Squelch.
Thud, Thud, Thud.
Squelch.
Thud, Thud, Thud.
Squelch.
Thud, Thud, Thud.
Huff.
Huff, huff.
He lowered his head—
And a stream of blood met him.
A hand was striking through his body, blood dripping down onto the floor. And in the gaps where their droplets have fallen… Nether black met his eyes.
It made him hauntingly sick.
Perhaps the pain just hadn't caught on yet, or he was simply stuck in the stage between shock and acceptance, but Sunny couldn't feel anything at all.
"Who?!" He forced out, his eyes entirely bloodshot, a terrifying shade of red painting the whites of his eyes.
He was ambushed.
But he was nothing.
Why. Why. Why.
Who would do that to a mere slave?
Perhaps I'm more afraid of death that I had thought, Sunny couldn't help but believe.
But…
What's happening? I thought the Mountain King was dead! Sunny silently screamed, as everything… happened.
And it seems like his time was put as agony crashed through him that he couldn't help but scream and shout and do everything he can for just a second of relief–
Something was being broken deep inside of him, and he can't help but gag as it twisted, churned within him.
His chest was throbbing, failing and red, red, red!
But there shouldn't be anything else!
He scratched his ribs. Again and again and again yet even that couldn't clear his head or lessen his pain and–
Who. Who. Who.
Desperately, he turned his head around—Sunny needed answers, he needed them.
Time seemed to stop.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
A shadow, it was but a shadow.
A shadow, shadow, shadow.
It was deeper, ancient. Power thrummed in its veins.
He shuddered, breath lost in his lungs. But that wasn't what made him scream, cry; what made him tear his hands into his skin, ignoring the metallic substance flooding from his ribs.
For a hysterical smile was plastered onto its face—one he knew intimately—and it was… his.
Same height, same crown of hair, same black, black eyes staring back at him.
But it wasn't him.
It couldn't be!
A shadow could never…
It twisted his hand again, mercilessly crushing his heart, and Sunny saw dark, inky black.
In the place where his heart once pulsed, there was nothing but a gaping hole, with a cool, almost harmless fluid of black flowing outwards.
He couldn't help but gag.
Even as the pain clouded everything else.
So he screamed.
He screamed.
And screamed.
Yet there was no one to listen. Even the Mountain King was dead within a single second, what could a dormant soul do?
A dark, grimy feeling spread from his chest, and he could feel the black creeping up to his eyes.
His vision started to blur.
At that moment, something within him snapped.
Blinking once, twice, he felt a strong urge overcome him, and he coughed, again, and again, and again. Crimson red flowed from his mouth, dripping slowly onto the altar.
And the altar absorbed every single drop.
How he was still alive was a mystery even to him.
And cough he did, again and again, red flowing from it. Reaching a shaky hand, he touched his mouth—the blood he coughed was no longer red.
[Your Attribute is ready to evolve.]
He distantly heard the Spell, its voice dancing with glee.
[Attribute: Child of Fate.]
[Attribute Description: Fate smiles upon you. As the child to fate, you possess a limited ability to detect and understand the weave.]
He didn't know what it meant.
He didn't care to understand.
However, the Attribute soon took hold.
He saw too much. Was forced to see too much.
Streaks of nether-black strings emerged from his clenched fists, twisting into the sky. But he could only see a few—in this world of weaves and threads, there were only few who could have such an effect, only those that had a slight tint of color could force themselves, ingraining their names into his eyes. And at the top of it, there was one particularly thick, twisting with a shining, silver one towards the east—
The hand inside his chest pulled, and in a blink of an eye, it cut it. Cut the connection with the silver string, and bought something else closer—a golden one which twisted and turned and… the very top of black.
As if it were corrupted.
And all of a sudden, flashes of images appeared. In just a second, he was in a plane of sharp, jagged glass, each one holding a story to be told—
Sunny's eyes flashed open, the world around him emitting a heat that sent a pure stream of adrenaline through his body. White flames burned all around him, the sky a dark, deep black.
Flap. He moved, Flap, flap. Looking behind him, a magnificent pair of wings met his eyes. They burned pristine white, and… he felt like he belonged here, wherever this was.
And… in this dream of space and time, he wasn't in control, no matter how much he forced his hands to move, his feet to kick, nothing happened. Flap, flap flap. He was only going upwards, away from the fire, into the vast unknown.
A burst of light met him, and suddenly… Let there be light. Seven brilliant stars met him, each one holding a secret that he'll never know.
He held his hand out—no, he didn't. A brief touch of fire, rejuvenating—no, it was a wave of agony. Flames spreading through his body in a comforting throb—it was anything but comforting.
Before he knew it, he was falling.
Like Icarus who had flown too close to the sun.
And as he hit the ground, Sunny wanted to fall, fall into unconsciousness. But he didn't even have the liberty of that choice.
A flash of light later, the angel of light was no more, in turn, he was forced into something else—shorter, lean, more comfortable.
He raised his hand—no he didn't—and a claw of shadows incarnate met him. A slice through the air later, the world was black, black, black.
He felt his soul dissipating, as the same looming temple of the Black Mountains stared at him, dark, unrelenting, so unlike the shelter he had associated with—
A stone, taciturn knight appeared before him, bowing with a reverence he never knew. Behind her, an army of shadows laid, deep, dark, death itself.
She stood, a sword of pure, unfiltered darkness in her hand.
Just a moment later, he was falling. Again. The world tilted in its axis, and all he saw were seven shadows, copies of whatever the dream earlier contained.
He blinked, and he was a princess.
A crown laid atop his head, white hair flowing down his back. Raising his hand, a faceless mass cheered.
Another second passed, and he was something else.
A young man with chains around his hands and legs, blood dripping onto the floor with every single step. He jumped. Diving into the depths, as creatures of different sizes lay in wake of his arrival.
Something else greeted him.
He was a doll of porcelain, holding a key of utter, miserable black in his hands, his back facing a mist consuming him.
Then he was an archer.
An archer who soared through the skies, flying higher and higher, disappearing under a layer of clouds.
He was a giantess, who was rampaging on the very earth, his footsteps breaking the very land he swore to…
Then a reaper, a reaper who was no longer dead, whose scythe rejected him.
A prince whose hands reach towards the vast expanse, as his broken crown falls and falls into the great unknown.
A girl with a mask of shadow, fearsome yet not unkind. Her eyes held the world within them.
Sunless screamed, shouted, his hands digging onto the altar. Again, and again, and— he met the shadow's eyes. It was the abyss itself, swirling and twirling and—
Unspeakable agony tore throughout him, and a string of very black emerged into his eyes, its jagged ends striking and mending him repeatedly.
A legacy of shadow and gold, a twisted smile, a whispered lie.
[Wake up, Sunless! Your nightmare is over!]
The Spell suddenly proclaimed, and all that was gone.
His shadow smiled.