Dreadgod (Cradle Book 11)

Malice raised an eyebrow. “He has quite the impressive physique for a Sage.” “Mother!” Mercy didn’t like the look on Malice’s face. “Don’t worry, he’s too young for me.” She glanced to the side again. “But not for you…” “Mother!”

Lindon didn’t mind treating them all with respect. Manners were free.

both perspectives. She remembered eyeing the Shadow, afraid that it would devour her from the inside out. She remembered eyeing her host body, afraid that it

The residual wills of the two Archlord bindings he was fusing together fought him, trying to take control, each fighting the other to determine the shape of the final construct. He had to master them both, commanding them into shape, and use the blue soulfire burning at the heart of the Soulforge to bind them together instead of his own.

The residual wills of the two Archlord bindings he was fusing together fought him, trying to take control, each fighting the other to determine the shape of the final construct. He had to master them both, commanding them into shape, and use the blue soulfire burning at the heart of the Soulforge to bind them together instead of his own.

He had expected a Sage. He had not expected vitality that almost matched a Herald, spiritual power that made his perception tremble, and the hunger…such hunger. If Relliar had been told that Lindon was the son of a Dreadgod, he would have believed it.

But worries didn’t solve problems. Preparation did.

[You’d be surprised how little of their time humans really use,] Dross responded. [You waste so much of it eating. Bathing. Sleeping. Lindon’s dreams are much more productive with me lurking in the depths of his mind.]

The crown resisted at first, its embedded will fighting, but Lindon crushed it. Its power flowed into him, a feast for both his Dreadgod arm and for Dross.