Shadow Slave

During the awe and horror of the dawn of time, the shadow had confined its senses within the cave, trying to make itself blind to the world. It wanted to become as small as possible, so that the terrifying giants that walked the earth could not see it — could not sense it watching them, and therefore become aware of its existence.

Now, however, the shadow was forced to take a look outside.

In an instant, its senses spread across hundreds of miles, encompassing the movement and texture of every creature, insect, and blade of grass swaying in the wind in the lands that surrounded its shelter.

...The world had grown small while the shadow rested.

Its cave had ended up in one of the mortal realms. The boundary of the realm felt like a moving stream to the shadow's senses — easy enough to cross, if one didn't mind getting wet.

Not that the shadow wanted to do such a thing.

Its senses encompassed a region of the primal realm that was covered by craggy mountains, green valleys, and forests. The youthful world was pure and untamed, unsullied by the devastating splendor of civilization. Myriad beasts and creatures populated its wild expanse...

And abominations, too.

They hid in the dark corners of existence, just like the shadow did. They were the beings of the Flame who had been corrupted by the Void, driven mad by the insatiable need to destroy that which they had lost, all in a futile effort to reclaim it.

They roamed the world, hunting the children of the Flame in a tortured frenzy, and infected everything around them with the appalling rot of Corruption.

Where there was life, there was Corruption. And those Corrupted were the rulers of all lands that fell beyond the cleansing fury of the gods.

The gods were great and vast... the gods themselves were beings of the Void. So what did they care about these small abominations?

The shadow did not care, either.

However, now, there was a scent of blood drifting into the cave it had chosen as its shelter. Out there near the entrance, a human was crawling across the jagged stones, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. The man was dressed in crude garments made from fur and hide, his weathered face hidden by a bushy beard. His body was covered in gruesome wounds, and his eyes were full of pain and despair.

As a hoarse groan escaped from his mouth, a grating sound came from behind him. There, a towering abomination broke through the wall of tall trees, shattering them into splinters. It was tall and imposing, blood streaming down from between its bestial fangs, its vaguely humanoid shape both gaunt and menacing.

The abomination was wounded, too, but it was nowhere near the man’s grievous state. It fell on all fours, glaring at him with murderous fury. Its powerful hind legs tensed, ready to send the creature into a deadly lunge, and its long tail whipped like a bone spear.

The man was about to perish gruesomely in the creature's hideous maw.

The shadow did not care whether he lived or died.

It had experienced hundreds of thousands of deaths, after all, so what was one more? It was not worth the effort of feeling anything. All things died, in the end. Their passions, their aspirations, their pain, their despair — none of it held meaning to the shadow. The accumulated weight of its myriad lives made everything seem fleeting, and it had lost the desire to care about small things.

All that was left was indifference.

The shadow did, however, feel a strange impulse to intervene.

It was not because the shadow felt compassion toward the man or considered his life valuable. Rather, it was because at that moment, the shadow discovered a new fact about itself.

It disliked Corruption.

In the vague recollections of its previous lives, the shadow remembered being constantly haunted by the corrupting influence of the Void. In fact, most of its lives seemed to have been spent in the throes of Corruption.

Sometimes, the shadow was born as an abomination. Sometimes, the shadow was born as a child of the Flame, lived a life full of joys and sorrows, then underwent the torturous transformation of being tainted by the Void and spent myriad years roaming the world consumed by madness and agony.

And throughout all those lives, the shadow itself — the being dreaming the nightmare of myriad lives — had to arduously resist the Corruption, preventing its seeds from taking root in its soul. That was a reason why the shadow's dream was a nightmare, as well.

Some of the seeds were small and weak, some were vast and terrifyingly virulent. The shadow seemed to possess quite a powerful means of defense, though, so it had managed to destroy them all. Still, Corruption never stopped trying to claim it, persistently sending its dark tendrils into the shadow's soul. It was unpleasant.

Corruption... was a bully.

Not only was it a bully, but it also seemed to have made its life's mission to endlessly bother the shadow.

So, even though the shadow did not feel much, it felt a strong dislike toward Corruption and those who carried it.

It was fitting, in a sense. Death was a weapon that destroyed Corruption, after all, and since the shadow felt a strange sort of closeness to death, it was only natural that it despised Corruption as well.

That was why it decided to act.

As the towering abomination prepared to lunge at the bleeding man, the shadows around it suddenly moved, as though coming alive. Tentacles of darkness surged forward, entangling its arms and legs.

The mighty being struggled, trying to break free, but it was powerless in front of the shadow. The dark tendrils dragged it back, pulling in different directions. The creature opened its maw, as if wanting to howl...

Before it could, its body ruptured, torn apart into pieces. Blood, viscera, and severed limbs fell to the ground in a torrent — wherever its yellow blood touched the soil, the soil smoked and melted, as if corroded by a strong acid.

But it didn't matter much, because the loathsome creature was dead.

Unlike Beast God, the shadow did not devour the remains of its enemy. It had better manners, and a more refined palate at that.

The shadow was displeased, though. It shivered uncomfortably.

That was because the moment the abomination died, the shadow felt something slip inside its soul, and thought that it heard an echo of a vaguely familiar voice.

It wondered if it would be forced to relive that unfortunate life, as well.

The bleeding man, meanwhile, stared at the gruesome remains of the ruptured abomination in shock. Then, he turned slowly and peered into the deep darkness suffusing the entrance to the cave.

His face paled horribly, and he took a step back, trembling.

Then, finding the strength to run, the man turned around and fled.

The shadow was relieved.

‘Good. Good riddance...’

Content that its shelter was peaceful and quiet once more, the shadow settled into its resting place. It hoped that no one would bother it again.

These hopes, however, were soon shattered into pieces.

Some time had passed — days, maybe, or perhaps years — and the shadow felt someone moving at the mouth of its cave once more.

With a heavy sigh, it directed its senses outward.

Then, its face fell.

Well, the shadow did not really have a face. But if it did, there would have been an expression of stunned dismay on it at the moment.

That day, the shadow asked itself the third question.

‘What the actual hell?’