Shadow Slave

The moment Sunny's essence touched the black wooden surface of the divine Memory, Weaver's Mask suddenly reached into his very soul and hungrily drank more… and then more, and more, and more.

In a fraction of a second, all of his reserve of shadow essence was sucked dry, with only a tiny bit of it remaining… almost as if these pitiful drops were not even worth being consumed by the mask.

And even then, all it could achieve was activate the [???] enchantment for just a single moment.

…That single moment, however, was enough to almost drive Sunny insane.

Suddenly, a horrifying pain pierced his eyes and his mind, akin to the suffering he had experienced after consuming the Drop of Ichor, only so much worse.

Infinitely worse.

As he shrieked, all traces of intelligence disappearing from his voice, the world he saw changed.

Suddenly, all Sunny could see was an endless, beautiful eternity of twisting threads. Those threads transfixed everything in existence, connecting every living being and every object, every thought and every concept, every dream and every nightmare, stretching infinitely into every direction, as well as into the past, the present, and the future.

These were the Strings of Fate.

They were just like the threads of light that the Spell was woven of, but while the magnificent and inconceivably complex pattern that Sunny had seen twice in the empty void between dream and reality composed the function of the Spell, what he glimpsed right now connected… everything.

All of the universe as it had existed, was existing, and was going to exist.

...Much worse, when observing the weave of the Spell, Sunny could only sense and guess at its meaning. But the terrifying enchantment of Weaver's Mask not only allowed him to see the tapestry of Fate, but also forced the understanding of it onto him.

The knowledge of everything, everywhere, all at once…

Of course, such knowledge was too much for any human to endure. Just the tiniest, infinitesimal amount of it was enough to instantly destroy any living being… except, maybe, for a god.

...Or a daemon.

As blood streamed out of Sunny's nose, eyes, and mouth, and a silent scream died on his lips, he instinctively did the only thing that could save him from being obliterated by the sight of the Strings of Fate — he dissipated into the shadows.

This was, perhaps, the reason why his eyes did not turn into smoldering embers and his head did not just explode right there on the spot. Shadows had no eyes and no skulls, after all.

However…

face. When he turned into a shadow, it had turned into one, too. His vision

tightly wrapped around his body, as well as around his soul, encompassing and piercing it… it looked almost as if he was strung on

those threads, two shone

white flame and stretched far away into the distance, leading north,

other was made out of beautiful

Shipwreck Island and the Twisted Rock, diving

in reality, it

utter, irrevocable destruction. A fraction more, and it was going to be

I do…

scattered and weak. And yet, he fought through the shock and managed to remember an

dismiss

it took only a second, there would be nothing

desperation rose from

shadow essence that Weaver's

and the ruthless worlds of endless threads disappeared with it. Sunny could only see what all humans…

dark stone soaring into the sky as the merciless grinder of the Crushing was slowly breaking

sensed hazily that there was something urgent about

really lose conscience while in the form of a shadow, but not being able

the pieces of his wounded, shattered mind back together. He was

rumbling as it rose higher and higher into the Sky Above. Wide cracks appeared on its surface, growing larger with each second. The blackened bones

sturdy than the ascending island itself. It was still in one piece, at least, and

to come up

mind, he suddenly came to his senses... and realized several

was what

the pitiful drops of shadow essence left in his soul cores were about to evaporate, which meant that he would not be able to remain in the form of a shadow

had not retrieved the

whether he would be forced out of the shadows and turned into a bloody puddle first,

Which would it be?

I might as well

shadow essence, from which the Memories were created, returned to his soul. Hiding