Sunny stood at the edge of the frozen shelf, gazing into the black expanse of the ocean. The wind howled, sharp enough to slice skin, but he paid it no mind. Below him, an abyss pulsed with unseen movement—creatures stirring in the dark, waiting.
A small lantern resting on his hip.
The shadows slithered around him, responding to his thoughts, pooling into the form of the black odachi. The blade hummed, an extension of his will, heavier than simple steel.
Then he jumped.
The water swallowed him whole.
The moment his feet touched the ocean floor, they came—devourers of the deep, nightmare creatures bloated with centuries of forgotten hunger.
The first surged forward—a monstrous leviathan, its flesh resembling fractured ice, its many mouths lined with spiralling teeth, its sheer presence warping the abyssal pressure.
Sunny breathed, and the shadows listened.
The abyss stretched. Harpoons formed, jagged and barbed, snapping forward as if hurled by unseen titans. They struck deep into the leviathan's bulk, the cords wrapping around its immense body, dragging it toward the ocean floor.
It screamed—a soundless vibration, its vast form convulsing against the grip of the abyss itself.
Sunny moved, Shadow Step tearing him across the battlefield in fluid bursts. He materialized within the creature's reach, his odachi already swinging.
A rupture—black ichor spilling into the water, the abyss drinking its essence.
Before the corpse had even settled, the second beast lunged—a serpent-born horror, its massive coils twisting with unnatural fluidity, moving faster than thought.
Sunny's shadows shifted, reforming.
This time, the abyss webbed outward, razor-edged threads stitching together like strands of silk. The serpent struck—teeth snapping—only for the threads to twist mid-motion, slicing deep into its flesh as it coiled around itself.
Sunny flickered, adjusting his grip. His blade reversed, carving through its midsection before it could reform.
The ocean drank its dissolving body, and his Soul Sea pulsed—power pooling like ink into his domain.
But beneath him, something watched.
A presence.
Unmoving. Lurking in the trenches far below.
And for the first time, Sunny felt it—resistance against his dominion.
The streets were drenched in ruin, the Nightmare Gate looming like a wound in reality.
Sunny's second incarnation strode through the mist, his shadow spear restless in his grip. The creatures here weren't simple prey—they were erratic, their forms shifting, flickering between nightmare variations with every breath.
A warped juggernaut emerged first—a towering beast whose flesh pulsated with unstable energy.
Sunny lunged, spear leading his motion.
But the creature reacted faster than expected.
A massive, distorted limb slammed into his side, forcing him into a violent roll across the pavement.
Pain flared—actual pain, raw and immediate.
Sunny steadied his stance.
The abyss answered.
Shadows latched onto the broken concrete, hooks forming from the gloom. Sunny pulled himself forward, reversing the momentum, twisting mid-motion.
His spear struck low, carving through the tendons at the beast's knees.
It buckled.
A second strike—quick, precise, merciless—straight through its exposed core.
It collapsed, dissolving into mist.
But Sunny didn't have time to catch his breath.
Another figure stepped forward.
Not a monster.
Something else.
Something that remembered him.
Above the Nightmare Gate, his third incarnation perched atop a ruined skyscraper, watching the chaos below. The tachi rested in his grip, silent, waiting.
Then he fell.
A blur of motion—controlled descent, a phantom of shadows. He crashed into the heart of the horde, his blade singing through the first horror before his feet even touched the ground.
Then the abyss answered.
Chains erupted from the gloom, snapping forward with lethal precision, coiling around monstrosities, dragging them into the dark, crushing bone and sinew before pulling them into oblivion.
Spikes erupted in waves, lancing through misshapen bodies, impaling them mid-motion.
Sunny flickered, Shadow Step tearing him through the battlefield like a phantom, never lingering, never allowing his enemies to adapt.
One breath, he was beside a towering beast, his tachi severing its limbs mid-strike.
The next, he materialized behind another, his blade carving through its core before it could react.
A nightmare lunged—an amalgamation of limbs and gnashing teeth—but Sunny was already gone.
His shadows lashed out before his blade did—chains entwining the creature mid-motion, forcing it still as spikes ruptured upward, piercing its skull.
The battlefield churned—a massacre shaped from the abyss itself, shadows bending to his will in a symphony of destruction.
And then—nothing.
Silence.
The last remnants of the horde collapsed, dissolving into mist.
But something remained.
A presence.
Familiar. Too familiar.
Sunny exhaled, his grip tightening around his tachi. His instincts screamed at him to recognize it—to acknowledge the echo of its domain pressing against the edges of his own.
It wasn't longing.
Not the pure force of transcendence, the desperate reach for something beyond mortal grasp.
This was different.
Rejection.
The mist recoiled, not drawn in, but pushed away—pulled back from existence itself. As if the presence had been carved out of reality, and wanted the world to feel the same.
Sunny narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. His Domain pulsed, resisting the sensation clawing at its edges.
Nephis' Domain was the yearning to cleanse, to restore, to reach for an ideal beyond reality.
This was the opposite.
A force of exile, desperate, unrelenting.
A domain that had once been shaped by longing, like Nephis', but had warped—becoming something that demanded connection.
It didn't seek admiration.
It needed acceptance.
And if it couldn't have that—if it couldn't be loved, be remembered—
Then the world wouldn't.
The shadows stirred.
And then, it emerged.
The world broke.
Not violently.
Not suddenly.
It was subtle—too subtle. A shift in something foundational, like reality had slipped from its axis and no one had noticed.
Except Sunny.
And all three of him.
The abyss stirred. The ruined streets shrank, folding inward as if the world itself wanted to hide. The skyscrapers stretched unnaturally, their edges curving where they shouldn't.
The sky bled white flames—not light, not heat, but something wrong.
And standing amidst all three worlds, smiling faintly, was it.
Not a god.
Not a daemon.
Not something that could be named.
Something else.
Sunny saw it.
And suddenly, he was aware that it had always been watching.
Fear slithered into his bones. His breath faltered. Questions spilled from his mouth, words he barely understood himself.
"What are you—"
"Why is this—"
"This isn't real—"
The entity laughed.
Not a sound—an impression, slipping through space, pressing against his mind without touching it.
Its voice wasn't meant to be understood.
And yet, fragments clung to Sunny's thoughts like ashes.
"…so fun…"
"…never the same…"
"…always breaking, just like—"
His mind fractured.
Because the world responded to its voice.
The white flames rose, engulfing all three versions of him. Not burning, not destroying—redefining.
And before Sunny could react, before he could resist—
Everything pulled.
He was ripped inward.
Through space.
Through concepts.
Through himself.
His incarnations collapsed, torn backward, compressed into one singular moment.
He fell—but not through air.
Not through the abyss.
Through his own existence.
And then—
For the first time in a long time, he was helpless.
Silence.
It was wrong. Not empty—wrong.
Sunny couldn't move.
Not the way he wanted.
Because he wasn't here.
He was within his own shadow.
Trapped beneath his past self.
Watching.
Unable to manifest. Unable to escape.
Sunny spoke—no sound came.
He tried to move—his body did not respond.
His past self walked, unaware.
Sunny was a ghost.
A prisoner in a reality already written.
His thoughts fractured further.
He had fought gods. He had shaped his own domain, commanded shadows, defied fate.
None of it mattered now.
He was stuck.
Helpless.
For the first time in a long time, he had no power.
No control.
Only the past.
Only what had already been written.
His mind churned.
Was this always the end?
Had regression never been his weapon—only his cage?
Had it all been inevitable?
Then, softly—the laughter returned.
Not behind him.
Not before him.
Somewhere beyond.
Somewhere he couldn't reach.
And suddenly, Sunny understood.
This wasn't mercy.
It wasn't punishment.
It was something worse.
It was play.
It hadn't erased him.
It had claimed him.
Sunny's thoughts collapsed, searching for a way out.
For something—anything—that made sense.
But all he found was the past.
All he found was his own shadow.
All he found was—
Silence.