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.

then dove into the Dread Lord's corrupted

'Here we go…'

Mordret found himself surrounded by

to catch him. A forest of them rose from all sides, slithering

why I hate invading

he possessed both of his hands here. Sadly, Mordret could only reflect the powers and weapons of the master of the invaded soul, not use his own. And since the Dread

Memories were given by the Spell, and taken

things he

into the air. Flying was not something Mordret did often, but he

becoming covered by impregnable scales. Two mighty wings sprouted from his

He became a dragon.

had not been a dragon before, but he had stolen bodies of Nightmare

eerie gaze pierced the vile darkness and found a figure standing in the heart of

still maintained its human appearance… he must not have surrendered

twisted Mordret's

'Time to die…'

wasn't sure which one of them was going to die, but

Corruption hidden in the boundless darkness of his defiled soul, so he had to be a Corrupted Tyrant. The

then again, Mordret had killed numerous foes who were more powerful than him… more experienced than him, more knowledgeable about the nuances of their Aspects than him, more proficient in

of them had been as resourceful as him, as resolute as him, or as ruthless as

so how

was afraid of, though, it was the knowledge of the Defilement the Dread

even more so than every other soul battle Mordret

before he has time to

lonesome figure moved, finally noticing

mad light ignited in the Dread Lord's

***

nothing living moved. 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

ash, but piles of smoldering corpses still remained at the edges of the city. The walls surrounding Twilight had collapsed, and the giant carcasses beyond them

hand rose from the water among those

gulped for air. Then, she collapsed and lay motionlessly, ash falling on her face from

iron locket was still

above the blind girl, seemingly concerned. Cassie concentrated on it, feeling her

"Go…"