[I can give you an edge, but the rest is up to you,] Dross said. The world didn't stop, like it had against Harmony or Seishen Kiro, but Lindon could suddenly follow Sophara's movements much easier than before. She was going for Saeya.

He kicked ahead of her, drawing dragon's breath into his hand. Thanks to Dross, he knew where she would go. He could see his Striker technique burning through her.

So he and Dross were equally astonished when her golden eyes flashed with a pale light and she slipped to the side. Black dragon's breath drilled a hole in the ground. A silver wave passed over her; she had somehow managed to avoid Yerin's Striker technique at the same time.

[That's...ghostwater,] Dross said.

There was a sound like a splitting melon, Saeya's voice coughed, and Lindon turned to the side to see her dissolve into white light.

You didn't know?

[My records are incomplete! Incomplete! How many more times do I have to—]

The golden disc floating over Sophara shifted position to catch three black arrows, but she was already whipping her tail into Lindon. He blocked with his left hand, Enforced by the Burning Cloak, while gathering more dragon's fire in his right.

The bones in his forearm cracked.

He flew back, tumbling, losing his grip on the Burning Cloak. Thanks to Dross and the grace of his Underlord body, Lindon managed to control himself enough to land on his feet.

His arm hung limp and useless, the pain virtually paralyzing him. It wasn't only broken; her tail had torn skin and muscle, ripping him open from elbow to wrist. The others had engaged Sophara in combat, which was the only thing that had stopped her from finishing him off in midair.

Backup plan, Lindon said to Dross.

[Fifteen feet behind you and to your left,] Dross responded.

If they failed to eliminate Sophara in an ambush, then odds were good they wouldn't be able to prevent her from passing the second round. The next-best thing would be to keep her away from the crowns, but she was much more of a monster than anyone could have expected.

So if they couldn't prevent her from reaching the third round, they had to at least stop her from eliminating them all.

Lindon followed Dross' directions, reaching down with his Remnant arm.

From beneath a bush, he grabbed the crown.

Chapter 14

The disc floating around Sophara made her all but immune to Striker techniques, she was physically stronger than any of them but Yerin, and the ghostwater meant that even Eithan couldn't keep up with her. She kept dashing and running, engaging them one at a time, and every exchange ended with one of the Akura faction injured.

By the time her movement slowed, indicating that her single drop of ghostwater had run out, she was still in better condition to the rest of them. Either they would outlast her madra...or she would destroy them all.

Guided by Dross, Lindon pushed his Soul Cloak to the limit. Sophara hammered at Yerin's sword, tearing the blade apart with her claws, then dashed to the side to avoid the counter-attack. She was too fast and precise to be caught, and when she saw Lindon standing in her way clutching a crown, she didn't avoid him. She dove right into him, eyes blazing.

As she did, Lindon placed the crown on her head.

Heat stabbed through Lindon's ribs as Flowing Flame madra drove through his chest. His spiritual defenses fought against it, but his own madra weakened as breathing became much harder.

His vision fuzzed. He was an inch from death.

But the light around Sophara turned white.

She faltered as she realized what had happened, and then her fury redoubled. Once again, her spirit surged to the skies, and she unleashed a tide of golden flame.

There was no stopping it. Lindon braced himself behind his white arm, straining the hunger binding to its limits, weakening the attack as much as he could.

No matter how much he siphoned its power, he was still swallowed by fire.

He gritted his teeth instead of screaming as fire madra covered him from head to toe. It was like trying to clutch a live coal in his bare fist.

But as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and he hurriedly vented burning madra from his arm. Smoke rose from his charred robes, and he was sure he was missing some hair, but all told he had emerged unscathed.

Yerin had ended up far away, but she was still alive. Mercy had hidden in her tree. Pride was on one knee, bracing himself with a hand, but he had weathered the tide of fire. Eithan...

Eithan was dissolving into white light.

He faded away before Lindon could catch a glimpse of him, but Lindon was shocked. Eithan was the most suited to survive a massive Striker technique. Had he let himself be burned away? Why?

The aura of ghostwater had faded from Sophara, but she still did not waste time. Her golden eyes touched on Lindon, but then they moved to the weakest enemy remaining. The one crouched and panting on the ground.

Pride.

[Shame,] Dross said. [I was hoping he could eat more attacks for us.]

It wasn't the end for someone “killed” in this round, Lindon knew. They would be re-formed in an hour, unharmed. But the competition would get fiercer as the round progressed as fewer crowns appeared.

If Pride was eliminated now, he wouldn't make it.

Lindon leaped forward, gathering pure madra into his Remnant hand. It didn't conduct the Empty Palm as well as his flesh hand, but it was good enough. The newly enhanced version of the technique didn't have to hit Sophara's core dead-on. If he could only slow her down, he and Pride could both survive...

[This is why I should be in charge of your body,] Dross said.

Lindon landed between Sophara and Pride, driving his Empty Palm at her midsection.

She didn't even slow down as her claws tore off Lindon’s head.

~~~

Ziel sat against a tree and waited, hood shading his eyes and hammer leaning against him. He had brought it in his soulspace, but keeping any item inside his fractured spirit was agony, so he let it sit by him.

He knew the Stormcallers were here, and the champion of the Dawnwing Sect would have hunted them down one by one with righteous fury in his heart. It wouldn't matter if he made it to the next round or not, so long as none of them did.

But Ziel wasn't that man any longer. The memory of the Weeping Dragon taking up the sky, its living lightning decimating his students and friends, had played in his mind so many times that it had scraped him raw. Dreadgods couldn't be blamed for the destruction they caused; he might as well shout at a hurricane for daring to flood his house.

It was the Dreadgod cultists that had stoked his rage, as they looted and pillaged in their master's wake.

They had chased down the fleeing Dawnwing sect as rain and thunder poured from the sky. Ziel had stayed behind to hold them off as his junior disciples and students escaped.

It hadn't worked. As it turned out, one of the Weeping Dragon's lightning strikes had caused a landslide that wiped them all out.

So Ziel's duel with the Sage of Calling Storms had been for nothing.

He had lost, of course. Even at the height of his power, he was no Sage. And instead of killing him, the leader of the Stormcaller cult had mutilated him. Cutting apart his spirit and stitching it together...wrong.

Afterward, he had been allowed to live. Forced to live, almost. He was no threat to the Storm Sage, no threat to the Stormcallers without a sect behind him, and certainly no threat to the Weeping Dragon.