Shadow Slave

Time flowed, its slow and steady current eroding both hope and sorrow in equal measure.

The sky was bright, then dark, then bright again.

Its distant veil was blackened by smoke, then cleansed by the purifying fury of rolling stormclouds.

Inside the destroyed city, only the most stubborn cinders still glowed, hidden deep below the ruins.

Outside the city, a vast encampment of the conquering army rested under the ashen sky, drowned by a suffocating atmosphere of suffering, confusion, and fear.

When there was sun, there was dust. When there was rain, there was mud. The tents were dirty, damp, and battered. The people were covered in grime and soot, their grim eyes slowly turning lifeless.

The soldiers were hungry. Hunger was a nightmare that haunted their waking days, stalking them persistently wherever they went, whatever they did. It sunk its fangs into their flesh, sapping them of strength and tormenting them. It also gnawed on their minds, eroding their willpower. Hunger was not the only nightmare haunting the Steel Horde, either.

A vicious plague was preying on the soldiers, stealing their lives away. It was like an invisible monster that walked among them, unseen and silent, marking its victims and feasting on their flesh. There was no way to ward off the man-eating monster and no way to fight it. Once you were marked, all you could do was die.

The agony of those infected by the plague was gruesome. Their deaths were hideous. Long before they could experience the torment of being eaten alive by the plague, however, most perished to cold steel — the King of Kings had commanded to cull the infected, so countless were executed as soon as they started showing symptoms, their bodies burned in communal pyres.

The stench of burned flesh was inescapable. Even worse than the plague, however, was the fear of the plague. The fear was far more virulent than the disease itself, and often just as deadly. The plague only affected some of the soldiers, but the terror of infection affected all of them. A gnawing paranoia made the warriors of the Steel Horde wary of each other, turning their already bleak reality into an oppressive purgatory of suspicion and mistrust.

And on top of the hunger, the plague, the fear...

Was the mounting pressure of a long and brutal siege.

The Steel Horde had already been bruised and battered by the countless assaults on the stalwart city. Then, the Dread Warriors — the most fearsome legion of the horde — were entirely wiped out. And even now that hunger and disease were ravaging the remaining soldiers, the King of Kings was still throwing them at the walls of the Stone Castle over and over again.

To burn in the flames of the fearsome dragon protecting the ruins of the fallen city.

To drown in the river of severing steel that encircled the castle like a moat.

To vanish forever in the billowing clouds of chilling mist, their very souls devoured by the sinister wraith that haunted the ruins.

To see rivers of blood flowing from every little cut they received, sapping them of life in a matter of moments.

To be torn apart when space itself twisted and rippled around them.

Despite the fury of the King of Kings, his soldiers had failed to take the Stone Castle time after time.

So, now, all they could do was crawl tiredly into their dirty tents, enduring the hunger and shivering from the cold, praying that these shivers were not a symptom of the encroaching plague.

Waiting for the next battle to claim their lives.

The camp of the Steel Horde was consumed by fear, fatigue, and exhaustion. It was grey and silent, permeated by the stench of burning corpses.

At the same time, an entirely different scene was taking place not too far away, across the blackened expanse of the burned city.

A radiant island sprawled under an azure sky. Warm wind caressed the leaves of tall trees, making them sway and rustle. Clear brooks murmured as they flowed toward the gentle sea, permeating the air with a refreshing coolness. Everywhere one could look, the world was vibrant and full of life. The branches brimmed with fruit, the bushes were full of sweet berries.

Flowers bloomed on green meadows, emanating a soothing fragrance...

And among it all, the clear ringing of children laughing could be heard, spreading far and wide.

There were people populating the island. Most of them were either old or very young. They looked gaunt, but color was already returning to their faces. The elderly gathered to talk, rest, and prepare simple meals from the gifts of the island. The children ran around, played, or splashed in the clear brooks.

The island was entirely safe. There were no predators here, and no enemies either. Food was delicious and plentiful, and clean water was abundant.

This was the Garden of Prosperity, and the people it sheltered were the remaining population of the city — all of them except for the warriors who defended the Stone Castle from the faltering Steel Horde. However, the warriors benefited from the gifts of the Soul Garden, as well, since both the fruit and the water could be harvested and carried out into the outer world.

‘Feels weird.'

Sprawled on a soft bed in the Stone Castle, still too weak to fight and recovering from her grievous wounds, Effie stared at the ceiling.

It was a strange thing, to know that there were thousands of people currently residing inside of her — and yet, that was precisely the case.

The Garden of Prosperity — her lesser domain — could be described concisely with just a couple of sentences. It was a physical space residing within her soul. Her Soul Sea had become a miniature mortal realm.

That realm was the size of a large island at the moment, but if she became Supreme, it would most likely expand to the size of a continent.

Additionally, the fragment of the Life Domain she had inherited fused into that land, infusing it with boundless vitality. Effie could visit her Soul Garden and enjoy its gifts. She could also admit people inside or summon them back.

It was a miniature paradise she carried within herself.