Waybound (Cradle)

Copyright © 2023 by Hidden Gnome Publishing Book and cover design by Patrick Foster Cover illustration by Kevin Mazutinec All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. WillWight.com 230605.1 CONTENTS Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Epilogue Bloopers Join the mailing list! About the Author Also by Will Wight To you, for reading this far. Thank you for walking this Path with me all the way to the end. PROLOGUE Iteration 300: Vesper Suriel floated in the emptiness over the central planet of Vesper, preparing herself to meet the Mad King. Her Presence was scouring the future for a way to increase their odds of victory, but there was one obvious first step. “I release Ozriel to his full strength and authority. Authorization zero-zero-six, Suriel.” There came an almost-audible hiss from Ozriel’s black-armored form as the restrictions on his power fell away. He tossed white hair behind him and gave a relieved sigh. “Ah, that’s nice.” His authority radiated in all directions, including deeper. It filled the Iteration and spilled into the Way, silent and invisible. The footsteps of Death. Ozriel stretched out a hand to the side. “Come to me,” he murmured. That call echoed through all creation. At least, it should have. [The Sector is fully isolated,] Suriel’s Presence reported. “As expected,” Ozriel responded. “But if it’s worth trying, isn’t it worth trying twice?” The world of Vesper was trembling around them, and Suriel brought forth her Razor. “He’s almost here. Can you beat him?” Ozriel had his eyes closed and hand still stretched out as he prepared another working, but he still addressed her. “Didn’t your Presence tell you? We have about a one in sixteen chance of both making it out.” “I don’t trust that.” Her Presence radiated shock. He still didn’t open his eyes, but his answering grin was a small slice of white. “Your faith in me is inspiring. I would be more confident if he were actually alone, because I see now that he is not. Or…if I were armed.” Color and sound bled from the planet beneath them as Ozriel’s eyes snapped open. “Come to me,” he ordered again. Iteration Three Hundred trembled. The Way trembled. The entire Sector trembled. But the Reaper’s hand remained empty. The Scythe of Ozriel did not appear. He sighed and put his hand down. “Yeah. One in sixteen.” Reality crumpled and tore. The void of space parted like a curtain to reveal the Void beyond. “Better odds than you deserve,” the Mad King said. To all Suriel’s senses, Daruman appeared no worse for his battle in Cradle. His armor of yellowed bone was still chipped in places, but it protected him. The beast hide hanging from his shoulders offended the universe with its chaotic authority, and his eyes burned like two red suns. If he were alone, Suriel would like their chances. But as expected, he had come prepared for another clash with Ozriel. Behind him, a vast mass of stone and metal slid out of the Void. It dwarfed the central planet of Vesper, casting a shadow over its continents. The fortress-world of Tal’gullour. The Mad King’s citadel. Billions of souls pulled the Way closer, strengthening Suriel’s authority. Vesper was healthier now than it had been in years. But however much it strengthened the Abidan, it empowered Daruman more. He was the absolute power in Tal’gullour, its master and champion, and its every particle was saturated with his authority. A thousand rune-circles appeared in front of the fortress, each shining in golden light. These were ancient defenses, operated by the people of Tal’gullour, and they locked the fortress down tight. Even Ozriel couldn’t break them in one strike. At least, not without his Scythe. The Mad King had brought his people here. Dedicated to the destruction of the Abidan he may have been, but he did love that world. He was truly putting everything on the line. Suriel could do no less. Our survival is no longer a priority, she ordered her Presence. Prioritize the death of the Mad King. Suriel had to rearrange her own feelings at the same time. She released her sadness, her fear. Her anger at Makiel, for leaving them in this situation. Even her lingering resentment toward Ozriel. She was the Phoenix. It was worth her life to burn one more infection from the universe. The Mad King’s sword appeared in his hand. “Let us die together.” Suriel held up her Razor. “Everything ends.” “Ahem.” Ozriel’s voice echoed in her head. “I may have an alternate plan.” His plan flooded into her mind, and she snapped her gaze to look at Ozriel in shock. [It has good odds of working,] her Presence allowed. Suriel’s very being rejected the plan. She would rather stay here and fight to the death. “Come on,” Ozriel whispered. “Let me clean up my own mess.” Her Presence fed the information into her awareness. The odds of them both surviving were terrible. But the odds of one surviving? Quite high. As long as they gave up on the other. Heart breaking, Suriel agreed. With her Razor unleashed, she struck, but not at the Mad King. At the thin membrane of