Shadow Slave

A new day brought with it a new portion of pain, hardship, and despair.

Sunny and Elyas were dragged into the arena, the same Ascended warmonger guiding them by the chains attached to the collars. Sunny stumbled forward, his gaze locked on the man's broad back.

The jailer was incredibly tall for a human, his height more than even that of the shadow demon Sunny was currently inhabiting. His figure was solemn and powerful, a sense of terrifying strength radiating from it in almost physical waves. The apostle of War wore the same ragged leather armor and a tattered red robe, his features hidden behind a deep hood.

In all these weeks, Sunny had never seen his face, or heard him speak.

The great blade on the Ascended warrior's back looked special, too. It was definitely enchanted with very powerful magic… now that Sunny turned his thoughts to the nature of sorcery, he was silently studying the line of runes inscribed along the edge of the heavy weapon.

'Runic magic again…'

That made sense… how else were these ancient people supposed to enchant their weapons? It was not like they could rely on Memories and spellweave. That said, magical weapons seemed to be much rarer in the Kingdom of Hope than in the waking world. Most of the Awakened Sunny had fought in the arena wielded either mundane ones or those possessing weak, primitive enchantments.

It was the far cry from the powerful Memories he was used to, although Sunny did not know if that was the nature of this era, or just another sign of the ubiquitous regression that seemed to reign in what remained of the Kingdom of Hope. Everything here seemed devolved, worn out, and on the verge of falling apart.

The whole region was obviously in decline, and had been for some time now.

...While studying the runes on the great blade, he also noticed that it had a few new nicks. The leather armor of the silent giant had more scratches than before, as well…

It seemed that the Ascended was participating in the battles in the arena himself.

'I guess I'll have to fight that monster too, eventually...'

Finally, a rusty iron gate appeared in front of them, blinding sunlight streaming through its bars. The rumbling voices of the crowd echoed from the stone walls, washing over him like a cursed tide.

entered

spear fashioned out

creatures are called Burrowers. On solid

dashed forward with a

was going to be

the Nightmare Creatures, despite suspecting that doing so too much threatened to destroy his already unsteady mind. He also

his first training sessions with Saint, when he had to resist the taciturn monster while simultaneously keeping an eye on his shadow to decipher the secret of its dance.

couldn't allow

descended upon the repulsive Burrowers, which looked like sacks of bulbous flesh with giant

it was time for

and then a creature that resembled a giant walking skeleton, its bones green and as tough as granite, and then a swarm of monstrous ants that covered the floor of the arena like a carpet, and then a being that was like an oozing mountain of mire sludge that

on. Elyas had healed the most terrible wounds, but the rest remained, not worthy of having precious

again overwhelmed by pain, rage, and the desperate need to fight for his survival. Everything else disappeared… the only thing that

And fear.

today, that

that encompassed his mind and kept searching, studying every corner of the Red Colosseum — the floor of the

he saw were the statues of War God, the jubilant faces of the spectators, and the weathered

'Where are you… where...'

fifth battle almost cost him his life. While fighting against a familiar foe — a giant worm-like creature that possessed a seemingly endless reserve of vitality — Suny had tripped

the attention of the terrible abomination to himself, he would have been viciously mauled, or even

to it by the Cruel Sight. Today, however, he had no deadly Memory to help him… only his claws,

the end, Sunny had to literally rip the giant abomination to shreds. Only when its body was torn apart completely did the worm stop regenerating new flesh and recovering from all the wounds, and

then threw a hateful glance at the crowd chanting his name. Finally, he lowered his head

several grooves like that in some of the killing boxes, cutting through the floor of the colosseum like broad channels meant for the rivers of blood to flow through them. Usually, he took note of their placement in advance to avoid losing his footing at a dire moment, but today, with his attention split between the battles and the need to study the arena, Sunny had failed in