Savior in Shadow Slave

One hour before the nest burned.

Akame sat perched atop the corpse of a fallen Carapace Centurion, her slender legs swinging back and forth in the air, her heels tapping lightly against the ridged chitin.

The grotesque carcass beneath her—towering and armored, its spear-arm cracked and twitching—should have made for a grim seat. But she didn't seem to mind. If anything, she looked perfectly at ease, as if she were sitting on a rooftop at sunset rather than atop the remains of a nightmare.

Her long hair danced in the breeze, catching the light that filtered through the twisted coral canopy above. Every now and then, she reached up to tuck a stray strand behind her ear, deep in thought.

There was a small pout on her lips, the kind that came when someone was trying to solve a puzzle no one else could see. Her eyes, vivid and sharp, watched the horizon—but not really. They were distant, dreamlike.

She hummed a soft, tuneless melody to herself.

All around her, the Crimson Coral Labyrinth groaned and creaked like a living thing. The air smelled faintly of salt and smoke. Somewhere in the distance, scavengers hissed and scraped—but none came close. They knew better.

And yet, in the middle of all that ruin and ruinous quiet, Akame sat like a misplaced memory.

A splash of innocence in a world long starved of it.

Beautiful. Quiet. Dangerously calm.

She tilted her head slightly, still lost in thought. Then she gave a tiny sigh and poked the Centurion's headplate with the tip of her shoe.

"What are you, some kind of shoujo manga heroine now, Ms. Damsel in Distress?"

A mature, slightly amused voice echoed from above as something swooped down gracefully through the air.

"Come on, that kind of act might work in a forest, not in this hellhole, Mr. Regressor."

Murphy glanced up, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "I keep telling you—I'm not a regressor."

"Uh-huh. And I'm a helpless little schoolgirl," she replied, landing lightly beside him, a smirk tugging at her lips.

He sighed. "You're impossible."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

A short silence followed. Comfortable. Familiar.

Then her tone shifted, just a touch. "All right, jokes aside… did you find anything? Survivors? Movement? Anything unusual?"

Murphy's gaze drifted out toward the horizon. "Nothing but ashes," he said quietly. "We saw at the top of the headless knight statue. That's all that's left."

Her smile faded.

"…I see."

"Although," Murphy said, dusting off his coat, "I did find a ridge with a cave near the top. Was planning to check it out."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? So you came all the way here because you were worried about me?"

"Yeah."

Her eyes widened slightly. A faint blush crept up her cheeks.

Murphy said with a completely straight face. "After all, if something happened to you… where else would I find such a reliable meat shield?"

A dagger whistled past his face, grazing the collar of his coat and embedding itself in the coral behind him.

"Charming as ever," she muttered, crossing her arms.

He chuckled, completely unfazed. "Well, anyway. I'm heading to that cave. Want to come?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "If you say so, Mr. Not-a-Regressor."

***

Murphy soared above the Crimson Coral Labyrinth, the wind trailing behind his coat, Akame cradled in his arms. The jagged coral spires stretched out below them like the fossilized ribs of some long-dead beast.

As they neared the ridge, the cave came into view—dark, still, silent.

Akame tilted her head, peering down from his arms.

"See or hear anything?"

Murphy shook his head, eyes narrowing as he scanned the entrance.

"Sadly, no."

Akame frowned slightly. "Hmm… that either means there's nothing in there…"

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Or something very sneaky."

Murphy exhaled through his nose. "Let's assume it's the sneaky one. That way we won't be disappointed."

"Optimistic as ever," she said, smirking.

Murphy landed outside the ridge's cave, Akame in his arms. They exchanged quick words, suspicion already thick in the air, and entered carefully—weapon drawn, senses sharp.

The moment they stepped inside, they knew something had happened.

The air still reeked of scorched chitin. Burn marks laced the walls. The moss near the ground was singed black, and small cracks spidered across the stone floor. The residue of a fight clung to the place like a phantom.

Akame ran her fingers along the scorched cave wall, the faint heat still clinging to the stone.

"About a week ago," she whispered.

Murphy's eyes narrowed. "Wait… I see something up ahead. Looks like a mound."

"Let's check it out."

They stepped deeper into the cave, the cave lit from the light that entered through cracks along the ceiling.

A mangled Carapace Centurion, its armor half-melted, was fused to the coral-laced wall while the wounds were on its shoulders and one on spine. Blackened scorch marks webbed across the floor. The air still stank of burnt chitin and raw energy.

"Someone fought here," Murphy murmured.

"Yeah," Akame said, crouching by a crater. "A human, most likely using a dagger."

She stood slowly, eyes thoughtful. "But it's strange, Murphy. Don't you think?"

He nodded, sweeping his gaze around the room. "Definitely strange. A Dormant human doesn't have the power to burn a Centurion alive. That takes serious firepower—Awakened human at minimum."

Akame straightened. "Did someone from the Immortal Flame get in?"

"Not possible," Murphy replied immediately. "The sole heir's a kid. Six or seven, tops."

He continued moving through the room, eyes scanning for more signs—footprints, weapons, anything.

"Then could it be…" Akame began, eyes narrowing, "someone from the Sun God's Lineage? Like how you, Murphy, possess the Beast God's lineage, even though you're not part of the Song Clan?"

Murphy paused. He didn't answer right away.

Then:

"Maybe," Murphy said quietly. "Or… he used a chemical reaction to burn the Carapace Centurion."

He reached into his coat and tossed her a broken vial—half of it charred black, the other half cracked and smeared with an oily residue.

Akame caught it, examining the glass with a curious glint in her eyes.

"So… no Divine Lineage or powerful Aspect?" she asked. "Just a genius with a death wish?"

Murphy nodded. "Seems like it. He probably threw the vial first—something volatile—and used the cave's structure to his advantage. Climbed the walls, maybe the ceiling, to get above the Centurion."

He pointed to the higher ledges along the curved stone.

"Then struck its spine and shoulder from behind, disabling its movement… and finished it off before it could recover."

"So… he should still be alive somewhere, right?" Akame asked, slipping the broken vial into her pouch.

Murphy nodded, his gaze fixed on the fading blood trail. "If he was capable of killing something like a Carapace Centurion, then yeah… he should be."

Akame's expression softened, the usual teasing tone absent from her voice.

"Then let's go. If he's still out there, we might not have much time."

Murphy glanced over his shoulder at the blackened remains one last time, then turned to follow the trail.

"Agreed," he said. "The more lives we can save, the better."

The wind howled over the jagged ridges of the Crimson Coral Labyrinth as Murphy soared high above, the terrain below painted in hues of rust and blood-red coral. He held Akame securely in his arms, his cloak snapping behind them as they swept from ridge to ridge, eyes scanning every shadowed nook and crumbling ledge.

Below, the labyrinth stretched endlessly—twisting gullies, shattered ridges, bone-filled ravines. The landscape was treacherous. And somewhere in it, a survivor was clinging to life.

Akame narrowed her eyes, scanning the ridgeline as they glided in a wide arc.

"Nothing here either," Murphy muttered. "We're running out of light."

"Wait…" Akame leaned forward, gaze locking onto a narrow depression between two coral towers. Her voice sharpened. "Down there! Between those jagged outcrops."

Murphy followed her line of sight.

At first, it looked like nothing more than scattered debris. But then—he saw it. A figure slumped against the stone, half-buried beneath a cloak and dust. Another body lay beside him, much smaller, barely breathing. A woman—broken, unconscious… but alive.

Akame inhaled softly. "That's him. It has to be."

Murphy's jaw tightened. He tilted into a steep dive, the wind howling louder as they descended.

Closer now, he could see the details—Lucas, his armor scorched and dented, arms loosely wrapped around the woman as if trying to shield her even in unconsciousness. His face was pale, blood crusted at the edge of his mouth, his body limp but stubbornly curled as if he refused to die lying down.

They landed gently.

But the moment Murphy caught sight of the figure slumped against the rock, he froze.

His breath hitched.

His heart dropped.

"LUCAS!!"

The name tore from his throat like a cry, raw and desperate.

Murphy was already moving before his feet had fully touched the ground. The dust swirled around him as he rushed forward, eyes wide with disbelief and dread.

Akame reached the bodies first, quickly kneeling beside them. Her fingers pressed to Lucas's neck, then the woman's.

Her expression darkened.

"His pulse is weak," she murmured, voice tight. "And the woman… she's suffered something terrible. Likely violated by beasts—used as an incubator. They both won't be able to live for more than an hour."

The words fell like stones.

Murphy clenched his fists, his jaw trembling. He sank to his knees beside Lucas, gaze locked on the blood-caked face of his friend.

Akame looked between them.

"You know him?"

Murphy didn't answer right away. His voice, when it came, was quiet.

"We'll talk later."

And then, without a second thought—without hesitation or regret—Murphy drew in a sharp breath, closed his eyes… and sacrificed half a year of his life.

A soft, golden glow burst from within him. Divine. Sacred. The very air around them shimmered as warmth radiated through the clearing.

The light engulfed them—Lucas and the broken woman—as tendrils of golden energy wove through flesh and bone. Wounds closed. Torn muscles knit. Shattered ribs reformed. The bleeding stopped entirely, leaving behind nothing as if the wounds never existed.

Lucas's face relaxed, the lines of pain easing as his breathing steadied.

The woman stirred faintly, her fingers twitching.

"You stubborn bastard…" Murphy whispered, voice cracking. "You actually survived."