Shadow Slave

Sunny and the diabolical steed of the fallen Shadow Lord battled across an endless tapestry of nightmares. Both were possessed by an insatiable desire to destroy the other, burning with bloodlust, fury, and relentless killing intent.

Their blood flowed across a hundred harrowing dreams, dissolving into the crimson rivers that had been spilled in the Kingdom of Hope across the centuries. As the weaker of the two, it was Sunny who bled most of the time… but every time he was torn apart and killed, he made sure to at least leave a mark on the stallion's tenebrous black body.

No matter how many times the damned horse killed Sunny, he had to share in the pain. Sunny was not only being hunted… no, he was a hunter himself. What did it matter how many deaths he experienced, what ghastly torments the nightmares held in store for him? In this realm of terrors, he was as immortal as the stygian steed. Every time he died, he was reborn anew.

And every time he was reborn, there was a chance of becoming someone — or something — that the infernal stallion would not be able to defeat. When that happened, their roles reversed, and it was the black horse that had to suffer, be broken, and die by his hand.

Every kill filled Sunny's soul with jubilant, dark glee.

He didn't care about dying over and over again, about witnessing atrocious horrors and experiencing the worst cruelty a person could imagine. He wasn't even sure that he was a person, after all. But no matter who or what he was, Sunny was content to endure as much agony as there was, as long as he could make the dark courser feel it too.

Neither of them could die in the dream, so this battle was going to be decided by the tenacity of their wills.

They were going to see whose spirit would break first…

all of the history of the Kingdom of Hope, there were not that many creatures that could challenge his vicious strength, and even less that Sunny was fortunate

was not to say that his hunt was

was supposed to be. He knew very few things about who he really was, and didn't really care to know more. It held no meaning for his goal of tormenting

his gift of gazing into the very souls of living beings… and his name. That

Lost from Light.

was his name, and that

managed to remember his name, it acted as an irresistible anchor that slowly pulled other things from the darkness of oblivion that shrouded his true self. Not

body had a memory of its own, a soul had one

helpless against

aptitude for this harrowing dream battle of theirs. Waking up in a new body after each death — be it a man or a woman, a child or an elder, a human or a beast,

flexibility to it, an insidious ability to adapt to any circumstance almost in an instant, as though it was formless and shapeless

that he could masterfully wield a large number of weapons regardless of whom he was reborn as, as though he had fought in countless battles before. He was able to learn to wield any other by simply observing his enemies for a few moments. He could easily peer through their technique and intentions, and use that knowledge to destroy

was reborn as a fearsome creature, he could almost instantly understand how to use his bestial body to rip the enemies to shreds, as though he had lived

fighting against those who were stronger than him was his second nature. Lost from Light's mind was full of treachery and cunning, which he could use to deliver terrible wounds to the fearsome stallion even when

waiting to see which one would break first under