Ziel conjured a barrier of force around himself, lifting his hammer. Mercy had already released a barrage of arrows, and Orthos breathed out a bar of black dragon’s breath that was now bigger than his entire head.
The concentrated wave of death madra wiped out most of their attacks in an instant.
Only Yerin’s Rippling Sword was dense enough to cut through the Hydra’s madra, and it half-severed the creature’s rightmost head.
But she had to dash to the side and intercept the rest of the death madra, diverting enough of the deadly energy with her sword to protect the others. Or at least Orthos and Mercy. She suspected Ziel would be fine.
The remaining madra from the Striker technique washed over the semi-transparent barrier generated by Ziel’s script, and then the Tomb Hydra landed with an impact that shook the entire room. Both heads, with their shining green eyes, lunged at Yerin.
Which was how she wanted it.
She extended her sword-arms and planted her feet, focusing her will. She would not be moved.
The teeth of the first head crashed around her, and her sword-arms caught them. She flexed, forcing the jaws apart.
The second head simply rammed into her from the other side, surrounded by a ring of death madra that would burn away her lifeline. She met that with her sword, which shone with her own madra.
By all rights, the impact alone should have torn her to shreds, or pulverized her insides. But instead of popping like a swatted mosquito, she stood her ground.
The Hydra heads reacted like they’d run into a rock. The first head’s teeth began to crack, and the second head slammed into her sword and then lurched back, dazed.
Yerin may not have advanced to Archlord yet, but she hadn’t spent the last months sitting on her hands.
Her will was steel.
She slashed down with her Goldsigns and up with Netherclaw. Blood sprayed both the floor and the ceiling.
The Tomb Hydra retreated, hissing furiously, but only one of its heads remained alive. It was dragging the other two along as dead weight. Even that remaining head was torn half-off, revealing bone and a few glowing veins of raw madra.
Yerin understood she wasn’t getting back the madra she’d spent here, especially if she didn’t meet up with Lindon soon. She had a few elixirs remaining, but she never carried most of them. Why would she? Lindon carried enough supplies to start a business as a refiner and a Soulsmith both.
But she was still feeling sunny about her odds. Whatever it cost the labyrinth to make or summon or breed these huge dreadbeasts, they couldn’t be free either.
Her mood cracked like an egg when she saw the walls blur again, and a huge tunnel opened up on their left. A second massive Tomb Hydra slithered out, hauling death.
Now fear crept up on her. Not for herself, but for the others. If only one person made it out of here, it was likely to be her.
Three mouths opened, shining with death madra, and Yerin stopped holding back.
Her Moonlight Bridge wrapped her in white light, carrying her to her destination: on top of the Tomb Hydra.
Madra awakened Netherclaw, and it summoned the Forger technique for which it had been named. A massive beast claw formed over her head, constructed strand by strand from bloody madra. It carried her power alongside its own, and the Archlord technique cut down at the Tomb Hydra.
It twisted in place, clashing with its power against her sword, but Yerin wasn’t waiting around. As soon as she’d used the binding in the sword, she spun and slammed her fist down on the Hydra’s scales with all her strength.
All her strength.
The chamber rang louder than it had when the monster hit the ground. The force of her punch pulverized bones and twisted space. Air tore away from her like a hurricane, and tiny cracks crawled out across the ground in a web.
The snake spasmed, its midsection crushed, and the Netherclaw slashed without resistance.
All three heads were torn off in one swipe.
Yerin leaped off the body, sword in hand. The other snake was still alive, and she had to protect the others.
From midair, she saw the others finish off the first Hydra. The head of Ziel’s hammer, powered by a circle of green runes, slammed it into the floor.
Yerin let herself land gently. She burned the gore from her sword with blood madra, and nodded in respect to Ziel. “Nice hit.”
He looked as though he didn’t believe her. At first, she thought that was just him being unfriendly, but Mercy was staring at her too.
“Yerin,” Mercy said hesitantly, “I think I might head back once we meet up with the others.”
Yerin forced open her own void key, which seemed to want to stick, and rummaged around until she found one of her few elixirs. This one had been made just for her, as the bottle contained a medicine that specialized in restoring blood and sword madra, but she grimaced as she drank it. It was gritty and tasted like steel and charcoal.