I've been thinking about a Cradle post on Reddit about Lindon's Fate. Not his Original Fate from before Suriel, or his Most Likely Fate without Eithan, but that 0.3% chance of reaching Ascendant level (presumably within 30 years,) and what that life must have looked like for Lindon.
Because there were a couple of things I think people on Reddit were missing, a couple of factors that inform the options and possibilities, things that make this a really interesting idea.
First is that Lindon needs some bullshit. The same way that every Monarch ever has had lucky breaks and bullshit to help get them to where they are. The same way Lindon had Eithan and all of the canon protagonist opportunities. Which is a fun thing to work with.
The second is that Lindon needs to get on his bullshit fast. He just can't have a slow leisurely advancement to Gold. Not just because it would likely kill him, but also because a flawed foundation would sabotage his advancement and it's unlikely that a Fisher or other resident of the Desolate Wilds could provide him with any Iron Body or Jade Cycling technique worth anything.
With that in mind, an answer actually came together really quickly.
The Labyrinth
Its a trove of treasures, most of which are hunger related, as well as a fount of knowledge, which Lindon is in desperate need of.
So here are my thoughts.
Now, when I skimmed through Soulsmith, a few things stood out to me.
The Ancestors Spear/Hunger Bindings: The flaw of the binding alone is that it only draws out power, it doesn't do anything with it, and the flaw of the spear is that it can only give its wielder compatible madra, everything else gets vented, very inconvenient.
The Miners. Iron barrels covered in script that draw in all aura and convert it into pure madra.
What a wonderful coincidence.
When you add that together with Lindon's few existing victories involving boundary formations and scripts, it lends itself to an idea that ties them all together.
I think that when the opportunity to escape the Sandvipers, Lindon and Yerin, knowing that everyone and their mother wants the spear, and noticing that even the Dreadbeasts and Remnants appear to be attracted to the top of the ruins, would move in the opposite direction. Deeper into the Labyrinth.
I'm seeing Lindon copying down all the scripts from a miner into his path manual and integrating them into his remnant powered remnant trap from Unsouled. Creating circles of defense for himself that drain remnants dry and turn them into scales for his advancement.
I'm imagining a path of hunger where Lindon forges scripts like Ziel to control battlefields and turn everything thrown at him into something to make him stronger. Scripts running along his arm and towards his core that power his consume technique. All while also maintaining a pure madra path and with Little Blue's help to prevent him from succumbing to Hunger corruption.
I think Yerin knows enough about perfect iron bodies to discourage Lindon from advancing unprepared, but not how to prepare him in any way but her own. So Lindon just continues to cram madra channels everywhere in his body he can fit them while they look for something in the Ruins to guide him, eventually getting to the point where his core is so absolutely full to the max that he is just sitting in a hunger script circle attempting to drain the excess to prevent unintentionally advancing, all while consuming the scales his defenses are producing because if he doesn't they'll just draw in more remnants and dreadbeasts, and ends up accidentally creating his own fucked up, extreme Iron Body.
When Lindon is first shown how the Miners work, he remarks that the spiraling movement of the aura moving through the barrel looks like its cycling. I can see him figuring out that cycling method for himself to use as his Jade Cycling technique. Something that allows him to constantly refill his cores from any ambient aura, to make up for their limited size.
All of this feels pretty well setup in canon actually, if not the actual details. As if Will included the foreshadowing for the story that would never be told.
Outside of the more solidly canon predictable protagonist events, I feel like a few other things would be a mix of fun and necessary for Lindon to advance so quickly. One is that he definitely needs to be in the UKT. Its just the most perfect system in universe for turning promising Underlords into potential Monarchs via experience and rewards. But, I think some fun could be had there with the how.
This Fate reading of Suriel didn't account for Eithan, and it didn't account for the Mad King, so we can dismiss a lot of things that happened in canon as they wouldn't have occurred in this version of Fate. Which means I think it would be great if Subject One rolled over in his sleep and spatially shifted Lindon and Yerin to the Rosegold continent where they could join the faction of Tiberian Arelius.
Similarly, I think the early exposure to the Labyrinth, the Hunger Path, the scripting and soulsmithing, etc, would put Lindon in a good spot for claiming Authority over the Labyrinth as an additional boost to his advancement. All of which paves the way for the record 30 year advancement goal/timeline Suriel gave him.
Lastly, I think this sets Lindon up for a very narratively satisfying confrontation with the Wandering Titan and the Dreadgods in general. Lindon might actually be able to fulfill the purpose of the Labyrinth in subduing the Dreadgods as intended by Eithan and Tiberian, giving Lindon time to solve the Monarch problem as well before ascending
Thyresia Geldonna, Fourth Executor of the Abidan, sighed as she exited the vivid blue portal of The Way and descended to the surface of Sanctum. This last mission had been... taxing. It felt like it had been decades since she had an easy one. She could check her presence for the exact answer, but she was certain she didn't want to know. What she wouldn't give for a meteor impact or a plague, or even just a nice villain to destroy.
A voice sounded in her head.
"Executor Alpha Four. Sector Control has detected your presence in Sanctum. Present yourself your debriefing immediately or you will be found in contempt of your oaths."
Thyresia sighed again and whisked herself away towards the stout grey building that housed the limited physical needs of the Executor Program. It's diminutive nature didn't insult her nearly so much as the gaudy gold of the Hall of Justice did, but the slight was certainly intentional. The Court had not held back in making their dissatisfaction with her and her colleagues apparent.
Colleague, she mentally corrected. It was just her and Daruman left. Phestos had left to resume control of his home Iteration off in the remote branch of the Way he had ascended from, Charisse had quit, and Evarin had destroyed his last assignment—before being destroyed in turn. Within the safety of her own mind Thyresia could admit that she couldn't blame any of them for their decisions. Not anymore.
If her home had been in a more distant branch of the Way, she might have considered returning there herself. She didn't necessarily desire to be worshipped as a Goddess the way she was certain to be were she to descend nearly four centuries after uniting her people, but it certainly had an appeal when compared to her current treatment.
The pair of Hounds waiting to debrief her radiated contempt and irritation. Whether at her failure to immediately appear within the building upon her arrival or just in reaction to her appearance at all, she didn't care. Her unpredictability within Fate meant the debrief teams needed to be on call at all moments, even when missions could last years at a time. It was the consequence of the decisions they had made after Charisse, the restrictions they had placed upon them. They were welcome to be as grumpy as they liked.
Her two handlers of the day didn't speak as they went to work strapping her into the complex artifact that would extract her memories of the nine local years she had spent on Iteration 614 for dissection and examination. She didn't break the silence either—she had nothing to say.
One of the Hounds vanished further into the complex, her presence in his grasp. It would be scanned of all data on the fluctuations of Fate engendered by her actions in order to bring the network as a whole up to date on prediction indicators. Thyresia would have to purge it of manipulated directives when they returned it, as she always did.
For now, she closed her eyes and tuned out the world and the buzzing and humming of the constructs. It could take hours or days for them to pick apart and critique every decision she had made and to confirm that the new track of Fate Scour had landed on was up to their standards. Not that she particularly cared for their judgments.
Her opinion was unfortunately not considered as the Hound monitoring her memories began questioning and berating her regarding her actions of Scour. Part of her mind remained focused, answering the interrogation with the calm and poise befitting an empress, but the rest drifted.
A thread of Fate opened to Thyresia and she watched with pleasure as a version of herself speared the odious man through the heart with her trident before flinging his body onto the street outside. She particularly enjoyed the look of shock on his face in this future and committed it to memory before dismissing the vision. Dozens of additional possibilities opened up to her mind as she considered all the ways she could shut the odious man up for good.
She always cut off the visions before they progressed too far. This was her secret little game of stress relief, and it would spoil the fun to watch herself get captured or killed by one of the Judges. In front of her, the Hound continued his "evaluation" of all her many supposed inadequacies and mistakes.
It was hard to take a pencil pushing Hound like him seriously, he wouldn't have survived a tenth of the missions she had been on and would have failed on half of any he did survive. It was easy to judge a decision from the safety of Sanctum and from the perspective of hindsight, it was a different story in the moment, when billions of lives were on the line.
Another thread of Fate opened up where she ripped his spine out and flung it through a portal to land at Makiel's feet. Before her, the man continued his supposed debrief without a flicker of recognition or acknowledgment, as those like him always did. It was the reason they distrusted her and the others so much. Blind spots. They had all become blind spots in the Abidan's sight and they hated it, Makiel and the Hounds most of all.
"Is something funny Alpha Four?" He asked suddenly. "Because my calculations show that you could have stabilized Iteration 614 within a mere three months local time. While you were busy playing around, an additional 500 million people died on Iteration 324, and I don't think that's a laughing matter."
The ghost of a smirk that had graced her mouth at the obliviousness of her minder twisted into a sneer. Scour had been full of corruption of the mortal kind. Its leaders boldly marching their world towards its certain destruction just for the sake of just a little more power. Each of them intending to ascend beyond the consequences of their actions at the last possible moment. It had been a delicate balance to bring its people out of the oppression they had grown used to. Executing the powerful had only been the start. The systems in place were simply too entrenched for that to be enough. If she had left so quickly, the world would have tipped back to the edge of oblivion within half a century, rather than the six millennia of stability she had established.
She pulled more of herself back into her mind, not trusting her ability to keep her stress relief grounded in mere possibility if she had to address the man with the full weight of her emotions and thoughts. What remained relayed her reasoning with calm and cool logic.
The Hound made a sound of disgust anyway.
"This is why they're replacing you relics. You're sloppy and inefficient and dangerous. There are a thousand of the new guys, all of them tied directly to Makiel and the Hounds by binding constructs. No more unexpected deviations, no more surprises, no more treason. Just order."
Internally, Thyresia was intrigued, but nothing of her thoughts showed on her placid face. The Hound scoffed again, before continuing.
"You know, they aren't even going to be called Executors anymore. That name will die with you and Alpha Five. The Vroshir will be everything that you lot never were, and the Way will be better for it. Just you wait."
A culmination of multiple canon pieces of lore into one headcanon.
The Fourth Executor perished while attacking the Abidan for "reasons that were not clear" which is 100% bullshit.
The Second Generation of Executors were raised from birth and designed to be competent and loyal.
"The First Generation of Vroshir had worked for the Abidan long ago" and held a grudge against the Abidan and the Court of Seven.
The headcanon/fic idea? The First Generation of Vroshir, the First Generation of Silverlords, and the Second Generation of Executors were the same group of people, and their Silver Crown constructs were designed to enforce their actions according to the Will of the Court. The Fourth Executor led her attack on the Abidan to break the Vroshir of this control.
Nothing is real and I do this for fun and I want to talk about my ideas even though actually writing them in story format isn't working out for me. So I'm going to be posting my ideas for a fan fiction set in the waning days of the Hunger Researchers and the beginning of the Dreadgods.
I'll be tagging them Hunger Beneath.
Anyways, this one is a breakdown on the power players of the setting (all names subject to change because I swear to god that names are the worst possible thing about writing and I hate them)
The Seven
I wanted to maintain symmetry with the Original Seven proto-Abidan Masters of the Labyrinth and the seven clans/schools of Sacred Valley, so the group that took control of the labyrinth to perform their hunger research will also have seven leaders, Sages and Heralds, that collectively claimed authority over the Labyrinth.
I want the Seven to have started with idealistic goals, but to have become corrupted over the years, with an implication and a question on whether the source of that corruption was just the power that they wielded, or if it was more specifically due to constant exposure to Hunger and it's influence.
To that end, the Seven will, at the time of the story's begin, have splintered into factions with differing goals.
Li Malakath
The Leader of the Li Clan and nominal head of the Seven. Malakath believes the Hunger problem to be resolved by the initial effort to corral Hunger Aura using the Labyrinth. He is become more concerned with growing the power and influence of their group through use of the Labyrinth which they have claimed, desiring to explore its depths and leverage its spatial capabilities in dealings and trades with the various factions of Cradle.
Ekrakanoth
A Gold Dragon and founder of The Celestial Radiance school, Ekrakanoth has become disillusioned with the Hunger research after seeing the effects of Hunger on the hatchling he allowed to be used for experimentation, believing it to be a path to greatness. He intends now only to teach and bring others to mastery in the Sacred Arts, determined to leave behind a legacy that would overshadow the perceived failure of the dreadbeast research.
Kazan Takezo
Patriarch of the Kazan and preeminent Soulsmith of the Seven. Takezo also considers Hunger to have been handled and is primarily interested in experimenting and exploiting its possibilities through Soulsmithing. His faction is responsible for the development of artifacts like the Ancestors Spear and the Archstone.
Ren Lingxin
Master of the Gilded Host, which would later diminish into the Golden Sword School. Ren Lingxin is still dedicated to the complete eradication of Hunger and considers the Labyrinth a stop gap effort. He intends to raise up Archlords, Heralds and an army of Golds and Underlords through Hunger weapons in order to wage a war that will see the Monarchs dead or driven from Cradle. His weapons stockpile is what would later be plundered by the original Blackflame Empire.
Cao Fen
Counter to Lingxin, but ultimately aligned, Cao Fen also continues to search for a more stable solution to Hunger. She leads the Dreadgod research team, following the canon purpose of infusing Hunger into beasts that can be controlled through suppression. Despite being ideologically aligned with Lingxin, they are rivals, competing over resource materials from Subject One for their respective projects.
Huang Chao
Scriptmaster of the Seven and architect behind the binding of Hunger to the Labyrinth. Chao is nominally allied with Cao Fen, as it is his suppression scripts that hold her four most promising subjects in check. In practice, he considers his work completed by the development of the suppression scripts and spends his time studying the knowledge of the labyrinth builders and experimenting with the use of Hunger in scripting.
Whispered Dreams
The Sage of Whispered Dreams is not officially a member of the Seven, but is standing in for his contracted partner, Wei Ke Wang after Wei dropped out of all contact with the rest of the Seven.
Wei Ke Wang
The Patriarch of the Wei was originally a proponent of Cao Fen and Huang Chao's efforts, but became obsessed with the possibilities he could see in Fen's greatest subjects. He believed that Paths could be developed that incorporated Hunger without requiring the infusion of a binding and supported Fen in attempting to create beasts through such a method that would leave behind remnants that could be used to advance Hunger artists to Gold. He was also allied with Lingxin, believing his proposed Hunger artists could serve under the Gilded Host in order to defeat the Monarchs... though perhaps not entirely, Hunger was so promising as a source of power...
In my first and latest Hunger Beneath posts. I talked about the power players of the story and the antagonist, so this post is going to be about the minor players and the protagonist.
One thing I wanted, was for the actual main cast of the story to not actually be the Seven. I have three characters in mind, but I'm not sold on their relationship to each other, if they are actually working together, or just perspectives from which we will see the fall of Sacred Valley.
Kau Yung
The working protagonist of the story, and apprentice to Huang Chao, the scriptmaster. His apprentice status serves to give outside perspective on the Seven, and to set up for one of the major plot points, the suppression field. Prior to the actions of Wei Ke Wang, the boundary formation of Sacred Valley was in its original configuration, that of enhancement rather than suppression, while the Four Beasts were each enclosed in smaller individual suppression fields created by Kau Yung's master. As the crisis unfolds across Sacred Valley, Huang Chao would make the decision to alter the boundary field into one giant suppression field, hoping to contain the Dreadgods before they escaped entirely.
Huang Chao will not be able to complete this task himself, and it will instead be left to his apprentice to sneak around/rush through the Labyrinth to make the swap.
After the conclusion, he stays in Sacred Valley to monitor the field and ensure the protections of the Labyrinth hold
Red Faith
A potentially controversial inclusion, but I love the idea of Red Faith being this old, and there are parts of canon that support it, such as his familiarity with the original purpose of the suppression field of Sacred Valley and the lines about him studying/researching in the Labyrinth. I want him to be young, and not really a full fledged researcher yet, but a fresh faced Jade student who is enamoured with the Bleeding Phoenix. He is the great nephew of Cao Fen, and follows a blood path inspired by hers. His identity would not be stated up front and he'd obviously have a name still.
He'd have scenes interacting with the Phoenix throughout the process, from before things lost control all the way through to her escape. One scene would be of the rampage of Blood Shadows and Bloodspawn through the city where he lived, and another of him witnessing someone beat a Blood Shadow for the first time and harness its power for themselves. The reveal of his identity would come from his advancement to Gold and the development of his signature Goldsign tears. His last scene would be him collecting a Blood Shadow "egg" to take with him as he leaves the wreckage of his home, following in the wake of the Phoenix.
Li Markuth
Everyone's favorite festival crasher of course has to make an appearance, especially given some of his lines in Unsouled and in the bonus chapter. I don't know exactly what role he might play in the bulk of the story, but he doest serve a framing purpose at the end of the tale. When the suppression field is in place, and the Dreadgods have fled/escaped from it he will be among the very few who intend to head out after them to attempt to bring them back and account for the failures of their people. He is disgusted that most of the survivors intend to hide behind the boundary formation and abandon the world to their creations. His part ends with him leaving the valley to attempt to bring them back himself.
After the story, he would go on to hunt them down, attempt to get stronger, and eventually ascend as an Archlord, intending to return with greater strength to resolve the problem.
His characterization is a bit of a tightrope to walk, because he needs to be a prideful asshole, but he also needs to have good intentions, and to have the fact that he's lost those by the time he returns to Cradle not seem jarring.
Summary: Zero point three percent. That was the likelihood Suriel's Presence had given of Lindon surviving and advancing enough to save Sacred Valley. Of course, that was before he ran into Eithan Arelius... but what would have happened if he hadn't? What is the story of those 0.3% odds?
Ideas: Lindon and Yerin go deeper into the Transcendent Ruins/Labyrinth after the Sandviper mining crew is attacked. Lindon develops a Hunger/Scripting Path inspired by notes from researchers, the ancestor's spear, hunger bindings, and, oddly enough, the script from the mining construct that condensed conflicting madra types into pure madra.
Note: I'm going to start tagging my Cradle stuff with "#spoilers for book 10: Reaper" as relevant for anyone newer to Cradle that hasn't read that book yet.
Lindon did not look up from his refiner as the door opened. In all of Sailfin Port there was only one person that would enter his workshop without announcing themselves, and from her, Lindon had nothing to fear.
"Messenger construct just arrived. It's both of them," Yan Shoumei, said from behind him.
He made a small noise of acknowledgment and tipped a little more crimson daggerroot onto his scales. This was not the first summons they had received. Both of their spirits had felt the tugging sensation from their Blood Shadows, calling them home to Redmoon Hall, to the Bleeding Phoenix. Only the Phoenix and Redmoon himself were capable of resonating with the shadows from such extreme of a distance, and neither Lindon nor Yan Shoumei had any interest in responding to their calls, but if Red Faith had sent a message of his own as well, then the whole sect was being gathered, and their presense was no long optional.
"I can be ready by first light tomorrow," he said, sweeping the daggeroot into the refiner once he was satisfied with the measurement. The dried root immediately began to smolder, releasing an acrid red smoke that was quickly swept away by script circles embedded over his workbench.
As much as Lindon would prefer to remain and continue working in this place that had become a second home, he in particular could not afford to ignore the summons of the Sage. Red Faith had taken an immediate interest in him when he arrived at Redmoon Hall as a half starved Jade with a unique Iron Body. Of course, the personal attention of the Blood Sage was as much curse as it was boon. While Lindon was shielded from the worst of Redmoon Hall, a target had been painted on his back for those jealous of the Sage's time and knowledge.
In some ways, Yan Shoumei had saved him, taking him under her own wing even as a young Lowgold herself, and when she left Redmoon Hall to return to her home, Lindon came with her. The years in Sailfin had been kinder than those at the Hall, or those back in Sacred Valley. Here the people treated him and Shoumei alike with respect and admiration rather than as monsters—as strangers were want to do when they traveled. Lindon's face had only grown more severe as he advanced, and the blood red eyes that served as his goldsign didn't help matters in the slightest. Between his appearance, his size, and his path, he tended to give a first impression that was unfortunately more "violent serial killer" than "gentle giant".
Not that Shoumei was much better. With her pale skin, raspy voice, and long black hair that so often fell in front of her face, she passed easily for a monster from a horror performance. The sight of the two of them together had, on more than one occasion, sent children crying to their parents, But not here. Here they were protectors and providers, keeping watch against the growing threat of Anagi and his minions.
He returned his focus to his current project, noting down the exact measurement of daggerroot that he had added, alongside its spiritual strength and source, which he'd already recorded. This was his 48th iteration of this spiritual refinement elixir, and while none of them had been failures since the fifth, there was always room for improvement, and improvement was what Lindon desperately needed. He'd reached the peak of Truegold over a year ago, and yet Underlord remain frustratingly out of his grasp. So he refined. Both elixirs and himself. His core sat behind his navel like a polished sphere of red marble, as dense, compact, and potent as he could manage before advancement, but it could never be enough.
It had been long years since he had first come to the realization of the true magnitude of the task he had undertaken. One could only spend so much time amongst a Dreadgod cult before understanding exactly what sort of threat can walk through mountains and require a Monarch's power to defend against after all. As a Truegold, Lindon was stronger than the vast majority of the inhabitants of Cradle, let alone his home of Sacred Valley. Even if he never advanced again he could live out his life in comfort as the head of a small village or sect out here in the wider world. And yet, as a Truegold, he stood as significant of a chance at defending Sacred Valley from the Wandering Titan as he had as an Unsouled.
Suriel had visited again around the time he had first stalled in his progress, drawing him into a vision of warning and apology. She had laughed at his urgency and impatience and reminded him that even she had not reached such heights of power in thirty years, let alone five. It had served to mollify him for a time… but then the stars went out.
All had witnessed the Battle of the Heaven's as the Man in Black fought against the Man of Bones and reality broke around them. The world had not ended, and Suriel had put everything right once again, but something had remained broken nonetheless. Tension filled the world and whispers filled the Dreamway. The Monarch factions were in motion and Lindon dreaded the outcome for those weaker than them. A Monarch's plans could be just as destructive and uncaring as a Dreadgod's foot. There were even concerns that the raging conflict of the Destroyers had disturbed the Dreadgods themselves. None had yet awoken, but the Phoenix's dreams had been disturbed by the fighting—anyone with a blood shadow could feel it.
If time was growing short, if he didn't have all of those years that Suriel had suggested... Well, his path would honestly be the same as always.
Improve.
He began finely dicing the heart of a Truegold fish that Shoumei and one of her fathers had pulled up this last week. It's species wasn't known to any of the fishermen in this area, but its scales radiated with the same sword aura it had been using to cut fishing lines and shred nets in the months since it had swam into their bay. It was an unexpected windfall and would hopefully elevate this latest elixir to greater heights.
As always, Shoumei waited patiently for Lindon to finish his cutting before continuing to speak.
"So... who's the guest?" she asked.
Lindon glanced up above his refiner, where a sacred artist hung suspended from the ceiling, glaring at him as if he wished to cut him to shreds with his very gaze. Which would have been more of a threat if not for the cocktail of reagents Lindon had stuffed him full of that served to keep his madra firmly out of his grasp.
"Ingredients." He said, and began weighing out the fish heart.
Lindon didn't have to turn around to know the unimpressed face Shoumei would be making at him from behind her long hair. He sighed and turned around.
"A Flashing Knife sect member I caught outside of their territory, sneaking around the edges of town in fact. Nothing Kestos could claim offense over, let alone something that could push Anagi to action."
"Ah, well, then by all means" she said, gesturing to the captive slaughter artist.
Lindon turned back, checked his notes once more, nodded , and then plunged a dagger into the man's heart. Blood immediately poured from the wound and down into the refiner, which Lindon allowed for only a moment before using a rudimentary ruler technique to redirect the rest of the falling lifeblood into some prepared vials.
After a short time, the struggles of the murderer ceased and the remnant began to form—red and silver essence coalescing into a growing mass, all sharp edges and rage. The nice thing about following a path of blood and sword was that there were always more slaughter artists, and people generally approved when they suddenly vanished. Lindon smiled and flooded the script he had carved beneath his refiner with madra.
Before him, swirling power grasped at the still forming remnant and began pulling it apart, sucking its power downward to join with the rest of the ingredients of his elixir. It would need twelve hours to refine, but Lindon felt certain that this version would be his most successful yet.
He ran his spiritual senses over the remnant that would never form and noted one last thing on his page.
"Alright, I'm finished. Apologies for the delay. Would you like to get dinner before we pack?"
First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
The timeskip! We get to see Lindon 5 years later, after his journey to Redmoon Hall, but we still have so much to learn about him and his new path. As always, I love to hear your thoughts.
Ah, well. Who knows if I'll ever finish enough of Bloodmaker to post this on AO3. Whatever, I'm not a content creator. This is just for fun.
Anyways, here's a scene from Bloodmaker, where Emissary Shi Lindon of Redmoon Hall competes in the Uncrowned King Tournament and readers get to see what kind of horror movie villain our boy looks like from the outside.
Sha Tenitar felt the sweat dripping down his back as he stared across the arena at his opponent. There were rumours going around that the Dreadgod Cultist was a long lost child of the Monarch Northstrider, and while Tentiar didn't think that was true, he could certainly understand where people were coming from.
The Redmoon stood over seven feet tall and was broader than a tree. Shaggy black hair obscured bloodthirsty eyes, and the cultist grinned as though already envisioning the taste of Tenitar's heart.
He shuddered and adjusted his grip on the Argent Mirror Blades he had claimed as his prize from the previous round. Northstrider made eye contact with them both and nodded for them to prepare.
The cultist began cycling his slaughter Madra in an enforcer technique. Tenitar had seen that technique in dream tablets of the first round, but no more. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to lose here, but if he played his cards right, he could force the cultist to show more of his hand, and then someone else could take him down.
"Begin!" Northstrider called, and Tenitar imposed his blades against the crimson sword of his opponent. The clash of their blades was like an ocean falling on him. Never before had he faced such strength. Still he stood firm, for him to have any chance he could not afford to lose a single step.
His own enforced limbs saw counter attacks raining down against his foe. Nothing made it through his opponents defense, but that wasnt the point. All he had to do was keep his footing, and keep the fight from drifting around the arena. Like a mantra, the thought repeated in his head as he fought with everything his enforced body could handle.
His channels screamed as he continued to flood them with madra. Fighting like this was antithetical to his path, but his path wouldn't serve him here. If he disengaged to use striker techniques he would lose his only opportunity. Seconds dragged for an eternity on as blades met blade and blade met flesh. Tenitar grunted in pain with each cut that opened in his flesh, but held firm. He had to hold. He had to hold.
A strike split open his calf, and he stumbled, cursing himself for his weakness. There was no time left to fight. Before the Cultist could finish him off, he triggered the binding in his swords.
Reflections of every strike he had made during the bout flashed into existence, and the sacrifices he had made to keep his opponent pinned in place bore fruit. Gashes appeared across his body as hundreds of strikes landed simultaneously. Chunks of flesh and even an arm fell to the ground under the grisly malestrom.
Activating the Overlord level binding had taken nearly everything Tenitar had, but that didn't mean he was done. Lurching forward, he crossed his blades over the cultists neck, and with a flare of madra, severed his head from his shoulders.
Relief and ecstasy flooded his body. He had actually done it! He had made it to the top eight! He had... not dissolved into motes of white light.
He turned around and nearly retched at what he saw. Blood and madra, like a mass of squirming red tentacles, pulled at the various pieces of the cultist, drawing him back together. This—this wasn't a man. This was a nightmare—a demon. The now reconnected arm reached out to grab the matted hair of its owner, pulling it through the bloody mud to place it back on its body.
Tenitar stepped backwards in horror as the monster pulled itself to its feet and began stalking towards him. It opened its foul mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was more blood. He continued to back up until he hit a wall. A wall? They should be in the middle of the arena. He looked behind him and saw a perfect, blood red copy of his tormentor. The monster within the monster, a blood shadow unlike any he had ever seen.
Lindon floated in the vivid blue of the Way and brooded. He'd deny it if called out—blame it on his overly severe face and claim to be merely contemplating. Yerin wouldn't have let him get away with it, nor would Dross, but they weren't with him now, and so he brooded.
When he had first ascended to the Heavens they had been a tapestry of chaos. The Vroshir Incursion had devastated Abidan defenses and laid bare the cracks in their organization. 10,000 words had once been under Abidan protection, with 1,000 fully integrated into their control.
They'd proven capable of protecting only a fraction of that number.
The War in the Heavens had cost lives on a scale that had been nearly unfathomable, and with each life lost, the fabric of the Way had weakened. It was in the aftermath of such destruction that the Reaper Division had been born. Lindon and his friends had plunged headfirst into iteration after iteration, pulling them back from the edge of destruction with all their strength and will. Year by year they worked, and slowly but surely, the missions became less desperate—the stability less fragile. Eventually, every world within the emergency jurisdiction of the Reapers was either saved or eliminated.
Lindon felt the pain of those they could not save, the ones who had passed their tipping point while they were busy elsewhere, stretched too thin to address everywhere in need. In some ways the others were worse. Worlds that should have been saved—worlds they had saved, but that had, for some reason, failed to settle into a new Fate. Even the Court of Seven could not resolve their debate regarding where the blame lied. Most agreed that the actions of the Reapers in these Iterations introduced too much chaos for the worlds to handle.
Whatever the cause, these Iterations never rejoined the stream of Fate and lost their connection to the Way. Eithan had been required to eliminate them before their drift caused them to crash into healthy iterations. None of them handled these well; without the ability to view Fate, they could only guess at what they had done wrong—at what they could have done differently.
Of the 10,000 worlds of the Abidan, the combined efforts of each Division had recovered 6,823. The rest were either gone, in the hands of the Vroshir, or otherwise beyond the reach of the newer, more cautious Abidan.
That's when Eithan, with all his usual showmanship, revealed his true plans for the Reaper Division, a dream made possible by none other than the Mad King himself. A way for the Reapers to save iterations from themselves before they reached the brink, and without the risks of violating fate. A plan that Eithan himself had attempted on Cradle.
Which brought Lindon to the Iteration he was brooding over, #2365. It was corrupted by at least one influence that would eventually lead to its death, but that death was far enough distant as to not yet be written firmly in the stands of fate, and so it could be changed, and if it was changed from within, it would theoretically shift to its new fate without any danger of failure.
Lindon held a black marble to his lips.
“Apply restraints and seal authority. Authorization eight-zero-zero-two.”
Yerin still teased him that Eithan had made her the first Reaper rather than him, but the taunts had never stung. They both knew that she would be the one to replace him one day. Hopefully not for a long time though.
Lindon felt a spasm of pain as he thought of his wife. Eithan had spent close to seventeen years on Cradle in his attempt to raise up a team that could solve the Hunger and Monarch problem from within. He'd been prepared to spend forty, and Lindon had to be just as committed to the Fate of this world.
He did think it was an easier thing for Ozriel to have undertaken, as lonely as he had been. He'd not had a wife and child he was leaving behind. Well—Lirin might be a little put out at being referred to as a child given that he'd been a full-fledged Reaper himself for years now, but immortality had a strange effect on the perception of time. Eithan assured him that once he hit his first millennium a mere 40 years would seem like nothing at all.
Lindon wasn't planning on taking that long.
With the seal activated, the clock had truly started, and Lindon couldn’t delay any further; he veiled his rapidly dwindling power and slipped into the Iteration. He wrapped himself in illusions as he drifted down over the blue green sphere of the world. It was a fairly standard human inhabited planet, but Sector Control had informed him that access to its energy system was limited to a select few, and the vast majority of the world wasn't aware of it at all. A man seen descending from the sky here would have far greater impact on the fate of the iteration than on Suriel's appearance on Cradle.
As he dropped, he was feeding everything that he was into the marble. The powers he had collected after his ascension went first, and they were the easiest to let go. His Authority and the power of the Dreadgods were harder. For the first time in decades he actually had to struggle against his arm as it resisted what felt entirely too much like being consumed—the Hunger they shared rebelling in the face of giving up power.
The marble was giving as much as it took though, and wisps of gray fabric drifted from its surface to wrap around him—around his soul. This Origin Shroud was nothing compared to the one that had hidden Eithan from the eyes of Judges, but it was sufficiently strong to hide his own Origin from this world.
He picked up the pace of his descent as the marble began eating into the power he’d gained as a Lord, greedily drinking up his madra and soulfire. If he hadn’t reached the surface by the time that was finished he’d find his mission ending with an abrupt impact with the ground. He stumbled as he landed in a clearing outside of a small village, his body failing him as the effects of its rebirth in soulfire were sealed away.
The sealing was accelerating, and Lindon could barely sense his own spirit beneath the ever thickening shroud. The loss of his Bloodforged body sent him to his knees and he almost wished he couldn’t sense what was coming next; madra itself was as incompatible with this world as it was fundamental to Cradle. Uncaring of his wishes, the threads of the Shroud reached his cores only moments later and Lindon world faded to black.
When he came to, he jumped to his feet, slightly surprised at the ease of movement even in this weakened form. It made a certain sense, this planet was significantly smaller than Cradle, and even without his madra enforcing him Lindon felt… strong. The shroud hadn’t left him with anything beyond the limits of this world, but his physique would at least be an asset still.
As he continued to take stock of his body he was surprised at the sight of an intricate tattoo in white ink that he found covering a now fully human right arm. He took a strange degree of comfort in the compromise the Shroud had found when hiding this clearly inhuman aspect of his person, leaving him a permanent reminder of who he was for as long as he remained in this world.
He completed his scan of his body and instinctively moved to turn that his vision inward, to see for himself the void where his cores should be—and came up short when he couldn't. The comfort he had drawn from his arm fled from him as the reality of this undertaking sunk in. Even as an Unsouled he had been capable of visualizing his meager core and madra, but now it was like trying to see out of his elbow. He was blind and powerless in a way he had never been before.
Lindon sat in that feeling for only a moment before he gathered himself, determination settling over him. He had mastered the energy systems of half a dozen ascended Iterations. He’d started from the bottom on Cradle as well, and it wouldn’t stop him here either. He tucked the black marble into the pockets of the clothing that had replaced his glossy black armor and pulled a book out of the leather pack he had brought—which had surprisingly survived the shroud unchanged.
Essentials
If Lindon had had his way he and Dross would have poured over every resource they could have found from this world before he ever stepped foot on its surface. He’d not been given that choice. Sector Control had only allowed him this single book, and only upon his arrival. Lindon expected that one of the other Judges was putting their finger on the scale, hoping for his failure and the end of the Reapers. It was up to him to prove them wrong.
He opened the book, and began to read.
Oh Lindon, I'm sure that you'll be able to master the magic of this world and fight off those pesky threats without issue. No Chaos Fiends here, no sir.
