Shadow Slave

“Lord of Shadows... Sunny... how much longer do you need?!”

Jet’s voice sounded strained.

The battle was still raging around her, and the Shadow Legion was slowly losing ground. The silent shades had already vanquished myriad wraiths, but no matter how numerous enemies they destroyed, more and more revealed themselves from the mist.

What was worse, torrents of ethereal light sometimes escaped from the Cursed Wanderer’s ghostly cutlass, infusing the mist with viridian glow. That meant that there were more wraiths still contained within the Soul of Kanakt — possibly of them, and that the ranks of the undying army were constantly being replenished.

Jet herself was barely holding on.

Her battle with the captain of the Dutchman was furious, but at the same time strange. The great wraith was dodging and evading all of her attacks instead of facing them directly, while she did everything in her power to keep him at a distance. Despite the harrowing forces unleashed by their clash, neither had received a single wound yet. That was because one strike of the viridian cutlass was all it would take to kill Jet. The Cursed Wanderer, meanwhile, was simply too powerful and diabolical to allow her scythe to touch him.

Jet had managed to build a solid defense through arduous effort. However, she could not mount an effective offense no matter how hard she tried... and she was trying truly hard, fighting both against the world itself and against her own limits.

On the surface, this state of things was beneficial to her. After all, she did not really need to kill the sinister apparition — her task was merely to hold him back.

But in reality, the future looked more and more bleak with each passing moment. That was because battles of such intensity usually did not last this long. When a Transcendent poured so much of themselves into the battle, going above and beyond to match the power of a superior adversary, the outcome was more likely than not decided in a matter of seconds.

Jet, however, had been locked in a furious melee with the Cursed Wanderer for... gods, she did not even know how long. The body and soul might have been unscathed, but her reserves of essence were slowly diminishing. Worse than that, she was growing tired.

The encroaching exhaustion was not of the physical kind, but rather a mental one. It took a lot to maintain her mind in a state of utmost focus, and by now, her intense concentration was showing signs of decay. She had not made a mistake yet, but at this rate, one was inevitable.

And one mistake was all it took to lose one’s life in the world of the Nightmare Spell. Which was why Jey was trying to find out how much longer she needed to hold.

This time, Sunny’s voice did not resound from the shadows around her. Instead, Cassie whispered softly into her ear:

[He found a thread. Now, he just needs to pull on it... there’s no telling how long that will take, though. Keep fighting for a little more!]

Jet gritted her teeth.

‘That’s what she said the last time!’

At that moment, the Cursed Wanderer finally managed to get past her defenses. The Mist Blade was just a split second late, but that allowed the great wraith to evade it and lunged forward with chilling malice. Jet barely managed to position the shaft of her weapon in a way that prevented her adversary from impaling her with his sword.

He did not try, though.

Instead, the captain of the Dutchman took a rapid step and reached for Jet with his hand.

The moment his palm touched the black leather of her armor, Jet screamed.

No... it was her body that opened her mouth, threw her head back, and let out a terrifying wail. She had no say in it.

In the next moment, it was as if an invisible wall slammed into her. Jet was tossed far back, collided with the silent shades, and fell to the ground.

She spat a mouthful of blood and weakly rose to her feet.

As she looked in the direction of the Cursed Wanderer, her expression darkened. “What... the hell is this thing?”

Out there , on the other side of the Palace Lake...

Something colossal and terrifying was rising in the mist.

Jet cursed quietly.

‘I guess we’ve run out of luck, after all’

The rivers of mangled flesh that had been converging from all across the Eternal City under the awful weight of the Crushing finally fused together, forming a second lake — a viscous, red lake of blood and pulverized tissue.

The red lake was made up from the obliterated bodies of all the corrupted immortals. It swallowed an entire island, drowning the ruins. Its surface seethed and rippled, enduring the pressure of the Crushing...

And then, it began to swell.

An enormous lump grew in its middle, rising high into the air. From afar, it looked as if a red mountain was growing in the heart of the Eternal City.

Then, the mountain burst, and a colossal arm rose into the dark sky of this sunken hell.

Jet paled.

The bones were formed first, growing at a startling speed. Bloody marrow seeped down, escaping through rapidly disappearing seams. Then, tendons wrapped themselves around the bones, followed by huge ropes of firm muscle.

Patches of skin grew atop the muscles... but then, something went wrong. Instead of covering the huge arm entirely, the patches of skin blackened and shrank instead. The muscles contorted and spasmed in a revolting display of deformation, and the bones were twisted. In the end, the colossal armed remained incomplete — or possibly simply different — towering above the ruins like a profane monument. Blood flowed down its immense length, and a rot was spreading through its tissue. The huge arm resembled that of someone who had recently been flayed. Then, it fell, allowing its palm to press against the ruins.

And another one was unleashed.

Together, they began to pull the body of the Flesh of Kanakht out of the red lake slowly.