Shadow Slave

1520 Dreadful Soul

'What a sight…'

Mordret watched as Nightingale, picturesque despite being bloodied and covered in dust, drew his bow and let an arrow loose.

He had fled to the floating fortress after noticing the Denial Amulet fused into the Dread Lord's scales — and just in time. Something truly curious had happened in Twilight, destroying all the reflections he could have used to take a look. It was probably Changing Star's fault… or Soul Stealer's fault. In any case, Mordret would have been burned to a crisp if he had not left the city.

After traversing the still water and reaching the fortress, he hid in the reflections and observed what was happening inside. Sunless was fighting like a madman… more of a madman than he usually was… while the Dread Lord viciously mauled and battered him.

Truly, it was a miracle that Sunless had been able to battle the tyrant of Verge for so long, and even deliver countless wounds to the mighty dragon. What other Master could have done the same? That guy really boggled the mind.

Nevertheless, there was something strange about their fight. The Defiled Saint could have gone for the kill a long time ago, but he was restraining himself. Probably because he wanted to capture Sunless alive.

And make him a slave again.

That made sense. Although Mordret mostly knew about the Six Plagues from the records he had spied in the frozen reflection of Twilight, the Mad Prince seemed to have been the deterrence the tyrant of Verge used to keep the other five Defiled champions in check… especially Soul Stealer.

Now that Soul Stealer had finally turned on him, Sunless and his sinister soul were the best weapon the Dread Lord could use against the rebellious fiend.

Mordret studied Nightingale for a while, amused.

'...Have I really submitted to that naive fool?'

Well, he must not have remained naive for long after becoming Defiled. Still... how had Soul Stealer missed the chance to become the master of the Mad Prince himself, after Changing Star was gone? The impostor... was really a disappointment.

Regardless, Mordret had spoken to the Nightingale — the original carrier of the Denial Amulet — just before Twilight went up in flames. The charming archer had a part to play…

And now, it seemed that he had played it brilliantly.

A red arrow whistled through the air and struck the small scale on the chest of the giant dragon, cracking it.

'What a shot.'

How hard would it be, to hit a target so small, and a moving one at that?

Mordret allowed himself to admire the precision of the Ascended archer for a split second.

the Dread Lord's corrupted

'Here we go…'

Mordret found himself surrounded by

catch him. A forest of them rose from all sides, slithering like snakes. Trembling slightly, he evaded

invading the souls of

weapons of the master of the invaded soul, not use his own. And since the Dread

Memories were given by the Spell, and taken away by

were other things he could

often, but he had experienced it before — so, learning how to use this particular Ability

and swelled, becoming covered by impregnable scales. Two mighty wings sprouted from his back,

He became a dragon.

had not been a dragon before, but he had stolen bodies of Nightmare Creatures of a similar kind. So, he grew accustomed to this new shape

pierced the vile darkness and found a figure standing

its human appearance… he must not have surrendered

smile twisted

'Time to die…'

of them was going to die, but was eager to

Lord… there were five repugnant masses of Corruption hidden in the boundless darkness of his defiled soul, so he had to be a Corrupted Tyrant.

who were more powerful than him… more experienced than him, more knowledgeable about the nuances of their

none of them had been as resourceful as him,

but naive fool… so how much better

there was one thing Mordret was afraid of, though, it was the knowledge of

was why this battle was a gamble, even more so than every other soul battle Mordret

have to kill him before he has time to say

figure moved, finally

in the Dread

***

The buildings — those that were far enough from the epicenter of the blast to not be reduced to dust — had either collapsed or stood blackened and deformed. Ash fell from

but piles of smoldering corpses still remained at the edges of the city. The walls

from

a dead abomination and gulped for air. Then, she collapsed and lay motionlessly,

was still with her, safe

hovered in the air above the blind girl, seemingly concerned.

"Go…"