Shadow Slave

In Shadow’s memories, the Theater of Hope was a ghastly place.

Many of his lives had ended here — some succumbing to terrible wounds in the cages below the arena, some on its blood-red surface. His blood and the jubilation of the frenzied crowd fueled the sorcery of the great coliseum, so he had assumed that it was a sinister and malevolent kind of magic. However, now that he had witnessed the Theater of Hope in its original state, he realized that he was wrong.

It wasn’t the deaths of caged slaves that fueled the sorcery that the Demon of Desire had created, and neither was it their blood. Instead, it was the spectators.

Their emotions, to be precise.

As Shadow observed the play, he saw torrents of soul essence flowing through the vast runes carved into the white stone of Hope’s coliseum. The source of that soul essence was the jubilant crowd — the more excited and exhilarated the audience members were, the more essence there was. Enthralled by the singing of the chorus and the powerful voices of the actors, they fueled the theater.

However, they did not fuel it with their own soul essence. Shadow did not know how, but it was their emotions themselves that were transformed into mystical energy... truly, a sorcery worthy of one of the daemons.

The source of the soul essence was interesting. Far more interesting, however, was the target of the vast enchantment. Shadow was not powerful or knowledgeable enough to discern the secrets of divine sorcery, but he did manage to glean its core purpose.

The smaller measure of the powerful enchantment was channeled back into the great theater, enhancing the enjoyment of the crowd, making it more susceptible to the mundane power of the engaging performance.

A far greater measure, however, was channeled directly into the depths of the Kingdom of Hope, nourishing it. Shadow was not sure what exact form that nourishment took, but he was certain that the Theater of Hope was nurturing and protecting this land.

It was rather ingenious.

In the hands of the Demon of Desire, the great theater was a joyous and benevolent force that benefitted the people of her kingdom.

In the hands of those who would come after her... it would become the monstrous Red Colosseum, a blood-soaked altar of War. Which was not to say that the Red Colosseum did not benefit people. It was just that its power would serve a far more malevolent purpose in the hands of its future owner.

”That was great, wasn’t it?”

Noctis seemed satisfied, at least.

”Now that’s culture... ah, the costumes, the poetry! Simply marvelous.”

The young Transcendent grinned.

”Even if the mask they used to portray me is not nearly handsome enough! But, oh well. Is there even an artisan in the world who can capture my dashing visage?”

Snuggle gave him a sideways glance.

“The better question is if there is an actor in the world who can portray your vanity...”

Shadow smiled faintly, but he was only listening to them half-heartedly. As they left the great theater, he could not help but look at its pristine white walls.

Once again, his memories were stirring, and he felt powerless to resist them.

He remembered one of his past lives — a fierce and defiant life painted in shades of red.

In that life... he was a girl whom nobody loved.

She was born in the slums of a prosperous city. Her father did not care enough to name her, vanishing into the dark alleys. Her mother saw her as a burden and abandoned her on the dirty streets. The people who saw her were only full of irritation and anger. From those times, all she remembered was hunger and loneliness... and scorn.

Luckily, she was born with hair of a color that was unusual in these parts. Orphaned girls with red hair were often entrusted to an ancient order of female warriors, and while her hair was chestnut, someone decided that it was close enough. So, she was brought to a temple instead of starving or freezing to death on the streets. She was too young to understand what a warrior was or who the gods were — all she knew was that she was warm in the temple, and the adults gave her food for free.

In the temple, she was not alone anymore. She was even given a name.

Life in the temple was not easy. The girls adopted by the priestesses underwent grueling training and thorough education. Those who showed promise were given more attention; those who fell short were raised to be temple slaves or cast out.

Some died.

She did not want to die, but she did not mind becoming a slave. If anything, the girls who had been deemed unworthy of becoming warriors led a much easier life... and yet, she trained harder than anyone else.

That was because, even if she did not understand it clearly, she wanted attention. There were many orphans like her, after all, but only a few priestesses who trained them. Their time was a treasure that was difficult to win.

Attention was not love, but back then, she did not understand the difference. Even if the former tasted hollow, she wanted it all the same. And so, she strived to be the best. She wasn’t the strongest among the girls in the temple, and she wasn’t the fastest. She wasn’t even the smartest... but there was one thing that separated her from the rest. It was that she never gave up.

No matter how painful or difficult, she always pushed forward. Every time she fell, she got up. She endured the bruises, the callouses, the bloodstains. She walked forward, one step at a time.

After a while, she grew stronger, faster, and smarter. As the number of girls on the training field dwindled, her dedication never waned. Soon enough, none of them could defeat her... and that was why they treated her coldly, just like everyone else had.

But she had talent, it seemed.

In fact, her talent was monstrous.

At ten, she slew her first Beast.

At twelve, she learned how to sense soul essence.

At fourteen, she Awakened.

At sixteen, full of vitality and delicate beauty of youth, she unsealed her Aspect. None of the Awakened priestesses in the temple could defeat her anymore.

That was when everything changed. The priestesses who had been cold and distant before slowly started to treat her with warmth and affection. Her fellow disciples, who had always been hostile and unfriendly, were suddenly nice and attentive.

She was happy...

For a while.

But then, things began to turn for the worse.

The priestesses never left her alone, often quarreling among each other about who would spend time with her. Their attention, which she had always desired, became burdensome instead of sweet.

The other young disciples were worse. Their eyes, their smiles, their voices... all of it began to unnerve her. They were too intense, too possessive.

Almost obsessed.

It wasn’t long before blood was spilled.

That was how she discovered her Flaw — her cruel, bitter Flaw.

It was that people could not help but love her.

The more time they spent with her, the greater their love became, the more they desired to never be apart from her.

To always be with her... to possess her. That longing eventually drove them mad. Some lasted longer, while some surrendered almost immediately. But in the end, they all succumbed.

Needless to say, that caused quite a problem for the temple.

...At seventeen, she was sent to war.

Now a true War Maiden, having given the oath, she entered the battlefield as a priestess of War God. Things were easier on the battlefield, because no one lived long enough to become infatuated with her. There was blood, there were torn bodies, there were screams of agony and death. There were young soldiers calling for their mothers.

She did not call, because she did not remember hers.

Her world became painted red.

She was cut, battered, and broken. She was pierced by sharp blades and mauled by sharp claws. She fell into dirt and rose from piles of bodies. She learned horror, sorrow, and triumph.

And she never gave up.

Her enemies died. Her comrades died, as well. Those who survived... she kept a distance from them, knowing that they would slowly become enthralled otherwise.

She was lonely.

One war ended, and another started. She traveled from one battlefield to another, undefeated, growing stronger. Growing fearsome. Slowly, her fame spread, and people began to seek her out — not because of her beauty, but because of her strength. Because they wanted her to fight for them. But even bathed in their attention, in their desire, she still felt alienated. There was an invisible wall between her and everyone else.

In her journeys, there was only one being who kept her company.

There was only one being whom she never had to abandon, and who never died.

Who was always by her side.

It was her goddess... the Goddess of War.

Finally, turning twenty, she realized a simple truth.

It was that War God was her mother, her sister, and her companion.

For as long as War God existed, she would never be alone.

She would always be loved.