Shadow Slave

It was the depth of night when Sunny and Kai returned to the temple. Slayer was still resting, so he simply placed one of the jade figurines next to her and gave the other one to Kai.

The last one, though… that final one, he kept to himself.

The Shrine was angled and drowning in lava, so placing the figures on the altar was an awkward task. Still, Kai could fly, so it did not pose much of a problem.

As the third ring of ash was forming around his soul core, Sunny left once again, threw a cautious look at the eerie sculptures rising from the lake of lava, and made his sacrifice.

This was going to be the final truth he would learn before killing the Snow Tyrant. They were going to leave the Shrine of Truth in a few hours, which meant that even if another abomination fell to their blades, he would only be able to make another offering after conquering the Snow Castle — if it was similar to the castle of Ash.

Sunny was not sure what would happen after the Tyrant died, so there was even a possibility that this was going to be the final truth he would receive as a reward in this cursed game.

His shadowy body was being devoured alive by a terrible curse, his hidden mind was being consumed by savage illusions.

His heart was being torn apart by indescribable terror, and his very spirit was shattered, his will and desire to live stripped from it by a merciless hand.

And yet, he refused to. He stumbled, walking across the sand with unsteady steps, surrounded by darkness.

Somewhere above, the black sky shimmered with the light of countless silver stars, but their pale radiance was not enough to illuminate the shadowy valley, let alone warm his mangled, freezing body.

Blood was flowing out of his mouth, spilling through the fangs of his mask as it shone with a beautiful golden light… with the light of divinity. Radiant blood was flowing out of the wounds covering his body, too, soaking the fabric of his dark mantle.

The sound of leaves rustling under the foot of a predator. The sound of graceful wings parting the night sky.

The sound of an arrow piercing the fabric of fate.

The arrowhead struck him in the neck, and he was thrown to the ground. Sunny fell to his knees, the drops of golden blood shining like precious gems on the sand.

Raising a hand, he grasped the smooth black wood of the arrow’s shaft — not too different from the polished wooden surface of his mask — and pulled the arrow out, shattering it in his grip.

The steady hand of the archer who had sent the arrow flying was much too weak to harm a being such as him. It only managed to pierce his flesh because there had already been a wound there, on his neck, left by a far more terrifying foe.

The arrow was of no consequence… The legendary poison smeared on its tip, however, was anything but.

It was a poison that was not supposed to exist in the world anymore, and yet, here it was. A freezing cold spread through his body with alarming speed.

Then, it invaded his soul, his mind, and his spirit. Suddenly, Sunny felt weak.

He even found it difficult to keep his eyes open. His broken body trembled.

Cold, cold. He was cold, and alone.

The woman wore battered dark armor and a veil that covered her beautiful face, her long, luxurious hair tied into a braid. The starlit night cast a deep shadow onto her, but he could see her cold eyes clearly. ɌäŊỒ𐌱Êṥ

He was Weaver, the Demon of Fate. The mighty, terrible daemon…

That mighty daemon was now kneeling in front of a mortal huntress.

A muffled laugh escaped from the daemon’s lips, made strange and elusive by the mask.

The Demon of Fate knew the endless despair of struggling against Fate better than anyone else. The Nine were nothing but pitiful mortals, but they were also destined.

Their lives were a convergence of fate. To anyone else, they would seem tiny and pitiful, no more than vermin… but to Weaver, who could see the great tapestry of fate, their figures towered like those of giants, looming above, oppressing Weaver with their crushing weight.

The woman looked down at the daemon silently. The daemon smiled behind the mask.

”It was your doing, wasn’t it? Oh, what a wicked trap you set for us. We have escaped our siblings… but it seems that we’ve failed to escape you, in the end.”

The daemon knew the woman well. She had been stalking Weaver for a long time, this mortal with a pure soul.

Sometimes, she came as a beast. Sometimes, she came as a huntress. The daemon had not seen her moving stealthily across the realms, enduring battle after battle all in order to grow stronger… but they had felt her figure growing closer and closer in the tapestry of fate, constricting them like a serpent.

Until they could not move at all, and there was nowhere to go. Finally, the woman spoke.

The daemon had thought that her voice would be triumphant, but it was simply tired.

”I know what you are.”

The daemon was tired, too.

”If you know what we are, then you know what destroying us means. There is a price that has to be paid for slaying a daemon.

The woman did not answer. The daemon let out a long, sorrowful sigh.

The woman unsheathed her sword then and plunged it into the daemon’s chest in one fluid, swift motion.

There was no hesitation in her strike, and no mercy. That shadowy figure fell to the ground, lifeless.

The black mask stared blindly at the starlit sky, then fell apart into a hurricane of sparks. The huntress sighed deeply and looked at the sky.

At long last, her task was finished. She swayed lightly and raised a hand, touching her veil in confusion.

Her lips moved subtly, producing a barely audible whisper.

”…What task?”