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 his hunt was without

and of his own memories, Sunny was left with a gaping emptiness in place of where his identity was supposed to be. He knew very few things about who

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

Lost from Light.

name, and

from the darkness of oblivion that shrouded his true self. Not actual memories, but

had one as

he wasn't completely helpless against the infernal

more, Lost from Light discovered that he had a strange 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, a mundane creature or an Awakened one that possessed unique and unexplainable powers — would have been utterly confusing and debilitating for any warrior. How could one fight if they

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

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

how to use his bestial

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

hunted and killed each other through numerous nightmares, waiting to see