Shadow Slave

1511 Drowning Star

Nephis saw the Serpent King's palace sway, from afar. Its dome was collapsing, and a net of cracks appeared on its walls. However, she had no time to pay attention to what was happening in the distance… the street she had found herself on was crowded with countless warriors, and all of them were moving toward her, an eerie emptiness hiding behind their ruthless eyes.

Hundreds of them. Thousands, even — and that was only on this one street. Enemies were in front of her, behind her, and on all sides.

There seemed to be no escape from this human flood. Their hands were already reaching toward her, aiming to catch her and push her down. Surrounded by the undulating mob, Nephis struggled not to surrender to primal fear.

Before the first hand touched her chainmail shirt, she took a stance and lashed out with her sword. The movement was ingrained into her very bones, absorbed by both her body and mind. Mass, speed, force, space and time. Levers and fulcrums… transfer of energy. That was what swordplay was, deconstructed to its most basic pillars. Her body was a versatile and intricate tool for expressing these principles.

Of course, there was another element to it, one that existed outside the scope of fundamental physics. Thought. After all, the most perfect tool would be useless without a conscious will to guide it. And thoughts — both her own and those of her enemies — could become a tool, in turn. But that… was much harder to master…

The severed hand fell to the ground, bright blood spilling on the cobblestones. A normal human would have recoiled in terror, or at least showed a reaction. Even a Nightmare Creature would not have completely ignored the loss of a limb. However, the empty shell hosting the perverse consciousness of Soul Stealer did not pay it any attention, continuing its lunge at Nephis.

She had calculated that the warrior would not be deterred, as well.

Shifting her weight, Nephis turned her torso and allowed the warrior to brush past her. At the same time, she gave him a measured shove. The man was already losing his balance, so that was enough to send him stumbling into the wall of people to her left.

Her sword had never stopped moving.

the nearest human, she pierced the neck of another, then slammed the guard of the sword into the third, all in one fluid motion. By then, the hand she had used to shove the

And, therefore, freedom.

attackers like a hurricane of steel. A bright radiance suffused her skin, making it seem as though a merciless spirit of light was moving through the crowd of mortal warriors. One

white radiance was soon tinted red, shining through the bloody

'Faster.'

perceived a million details about her environment, seamlessly assimilated these observations into a comprehensive understanding, and instantly formulated flawless responses

down anyone who entered within its reach, knowing no mercy or hesitation. Crimson blood was

surrounded by thousands of enemies. However, that was alright. Many of these people were Awakened, but most were mundane. They were much slower than her. Much weaker than her. Much more

amount of space. Only so many enemies could attack her at the same time, obstructed from approaching her by the walls of the surrounding buildings and the bodies of their own comrades. So, it wasn't like Nephis had to fight with thousands of

or

what did it

kill a hundred, a thousand… ten thousand, maybe. But she couldn't kill millions of

would grow tired. Her essence would run dry. Soul Stealer would send the more powerful Awakened and swarms of Masters to confront her. Warriors who could bulldoze through the walls of the buildings, destroying her only advantage, would appear, as well as

be buried under a mountain of human flesh and

'What do I do?'

a mundane soldier in half, pushed through the rain of blood, and pierced

a split second remaining before she would receive a blow on her back — spinning around, Nephis sliced through the descending sword, the attacker's arms, and

'What do I do?'

of them now than there had been before. Despite the gruesome deaths of the first wave, their