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…

between. Across 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

to say that his hunt

emptiness in place of where his identity was supposed to be. He knew very few

of living beings… and his name. That was the

Lost from Light.

name, and that was

to remember his name, it acted as an irresistible anchor that slowly pulled other things from the darkness of

had a memory of its own, a soul had one as well. Knowing one's name, the true name,

wasn't completely helpless

up in a new body after each death — be it a man or a woman, a child or an elder, a human or

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

regardless of whom he was reborn as, as though he had fought in countless battles before. He was

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

importantly, he found out that 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 their

waiting to see which one