffiliated Heralds who occasionally answered to Northstrider would go a long way toward helping her maintain stability in the continent.

  “How long will you be gone this time?” she asked.

  “Difficult to say. The more I can refine my oracle codex, the better odds I have of removing Shen myself, and the more clearly I can see the future.” Gold eyes turned to her. “Unless you can share more details than you already have.”

  She smirked at him, letting him know she enjoyed having sight where he was blind. “As I said, the Dreadgods loom larger than they have before. All other possibilities are scattered and unpredictable. Too vague to lean on.”

  He grunted. “You may call me if the worst should occur.”

  “Oh, do I have your permission? I will keep an eye on the future and the other Monarchs, while I maintain my cordon on the labyrinth entrances. He won’t be able to act without us seeing him now, and time is on our side.”

  The Dreadgods would run out of energy soon, if they kept up this level of activity. The cults were expending energy without gaining any back, and Malice was slowly absorbing the half of the continent the gold dragons had once ruled.

  The longer this stalemate went on, the more territory she would claim. All she had to do was wait.

  “We’ll see,” Northstrider responded.

  Then he tore open the fabric of the world and flowed into the Way.

  “Always so rude,” Malice murmured. Then she stretched her awareness out for hundreds of miles around her. There was no one who mattered.

  She didn’t like to do this when she wasn’t fully secured, but Northstrider had her wondering.

  So Malice slipped into the World of Night and summoned shadows of the future.

  2

  Information restricted: Personal Record 0013.

  Authorization required to access.

  Authorization confirmed: 008 Ozriel.

  Beginning record…

  In the legends of the ancient Rosegold continent, long forgotten by the current inhabitants of Cradle, there is a mythical location that contains all the secrets of the sacred arts. A buried city of infinite insight. A child’s tale. Anyone who finds the city and walks its streets will gain secret techniques of surpassing power, will never face any bottlenecks when advancing, and will understand secret wisdom of the heavens that will allow them to ascend.

  There is no historical precedent for this location. It’s purely a myth.

  But at one point on the Rosegold continent, it was a common topic of discussion. If you sought easy advancement, or tried to refine your Path, it was said that you were “Seeking Arelia.”

  Ozmanthus, a boy named after a flower, was said to be seeking Arelia from the time he was a child. From his earliest years, he ran through the tunnels of the mountain in which he was born, looking for secrets in those dark caves.

  Even at the initial stages of advancement, later known as Copper, he had discernment and understanding far beyond his peers. He astonished his tutors with questions about the nature and origin of vital aura, questions they were nowhere near advanced enough to answer. His control of madra made him a prodigy in his own right, so there was no lack of teachers competing to take him as a student.

  This was a relief to his mother, who had no money to subsidize the advancement of a powerful sacred artist.

  At Copper, Ozmanthus was celebrated for his skill. He was popular not just among his tutors, but among those his age.

  At Iron, Ozmanthus became famous in his generation. He designed and perfected his own Iron body, and was once again said to be seeking Arelia. Everyone expected great things.

  It was at Jade that Ozmanthus began to notice a problem.

  The others his age were still Copper.

  That wasn’t entirely true; some of those from wealthy families, or from organizations that focused exclusively on the sacred arts, had been sponsored directly to Lowgold. But the ones he’d grown up with, those who had only recently been his friends, were two entire stages down from him.

  He could no longer play games with them, as he would win. He couldn’t study with them, as he had already outstripped many of their teachers in theory. And they began to avoid him.

  For Ozmanthus, it was only a minor grief. His Path lay ahead of him, full of possibility, and everyone told him what wonders he would accomplish. With his spiritual perception now open, there was a whole new world bared to his mind.

  He had decided the details of his Path by Lowgold, refining it during endless hours in the library. He chose techniques of pure destruction. Why settle for inefficiency?

  That led to another troubling trend for Ozmanthus. The sacred arts in Cradle tend to focus on combat applications because of the never-ending competition for resources, but soon, there was no one under the Lord realm who could compete against him.

  He was not shunned for this. Far from it; his master and those from his homeland were ecstatic at this young genius.

  But he was always alone. When he went into the wilderness seeking spirits or natural treasures, it was easier to go himself. Someone else would just slow him down.

  While Ozmanthus was not entirely content with his solitude, he knew it was only temporary. He couldn’t be the greatest genius in the world. Somewhere, he would find someone who would keep up with him.

  Unti
l then, he would slow down. He gave up his spear for a broom, but he didn’t mind that. He liked being the only sacred artist in the world to fight with a broom. It had style.

  After reaching Underlord, he grew in knowledge, and insight, and power. He studied the nature of soulfire and proved its connection to deeper truths by manifesting an Icon of his choice in front of a panel of renowned scholars.

  The Broom Icon.

  Rather than impressed, the scholars were crushed. Ozmanthus had made their entire lives into a joke, publicly humiliating them. No less than three of them killed themselves within a week.

  This greatly disturbed Ozmanthus.

  In addition to advancement, Ozmanthus also turned his genius to other aspects of the sacred arts. He became known as a reliable refiner and one of the greatest Soulsmiths of his generation. He was more satisfied with this avenue of progress, and he began investigating the great Soulsmiths of the past.

  This was the path for him, he decided. He would become known as a creator, a researcher. One who built.

  His Path was most suited for creating weapons, which did not bother him. He never lost his admiration for those who kept the world clean, and one of the most hideous plagues in the world was the population of dreadbeasts that roamed the countryside, feeding and spewing out more of their kind.

  With his weapons, he would clean the countryside.

  He found an ancient labyrinth, built by the original Court of Seven before their ascension. He researched their understanding, growing in knowledge and power. And he built weapons.

  To better understand his creations, he sought knowledge of death. He even created a device that would kill and revive him.

  He did not realize what a catalyst that would be. As the creator of the world’s deadliest weapons, when he killed and revived himself, he instantly manifested the Death Icon.

  Not what he had sought to achieve.

  Ozmanthus found it now even easier to create deadly weapons. Too easy. He could create reality-warping weapons on the level of the Abidan before even ascending from the Iteration.