Shadow Slave: Foreign shadow

The wind whistled loudly. Dawn had finally came, returning a warmth that the night had long since forgotten. The bronze rays of the rising sun rested upon the eyes of the fallen like funeral coins, while golden light crowned the survivors of the night—yet, the mantle of snow was as eternal as the mountain that wore it.

​Goliath, the Champion of War, was kneeling on the ground. His massive frame sank into the red snow, as rivers of blood flowing from countless wounds across his body painted the canvas beneath him with vivid, grisly hues. His black armor was shattered. His crimson cloak, a tattered rag.

​His lone left arm still gripped the hilt of his greatsword. The weapon lay heavy against the snow, its iron blending into the jagged landscape; at last, the blade seemed to weigh exactly as much as it appeared.

​Goliath stared at the Mountain King, both stood motionless facing each other. His bloodshot crimson eyes locked onto five milky orbs that were unable of witnessing the glow of the dawn. The enemy generals had all been defeated.

​But when had it happened? When had the Champion of War delivered the killing blow?

​The two combatants remained in a deathly stalemate.

Neither dared to move.

​Then... THUMP

​The Mountain King collapsed. The Tyrant’s corpse hit the white expanse, falling right before the giant’s incredulous gaze.

​Looking up, behind the fallen King, the rising sun was scaling the mountain slopes to take its throne upon the peaks. The shadows rose with its every step, deeper and hungrier than ever.

​And there, standing atop the body of the Mountain King, a silhouette suddenly arose.

​As the dawn reluctantly claimed the horizon, a single shadow detached itself from the creeping light, ascending high above the corpse of the Mountain King. It rose not alone, but joined in a terrifying convergence by countless others—shadows weaving together into a towering monolith.

​The silhouette did not just stand; it commanded the light itself to yield.

The towering obsidian shroud devoured the very heart of the young day, plunging the mountain pass back into an artificial, predatory twilight—a perfect, silent eclipse.

​From within that manufactured gloom, two single onyx eyes ignited, staring down at the ruin below. They held neither joy nor sorrow. They held only a calm, ethereal solace.

​Death took flesh and had come to claim what was rightfully his.

***

​[You have slain an Awakened Tyrant: Mountain King.]

[You have received a Memory: Puppeteer’s Shroud.]

​”Thank you, Spell. It was about time you deigned to give me a new Memory.”

​Solitary and silent, a shadow descended, gliding down the spine of the Mountain King. Sunny’s footsteps were ghost-echoes against the frozen’s snow mantel. As he stepped away from the carcass, a suit of dark grey armor—layered with charcoal fabric and matte leather—materialized in a swirl of white sparks, condensing around his frame.

​Sunny walked toward Goliath with a calm, calculated cadence. When he reached the giant, his steps skipped to a halt.

Watching the boy descend from the Tyrant’s corpse and approach him with such unhurried grace, the Champion of War couldn’t help but laugh. A manic, booming laugh that shattered the fragile quiet of the amber dawn.

​”Look at that,” Goliath jeered, a cruel grin twisting his features as he met the boy’s gaze. ”It seems the Gods finally gave you a pair.”

Goliath tried to shift his weight, to lift his massive greatsword one last time, but his strength had bled out into the snow’s cold bite.

​”So,” Sunny spoke with unnerving stillness. His face betrayed neither hatred nor satisfaction, ”are you ready to beg?”

​Goliath laughed again, the force of it agonizing, reopening the jagged wounds across his chest. ”You want to kill me, boy? Fine, then. You’re welcome to try! But let me give you a piece of advice: if you’re going to kill me, make sure you do it right.”

​With a final, defiant snarl, the Champion of War unleashed the full, sheer magnitude of his Enthralling.

​A crushing spiritual pressure slammed into Sunny, an invisible weight designed to force him to his knees, to break his will. But Sunny did not waver. He remained standing still, his spine straight, his resolve unyielding.

​His black eyes—two windows facing an endless void—never left the crimson gaze of the Master before him.

​Sunny raised the [Deplorable Dagger]. The blade shimmered, catching the warm, pale light of the rising sun.

​There was a breach in Goliath’s armor, a jagged hole where his heart still pulsed with the flame of Desire.

Sunny took a single step forward and drove the point of the dagger deep into the opening.

​As the cold metal pierced the warm, rhythmic muscle of his heart, Goliath’s smile did not vanish. Until the very end, the Champion of War showed no fear, no regret, and no remorse for the life he had carved out of a world made of neverending war.

​When Sunny wrenched the blade free, the giant slumped forward. His massive corpse collapsed into the blood-soaked snow, silent and still. ​Looking down at the body of his fallen foe, Sunny offered one final sentence.

​”Find peace within me. This is the mercy of Shadow.”

​Then, he turned and continued his walk, leaving behind the corpse of the Child of Heart resting on the white.

***

Auro was in hell. Fear and despair had clawed deep furrows into his noble features. His eyes, fixed on the horizon, reflected the warm light of early morning, but around him, only the cold corpses of the fallen remained upon the frozen shroud of snow lining the old, jagged mountain path.

​The Hero looked around, his gaze terror-stricken as he committed the broken bodies of his companions and the monsters to memory. His eyes snagged on a soldier who had perished in the frenzy of the night. In his stiffening hand, the corpse clutched a small horse carved from wood—a gift destined to remain buried in the snow.

​Auro forced himself up. His legs trembled, the blood in his veins turned to slush, and his spirit was at its breaking point.

​Suddenly, a figure emerged from the dawn. A young man with hair and eyes as black as onyx, clad in a dark grey shroud. His face was a map of countless nicks and scratches earned throughout the night. In his right hand, he gripped a black dagger, its hilt wrapped in crimson bandages.

The blade dripped, leaving a scarlet trail in the snow like a serpent slithering beside his shadow.

​Auro bared his teeth and leveled his sword, still encrusted with the gore of a hundred monsters.

​”It was you, wasn’t it?” he hissed. ”You led the abominations to the camp. You doused the lights and brought death to the legion. Answer me!”

​The boy didn’t speak. He simply approached with a terrifying, unhurried calm.

​”Stop!” the Hero barked.

​The boy halted. He smiled, slowly sliding his left hand behind his back.

​”What are you doing?! Stop!” Auro tightened his grip on the hilt, bracing for whatever sorcery the demon was about to unleash.

​When the boy’s hand reappeared, it held... a delicate silver bell, etched with intricate designs of mountains and seas.

​”Where were you hiding that thing?”

​Sunny rang the bell. A clear, ethereal chime rippled across the mountain, filling the remnants of the night with an enchanting melody.

​”What was—” Auro’s words died in his lips.

​Before the Hero’s incredulous eyes, the silver bell vanished into thin air. He stared at Sunny, suspicious and bewildered.

​”Tell me! What did you just do?” Auro demanded, tensing every muscle for an attack.

​But nothing happened.

​”What the hell—”

​Seeing Auro’s confusion, Sunny laughed. It was a satisfied, delighted explosion of madness that rang in Auro’s ears like a cacophony of scorn.

​”Hahaha!”

​”Why are you laughing?” Auro was livid.

​Sunny didn’t stop. ”Hahahahaha!”

He pressed his palm to his forehead, his head snapping back with the force of his mirth.

​”Why are you laughing?!” Auro roared, his blood boiling with indignation.

​Sunny’s laughter grew louder, wilder. ”Hahahahahahahaha!”

​”STOP IT NOW!” Auro threatened, mere inches from lunging to sever the boy’s throat.

​Finally, the laughter died down.

Sunny met Auro’s gaze with a chilling composure, letting his hand slide down his chest. His expression was a mask of indecipherable intent.

​”Would you like to hear a story, Auro of the Nine?” he asked, letting the black dagger slip from his fingers to the snow—a deceptive sign of peace.

​”What?” For a moment, Auro lowered the tip of his blade, though his guard remained ironclad. Instinct told him this was merely the prelude.

​”You see,” Sunny began, ”there was once a frail-looking young man with pale skin, dark hair, and dark circles under his black eyes. Sadly, his life was coming to an end. Then he said: I must survive, to spite you all.”

​Auro remained silent, failing to grasp the hidden meaning behind the words. Yet, deep down, something told him this was more than simple mockery.

​”Then I woke up, and I found myself to be that scrawny little brat. Only that, unlike the former, I don’t have a heart to spite creation. Nor do I hold a soul that cannot forget a grudge. The world handed me a script; I was told to dance in a tragedy. The problem is... I have no intention of following a story that’s already been written. So, guess what I intend to do?”

​Sunny paused, letting the wind caress his scarred, pale face.

​”What do you intend to do?” Auro asked, his curiosity finally overriding his rage.

​Sunny flashed a smile that only the most treacherous of Daemons could wear.

​”I must survive, to escape that tragedy. To flee a fate that only wants to see me thrashing in eternal misery, suffering cycle after cycle. I will stand at the peak of the world—not as a king, not even as a despot—but to seize the very threads of Fate that govern my life and tear them apart.”

​He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating hum.

​”I want to be greedy—to take what I desire without ever asking for permission.

I want to be selfish—to decide my own path without consulting a soul.

I want to be prideful—to be whatever pleases me without accounting to anyone.

​This is my will.

This is my resolve.

Because this...”

He paused for a moment, the ghost of a shadow smirking from the depths of his onyx eyes.

”Because this is my story now.”

​Sunny fell silent. The shadows—perhaps the Nightmare itself—welcomed his declaration with celebratory, cheerfully echoes, dancing in triumph around the Hero and the Shadow that had finally eclipsed him.

​Then, Sunny began to laugh once again.