Shadow Slave

The Shadow Legion had been pushed against the walls of the Dark Castle and diminished to barely a third of its size. The mist that threatened to swallow it had been held back by a appalling blizzard for a while, but now that the shadow of the Winter Beast was vanquished, it enveloped the world; the Defiled Seeker had fallen, and even the elusive Ember Queen was littered with grievous wounds.

Neither the shades nor the wraiths left bodies behind, and the Palace Island kept repairing itself no matter how terribly it was shattered and broken, but the battle that was taking place on its shores had been truly cataclysmic... more so than any battle Sunny had ever participated in.

And he was losing that battle.

His legion had been at a disadvantage to begin with, and that disadvantage continued to grow exponentially as more and more shades were vanquished. Things took a truly drastic turn only when he pulled back three of his incarnations, though.

Devoid of their support, the formation of the Shadow Legion started to melt at a dire speed.

But even that was not the most pressing issue.

‘That bastard...’

The most pressing issue was the Cursed Wanderer and the eerie sword he wielded — the Great Tyrant, Soul of Kanakht.

Before the Flesh of Kanakht arrived, that was.

Now that Jet was gone, there was no one left to stand in his way, which meant that he could utterly decimate the formation of the Shadow Legion. Worse still, the sinister apparition did not simply vanquish the shades — he could truly destroy them. Sunny could not allow that to happen.

The problem was that he did not have a lot of options left. The Shadow Legion was already barely holding on — or failing to hold on, rather — and very few of his warriors could slow down the Cursed Wanderer, let alone contend against him. Sunny could command Saint to bar his path, for example, but that would only cause the section of the formation she was supporting to collapse.

‘What to do?’

Did he have to face the great wraith personally?

Only two of his incarnations were outside the Palace. One was busy attaching Nightwalker to his wayward shadow, while the other was augmenting the Puppeteer. Sunny could potentially abandon the gigantic moth and manifest himself onto the battlefield, but that would mean surrendering precise control of the Shadow Legion. The result would be just as disastrous as doing nothing.

‘I just need to buy time.’

He considered his options feverishly, trying to determine the optimal solution, then rapidly settled on the best one.

Down on the battlefield, the Cursed Wanderer picked up the ghostly cutlass from the ground and straightened slowly. He cast an aloof gaze at the crumbling formation of the Shadow Legion, and then headed toward it with unhurried steps.

An Obsidian Wasp dove at him through the pouring rain, and he casually bisected it with an effortless slash.

His gaze climbed higher, finally settling on the dark figure of the colossal moth perched atop the highest tower of the magnificent black castle. The Cursed Wanderer regarded it for a moment, and then his cold sea-colored eyes ignited with a dreadful malice.

The sinister apparition continued forward, casually slaughtering the shades that tried to get in his way.

Until a lightning-quick blade strike from the veil of rain, sudden and entirely unseen.

The Cursed Wanderer only reacted at the very last moment, rapidly raising his cutlass to block it. The impact actually pushed him several meters back, and the ground behind him was shattered in a long and jagged line. He remained motionless for a moment, then righted his posture and glanced ahead. There, hidden in the rain and swirling mist, a dark figure stood, staring back at him with a ruthless intensity.

Her ebony body was encased in a suit of light armor, and her face was obscured by a veil. She wielded a short sword in one of her hands, and as the sinister apparition watched, she unsheathed another. Both blades slowly swelled with a blinding glow, illuminating the mist and outlining her slender figure.

She was the shadow of Orphne of the Nine, Slayer.

Sunny had commanded her to abandon the walls of the Dark Castle and descend onto the battlefield. Who was better suited to confront the ghost of a fallen member of the Nine, after all?

The ghostly face of the Cursed Wanderer remained motionless, but something changed in the depths of his sea-colored eyes. A hint of recognition appeared in them, painted by an inexplicable emotion. His lips, which had remained sealed for thousands of years, moved slowly, as if straining to whisper a forgotten name.

But in the end, no sound came from them. Indifferent to the subtle movement, Slayer lunged forward with harrowing speed. A trail of shattered raindrops was left in her wake, and the mist flowed in a turbulent stream around her.

The Cursed Wanderer shifted and met her attack with indomitable strength, causing a flash of light to drown everything around. The shining swords and the ghostly cutlass danced a lethal dance, guided by my malevolent will and boundless killing intent. The litany of ringing steel echoed in the mist, fusing into a dreadful melody.

The Shadow and the wraith exchanged a hundred blows in the blink of an eye, shattering the ground around them completely.

Slayer did not manage to gain the upper hand... in fact, she was pushed back a few steps and forced into a defensive stance. However, she had not been defeated, either.

For a few seconds, at least, the dangerous clash seemed to hang in fragile balance. Which meant that the Cursed Wanderer was temporarily contained and held back from reaching the formation of the Shadow Legion.

And that was all Sunny needed.

Because by the time Slayer could not hold the sinister apparition back anymore, he would have had enough time to turn this entire battle upside down.