Lindon and Yerin were pushed back at the same time, but just as they readied new techniques, an amethyst boot crashed down from the sky. Its conceptual weight was just as great as its physical weight, and both had to instantly teleport away.
Malice finished summoning her armor, hovering in the air where the heart should be.
“You should run,” she advised them. Then the crystal finished Forging around her.
Her bow reappeared and stretched until it fit her new size, and Lindon and Yerin gathered more power into their techniques.
“Round three,” Yerin muttered.
Mercy hammered on the inside of the shadow-barrier that had captured her.
She couldn’t sense anything outside. Here she was, trapped, in a ball of silence and darkness. And even if she escaped, there was nothing she could do.
She was too weak.
Much less a Herald or Sage, she wasn’t even an Archlady yet. All this with willpower and authority, it was beyond her.
Though she had the means to do something.
Hesitantly, Mercy flipped through the Divine Treasure in her spirit. There was power here. As much as she wanted.
But far more than she could handle.
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.
Arrows blackened the sky even as Yerin’s Final Sword lit it up again, but Lindon didn’t need Dross’ prediction to see where this battle was going.
At this rate, Malice was going to wear them down.
Yerin didn’t have the madra reserves to fight for another hour, while Malice could go for days. Lindon could keep up in endurance, but as soon as Yerin was out of the fight, Malice would be too much for him. Especially with the support from Moongrave keeping him locked down.
Malice knew it as well as he did, which was why she kept dancing around them. Minimizing the damage. Herding them where she wanted them to go.
She was fighting them like she would a Dreadgod.
Techniques split the sky and scorched the ground, and Dross pushed himself to keep them ahead of the fight, but they were going to lose.
It was fight until they were killed or captured, or give up Mercy and return another day.
[One of those options has a much higher success rate, if you were asking me,] Dross said. [Which you weren’t.]
Lindon knew that. If they left Mercy with her family, she would be fine. He and the others could increase their power enough to fight Monarchs, even finish at least one Dreadgod weapon. That would make the battle even, and they could throw enough weight around to retrieve Mercy.
He wanted to do that. It was a perfectly reasonable plan.
If only he was willing to move forward without her again. Advance the rest of the team.
And he was not.
For his entire life, he hadn’t had the power to make his own decisions. Now he did.
So he was going to.
Dross cackled to the point that Lindon wondered if his other personality had returned. [You know what, I like it! Win or die is more fun when you’ve chosen the fight yourself, isn’t it?]
Then a crystal hand emerged from Malice’s chest. A third crystal hand.
Oh no, Lindon thought.
Mercy punched her way out from inside the void space where she’d been trapped. She crawled out one giant fist at a time. Malice seized her by the shoulder…until Mercy threw her mother off.
She drew up to her full height, two amethyst titans facing one another. Mercy roared, and a phantom image appeared behind her. It was a tall, striking woman, like an empress. The same one who had appeared behind Malice during the fight against the Dreadgod.
Mercy drew her fist back, then punched her mother.
[She’s lost herself,] Dross said in horror. [It was too much.]
If that was true, then it was all the more reason to end the fight quickly. Lindon lashed out with dragon’s breath as Yerin brought the Netherclaw technique down on Malice with a swipe of its Forged claws.
Malice twisted her daughter’s arm back. “That…is…enough!”
Then she punched Mercy down into the ground. The earth quaked for miles.
“You idiot,” Malice roared. She slammed her foot down on Mercy’s armored chest. “Listen to me!” She hauled Mercy up and pressed their helmets together. “You don’t ever fight against the family. Ever.”
Mercy’s blows slapped against the sides of Malice’s armor, but the Monarch had her in an iron grip.
“Fight for us, or we don’t need you.”
She drew her foot back to kick Mercy’s armored form.