He examined the weapon for a moment. “It’s a crude toy, but not bad craftsmanship. Iri’s work, I think, and someone else’s. Someone who should have known better.”
Oth’kimeth snarled and stretched out from Daruman’s body, and for a moment, Eithan saw the Fiend and the man separate. One was a demonic figure with horns arranged into a blood-tipped crown, with eyes of burning crimson ambition. The other was an ancient king, burdened with power.
The Fiend wanted to fight, furious. The man spoke.
“You left the Court behind already, Ozriel. There is no need to return.”
Eithan took a deep breath as his armor settled around him. The Mantle of Ozriel had been sealed in Sanctum, in the treasure vault of another world, and even now it shattered through its seals and came for him.
“Come with me,” Daruman continued. “Tear down the system and build it anew. Without you, the Judges are worthl—”
Eithan interrupted him. “You should have known I would come for you.”
The Mantle of Ozriel emerged from the Way. It settled onto Eithan’s shoulders, boiling shadow streaming out behind him.
“Maybe I have been away too long,” Eithan continued, “if you thought you could destroy my home and walk away.”
Oth’kimeth and Daruman merged again, and once more the Mad King looked down from the sky. “I assumed you had seen the truth and left.”
“The truth? Here is the truth you deserve. You do not decide who lives and who dies.” Eithan levered the scythe up onto his shoulder. “That’s my job.”
With the speed of the Fox, he moved.
He disappeared from the surface of Cradle, appearing behind the Mad King. He struck with the power of the Wolf.
The Mad King swung his sword back, and the clash between their weapons would have ruined the planet.
But the planet was under the protection of Ozriel. The damage struck a blue shield covering the entire central planet of Cradle, and the barrier held with the defense of the Titan.
The Mad King dashed away, but Eithan had once been declared the heir of the Spider. His awareness expanded to fill…everything.
Nothing could hide from him.
Somewhere in the stretch of empty space in Iteration One-one-zero, Daruman came to a halt. Bloody claws emerged from nowhere to either side of him, manifestations of his will.
Eithan drifted up next to them, and with the touch of the Ghost, he wiped those powers away.
He looked into the future, seeing and arranging Fate. With the vision of the Hound, Eithan twisted his destiny.
He and Daruman traded hits, and after every exchange, chips of bone flew off to return to the Void. But so did gleaming black metal.
Eithan’s fake scythe couldn’t keep up with his power, and in truth neither could he. Too much of Eithan’s strength had faded as he stayed under the Origin Shroud for so long. His armor was chipped and cracked from hits that he’d missed.
Red eyes blazed as the Mad King noticed. “You are not what you were.”
Eithan readied his scythe and focused his power.
Color vanished in the entire Iteration. Darkness and emptiness gathered on the edge of his scythe as he finally unleashed the power of the Reaper.
“Would you destroy your home to kill me?” Daruman asked quietly.
“Daruman, the Mad King!” Eithan shouted. “Oth’kimeth, the Conqueror! By the authority of Ozriel and the Court of Seven, I condemn you to die. No matter the cost.”
Eithan drew back his scythe, ready to swing, and the power of annihilation reached its peak.
Daruman had every intention of standing and facing this strike, Eithan was sure of it. But the Fiend within him had other plans.
It clawed open a rift into the Void, and Eithan allowed it. Oth’kimeth dragged his human vessel behind.
Daruman vanished before he could call Eithan’s bluff.
Eithan let out a breath and released the power of death that had gathered in his weapon. Color raced back into the universe. It was a good thing the Fiend had bought his act; unleashing a strike powerful enough to break the Mad King’s defenses while in Cradle would indeed have destroyed the entire Iteration.
And he wasn’t willing to do that. Not anymore. Still, he left wounds behind. Scars in space, missing stars.
Eithan had no power to heal them.
He let himself drift through the Way, the flows taking him down to the surface where he had started. Another piece fell from his armor, and his scythe creaked in his hand.
With an irritated flex of his will, he unmade the weapon. It was a crude imitation anyway.
That fight had taken more out of him than it would have, once. He had been veiled too long, and it would be some time before he could face the Mad King without fear.