His channels were still bursting with dream madra, and he quickly Forged it.
A purple-white ring spun into existence all around him, semi-solid and overflowing with power that radiated brightly in his spiritual sense. If he didn’t know better, he would say it felt like it was made of Monarch scales.
[Void key!] Dross insisted. [Void key, quick! Before somebody takes it!]
Dross opened Lindon’s void key himself, without waiting for a response, and Lindon tossed the ring in. It tried to sink through the floor, but a void space was limited. It wouldn’t get far.
Dross materialized, and he shone violet, sending up sparks from his eye and his teeth. [Wow, and I thought I was strong before! When I finish digesting this, I’ll be…meaty.] He flexed one tentacle, which suddenly bulged with muscle. [See? See, Lindon? This is what you said I’d—]
Lindon stood and threw his arms around Dross.
“Welcome back,” Lindon whispered. His eyes burned with tears.
Dross returned the embrace and sighed. [Sorry. I made you suffer longer than I meant to.]
Lindon stepped back, though it turned into a stagger. His thoughts were difficult to arrange, and he felt like his nose should be bleeding. But his spirit blazed with power.
[Yeah, you’re in very strange shape.] Dross looked him up and down. [Your thoughts are going to need some genius mind-spirit to stitch them back together, but you stole enough energy from the Dreadgod that your spirit is better than ever. Once I finish sorting all this dream-aura, your mind and I will both be…well, if minds could advance, we’d be doing that.]
Lindon moved dizzily, but he could feel a battle shaking the ground. He tested his arm and found it unharmed.
And still hungry. Always hungry.
The Silent King’s army still fought in the distance, but the Void was steadily closing. Malice stood in front of that while another familiar presence fell down from the sky. Trailing a red dragon of blood and hunger madra.
Northstrider.
“Is that the help we were waiting for?” Lindon asked.
[I thought him distracting the Dreadgod was our only chance, but you outperformed my expectations. I thought the Silent King would…hm. Is there a more flattering term than ‘eat you like a mouse?’]
Lindon let the sound of Dross’ familiar chatter wash over his chaotic jumble of thoughts like a soothing rain. As he did, he watched the battle.
Northstrider’s attack landed on the King and blasted away a significant chunk of the army below, but he had only destroyed an illusion.
Lindon pointed to a gray, washed-out shape sneaking away from the fight. It was hard to concentrate fully, but it looked almost like the silhouette of a giant tiger.
“And what’s that?” Lindon asked.
Dross peered into the distance. His eye widened.
[If I had to guess—and I do, since elaborate guessing is my job—I would say that we’ve eaten enough of the Silent King’s madra that we can identify it in person.]
“I see,” Lindon said.
His anger that resonated with the Void Icon had not gone away. If anything, it burned deeper and colder than before.
“You saw all of its memories that I did?”
[In a few seconds, I think my model will be very accurate. The Silent King’s mental assault is its deadliest power. Physically, it’s…well, it’s still a Dreadgod, but a small one.]
“Dross,” Lindon said, “show me.”
Information requested: how to rid the world of the Silent King.
Beginning report…
Whoa, I can see so much more now! It’s like the future was covered in smoke, but it’s gone now. Was it me that changed, or the world? What a great view to appreciate at another time, when your brain isn’t simmering.
For now, let’s take a look at the patterns of this army.
Lindon’s view moves overhead, to see the legions of white-haloed thralls. Now that he sees the rivers of Remnants, sacred beasts, and people, it’s clear that they’re moving in patterns. It reminds him of a whirlpool.
At the center of that pool is an image of the Silent King. It looks like it’s being protected by the hive, and even the Monarchs are focusing their attacks on it.
But in this new view, that image is faint and hollow. There’s another tiger slinking off to the side, barely protected, but with no attention focused on it. This one is hidden by a gray shadow.
He’ll see us coming, no doubt about that. But he doesn’t know we can see him, and that’s how we get him.
Lindon watches himself loop around the outside of the army, facing the center. A contingent of enthralled sacred artists focuses techniques on him, but he fights as though he’s trying to get to the middle.