Shadow Slave

A towering tree with snow-white bark and scarlet leaves stood among the dunes, a spring of water forming a pool in its shade. The tree bore no fruit… however, tens of thousands of skulls hung from its stunning branches, fastened to them with glistening threads of black silk.

The sacred tree was different from the one growing on the deck of the Chain Breaker, for it was much older and had grown in a different soil. It was also different from Soul Devouring Tree of the Forgotten Shore, because it had not succumbed to Corruption.

Perhaps it was what the Soul Devourer was meant to be, if its seed had not sprouted in a pool of blood, atop a mountain of corpses left by the gruesome sacrifice of the seven heroes.

The branches of the tree swayed gently in the wind, and a weathered skeleton was cruelly nailed to its white bark. The skeleton stared at Sunny and Nephis with its empty eyes, his teeth bared in an eternal grin.

‘I guess this would be Azarax.’

Just then, the skeleton moved. Grinding his teeth, he growled and strained against the silver nails impaling him to the tree.

Sunny glanced at Nephis, whose expressionless face betrayed a hint of odd nostalgia.

“Are you sure he was sane?”

Nephis remained silent for a few moments, studying the struggling skeleton, and shrugged.

“He spoke to me.”

At that moment, a grating voice assaulted their ears:

“It is you! Abominable creature… Weaver’s thrall!”

Azarax redoubled his attempts to free himself from the tree, making the skulls hanging on its branches sway and clatter. Sunny had to admit that the ill-tempered skeleton was indeed different from the mindless Deathless. However, he was not sure that Azarax was entirely sane — the skeleton did not seem to have noticed the Shadow Legion, for one, which was now surrounding the small oasis like a sea of darkness.

All the shades below the Transcendent Rank had already been destroyed. That did not matter much, though, because most of them would be restored by nightfall or the day after that.

The casualties among the Transcendent shades were more impactful, since it would take them a couple of days to be mended. More than half of them had been vanquished, which meant that the same strategy would not work once the rising sun completed its journey across the sky and disappeared behind the horizon again.

As for Abundance, Sunny had sent it as far away from the oasis as possible — he did not want a vast swarm of undead warriors to spring from the godworm’s belly at the worst possible moment. The Sacred shade was still crawling across the desert, suffering from the worst case of indigestion in history.

Sunny was planning to dismiss it in a short while, leaving the Deathless stranded far away from the Shadow Legion, on the very edges of the Nightmare Desert — before Abundance could be harmed too severely, let alone destroyed.

He was a little curious about what would happen to the Deathless if they were exposed to the sun, but would be satisfied simply knowing that they were far away from the Shadow Legion and not in his path. Azarax clicked its jaws, staring at Nephis with terrible fury in his empty, dark eye sockets.

“Coward! Traitor!”

Sunny frowned.

“Why is he calling you names?”

Nephis kept staring at the ancient skeleton, unperturbed.

“If I were to wager a guess… he sensed that I am a carrier of the Nightmare Spell. Therefore, he considers me a chosen of Weaver — and Weaver had betrayed the daemons and deserted the Doom War. So, in his eyes, I am a servant of a cowardly traitor, the Demon of Fate.”

Sunny smiled.

‘Why do I feel personally offended?’

“That is wonderful, then.”

They had not only come to the sacred tree to let Nephis retrace her steps and enjoy a bit of nostalgic self-reflection. In truth, Sunny hoped to enlist Azarax in exchange for freeing him, thus obtaining a powerful ally during the Nightmare Desert expedition.

To that end, it was actually quite convenient that he was not a carrier of the Nightmare Spell anymore. Outwardly, at least, he had nothing to do with Weaver — so, Azarax had no reason to hate and despise him.

“Hey, you there… Azarax the Mighty, King of Kings, the Plague of Steel, Conqueror of a Hundred Thrones. How about you and I have a talk?”

The weathered skull turned and regarded him for a moment. It seemed like Azarax had only now become aware of his presence. …Then, the bark of the sacred tree cracked, and thin fractures appeared on the skeleton’s ancient bones as he suddenly strained to free himself with demented fury, a bestial growl resounding from his tightly closed jaws.

Azarax had regarded Nephis with wrath. When it came to Sunny, however, what he felt seemed to be pure, unadulterated, all-consuming hatred.

“THE SLAVE OF SHADOW! I’LL TEAR YOU AND YOUR MASTER APART, ACCURSED CREATURE!”

Sunny blinked a couple of times.

“Oh…”

Indeed. His Aspect, Shadow Slave, had initially belonged to the shadows of Shadow God. So, it was no surprise the ancient skeleton had assumed him to be one. Azarax had fought in the Doom War on the side of the daemons, to begin with — it was reasonable to assume that he had no love for the servants of the gods. On top of that, Sunny was not connected to just any god. He was connected to Shadow God, the very being who had cursed the Deathless and Azarax to eternal suffering.

‘…Awkward.’

The water of the small pool rippled, and the dunes around them started to crumble, the branches of the sacred tree swaying strongly from Azarax’s fury.

The skulls tied to its branches danced and swung from side to side, clattering as they collided with each other.

“I’LL TEAR YOU APART!”

Sunny stared at Azarax, taken aback.

He remained silent for a while, and then looked at the enraged skeleton darkly.

“You want to tear me apart?”

He furrowed his brow, then scoffed.

“…Get in line.”