Sharp white stars hung in the air, like snowflakes frozen mid-fall. They resonated with sword aura, like the points of ten thousand knives.

On top of all that, there was something...strange about this world of frozen blades. He was finding it hard to move. Either this madra had aspects he couldn't sense that were holding him in place, or there was another property to this technique. Even his madra seemed half-frozen, his cycling as sluggish as honey in winter.

Yerin sagged onto the ground, holding herself up by her master's sword. Sweat ran down her face, and she heaved deep breaths, her spirit weak. She had strained herself to activate an Archlord binding. Lindon couldn't believe she'd done it at all. She met his eyes, glowing with satisfaction.

[You know what’s amazing? Those Diamond Veins,] Dross said. [One big technique after another, and she hasn’t even torn her madra channels apart. She really got the best of you in the prize department, didn’t she?]

Yerin may have had to recover from the sword's technique, but her Blood Shadow didn't. The spirit moved easily through the frozen space, smiling, holding a black sword in her pink-tinged hand. She swept a Striker technique at him, winking as she did.

In an instant, Lindon and Dross ran through his options. He had several. All of them required a sacrifice, so he chose the one he preferred.

While the silver-and-red wave of madra rushed at him, Lindon poured madra and soulfire into his right hand.

Back when he’d advanced to Underlord, he had absorbed the power of the Archstone. It hadn’t replaced the binding in his arm, it had only altered his original technique…and made it stronger.

Now, he pushed that binding beyond its limits. Hunger madra rushed out, drawing in everything, as though his hand had become a hungry void.

The Blood Shadow skidded to a halt on the ground, fighting the pull, clawing her way backward. Yerin rose to her feet, gathering her power and preparing to attack.

Lindon's entire mind and soul were caught up in guiding the technique. The arm was already beginning to splinter; if he lost control for one second, the limb would explode with the technique incomplete, and he would be at the center of a massive detonation of unstable madra.

The arm, set free, howled with gluttony. It greedily consumed all the spiritual energy in the space. The Striker technique swirled into him, along with the pale strands of icy madra from the Sage's sword. The freezing white mist flowed like a river into his arm...and almost burst it. The Archlord madra was far beyond anything the arm—or Lindon—could contain.

When the wintry world started to crumble, Lindon's spirit reached its end.

Dross, help! Lindon begged.

[Uh, listen, I will. I'm not saying I won't. But that's going to be it from me, do you hear me? It's going to take everything I have.]

Just do it!

Without another word, the spirit added his will to Lindon's.

The Remnant arm had begun to burst at the seams, leaking madra, but together the two managed to wrench the spiritual power around. He used his pure madra to push it, direct it, keep it from consuming his spirit from the inside. His hand had devoured some of the essence, but there was far more than it could contain.

It was all too powerful for Lindon to contain, but he could push it in a certain direction. Guide it.

He vented it toward Yerin.

A river of pale madra far bigger than Lindon's body thundered out of him, deafening as it tore the air. It was a rush of white and silver light, with streaks of red and even black. The unstable, imbalanced rush of power sprayed over Yerin's entire half of the stage, engulfing her and her Blood Shadow.

Focused, it would have easily destroyed them both. But Lindon couldn't focus it—he could only channel it.

When the deluge ended, he staggered, his arm hanging limp at his side and hissing out madra. His vision doubled, and his spirit screamed in pain. His pure core was tapped out, and Dross was exhausted.

But he had decided to win. Yerin wanted him to give this his very best, and he wasn't done yet.

Before the massive cloud of madra had settled, Lindon readied his one good arm and tapped his Blackflame core.

~~~

Working together, Yerin and her Blood Shadow managed to turn the tide of overwhelming madra that Lindon had managed to send their direction.

It had been close.

They had stood shoulder-to-shoulder, swords out and shining with madra, fighting the river of power with everything they had. Her Shadow laughed the entire time, even as the mix of spiritual energy screamed around them, and for once Yerin agreed.

This was what it meant to go all-out.

Her Blood Shadow lost power, bleeding ribbons of madra. Yerin's whole body trembled with effort, her madra pouring out of her like water from a leaky bucket. A little more control, and the attack would have wiped them both out.

But Lindon couldn't direct an Archlord's madra any more than she could. Together, she and the Shadow hung on until the flow tapered off.

When it did, she wobbled on her feet, her own breath harsh in her ears. The unfocused power still hung in the air like a white cloud flashing with dozens of other colors. The chaotic madra blocked out her spiritual perception and all her mundane senses.

Sweaty hair stuck to her forehead. Her core was dim, almost empty. She could sense the Blood Shadow's weakness as well, but Lindon couldn't be in much better shape. Hurling an attack like that had to be almost the same as taking it head-on. He had to be done.

A spear of dragon's breath broke the cloud.

The Blood Shadow took the black-and-red bar of madra on its blade. The spirit stumbled back, falling and catching itself with its sword-arms.

Yerin slashed a Rippling Sword horizontally through the cloud. She was shooting blind, but maybe she'd get lucky.

A shield shoved through the white madra, three feet from her face. It shattered her Striker technique, and then turned sideways as Lindon straightened his arm.

In that moment, she saw him as their enemies always had. He towered over her, built like a guard tower, his eyes burning circles of red on darkness. His clothes were shredded and burned. Drying blood streaked his skin. His right arm hung mangled and useless against his side.

Her heart swelled with pride.

Dark fire kindling in his palm reminded her the fight wasn't over. On instinct, she brought up her sword against his budding Striker technique. Though little energy remained in her limbs, her Steelborn Iron body made sure her swing was a vertical blur. She cut through the Blackflame fireball, breaking it, and before Lindon could conjure another, a red Rippling Sword flew at him from the side.

He turned to face it, and Yerin created space between them.

This was her last chance. He would outlast her in a prolonged fight; of course he would. He was a madra monster. Even his wounds would heal in time, though she wasn't sure if his Remnant arm would come back. Knowing him, he probably had a way to repair it.

She had to finish it now. She drew her blade back, pouring all her madra into one last technique. A second Final Sword.

A blink later, the Blood Shadow kicked Lindon away and began echoing Yerin. The crackling storm of energy was a blend of red and silver, but Yerin's was a silver so bright it was almost white.

Deep in her mind, it alarmed her that the parasite had a version of the Final Sword. Yerin had never shared that with the Shadow, and she herself had only learned it recently. The Blood Shadow had never practiced.

Those were thoughts from a nightmare, but they belonged later. She had a fight to win.