Shadow Slave: Kindness

Memory Name: Original Desire

Memory Rank: ???????

Memory Type:???????

Memory Description:[

The mountains and forests stood still, cloaked in a reverent silence. Darkness reigned thicker than the night, and above, the moon had long since shattered—its light broken by the will of creatures corrupted by the void.

Pant pant

A treacherous, yet kind shadow staggered forward, bloodied and battered. His injuries were grievous—far worse than any being of his stature should have endured. His armor was torn, his sword fractured into fragments, but his mask remained untouched. A terrifying anomaly with three protruding horns, it masked his face and soul alike, hiding his thoughts and identity even from the gods. His blood, normally tenacious and unwilling to part from its master, poured freely, cascading like a river from deep wounds.

Leaning against a charred, splintered tree—the remains of a titanic clash—he caught his breath. Moments ago, he had faced a great devil of corruption. The battle had cost him everything: his strength, his essence, and even two of his incarnations. But even that victory was hollow, for now he fled another pursuer.

Behind him, following with silent wrath, was the Supreme Heir of War. His eyes glinted like frozen blades, colder than the thousand swords that hovered in the sky above—forming a dome of death, obscuring even the moon's ruined glow.

"Your end is here, Lord of Shadows," declared the Heir, voice steeped in grim finality.

A desperate plan had unraveled. The Shadow had sought to pit the Heir against the Great Devil of corruption. But the demon had sensed his gaze first, turning its wrath on him before the Heir could strike. Now broken, lost, and hunted, he sought only refuge.

Yet this treacherous shadow—clever and kind—was far from defeated. Within him lay schemes upon schemes, truths wrapped in lies and lies laced with truth. His intellect surpassed even the most twisted of minds. As he summoned the last of his will, the loyal shades of his fallen legion stirred. These were the ones who had walked with him in weakness, wept with him in solitude, and risen in strength beside him. They rallied now, striking at the Heir of War with desperate fury.

But the Heir was no pretender to greatness. His title of king was earned, not gifted. He cut through the shades like a storm, unmoved, unbroken.

Then, in a final act of cunning, the treacherous shadow invoked an ancient rite. From the space between time, a nameless temple emerged—its presence ethereal, its origin unknown. With the last remnants of essence, he commanded it to save him, to take him away—to another place, another time.

He collapsed within its sanctuary, unconscious. He believed he had escaped. He believed he had survived.

But fate, cruel and unrelenting, had different designs.

The will of the -Unknown- descended.

The temple shuddered, its magic crushed beneath the weight of this unfathomable force. The Supreme Heir of War advanced, only to stop—his breath stolen, his sword forgotten.

Time fractured. The moonlight parted. The air grew silent.

From the broken fabric of existence, tendrils of nothingness emerged—raw, primordial. But they were not of corruption. No, this void was pure destruction, untouched by chaos.

And from it stepped a figure.

The Transcendent.

The -Unknown-.

The great beasts fled. The cursed stirred to challenge. But all of creation bowed beneath this overwhelming presence.

The mountains vanished. Forests bent and bloomed in radiant splendor. The earth was remade in the -Unknown-'s image.

Their hair, long and luminous, shimmered with the hue of celestial roses—starborn pink cascading like silk across the wind. Violet eyes, deep and infinite, glowed with the desire of a thousand lifetimes: of longing not yet fulfilled, of love unspoken. The shattered moon itself turned from the heavens, humbled by the beauty below.

Such was the arrival of the -Unknown-—the very embodiment of desire.

The Heir of War watched in silence, paralyzed by awe and arrogance alike. He believed nothing was beyond his dominion.

He dared to speak.

"Saint #%$@#&^, for obstructing my will and mismanaging the bastion I entrusted to you, you shall be punished."

But the -Unknown- paid him no mind.

Their gaze, unwavering, had never once left the unconscious shadow within the temple.

The shadows bowed, trembling, as the -Unknown- entered.

They approached him—this treacherous, kind soul—and knelt beside him. Cradling his wounded head in their lap, they whispered no words, only offered a tender smile that could mend the stars.

They gazed at his closed eyes—longing for them to open. They stared at his lips—desiring them to smile again.

Perhaps eternity passed.

Then came the rage.

The -Unknown- took note of his injuries, his wounds, his bloodied visage. Reality trembled beneath their sorrowful fury. Even nightmares would pale before the wrath they now wielded.

"Who dared?" they whispered, voice soft but terrible. "Who dared hurt you?"

They turned to the Heir of War.

He responded with arrogance and violence. The heavens above wept as thousands of blades descended like a divine judgment.

But the -Unknown- cared not.

They looked upon the king and, with quiet authority, spoke a single word:

"Begone."

And in that moment, the Heir of War ceased to be a threat. His armor shattered. His will collapsed. His pride and might were unmade.

He was cast into exile, not by force, but by rejection. Not destroyed—yet.

Landed the King in his domain and Adobe.

Forgotten before they even hit the Ground.

The -Unknown- did not linger.

They gazed again, at the Divine Shadow with desire, hunger and wish.

Their visage gone starlight pink like their hair, as they blushed like a young maiden in love.

Heart racing with something so innocent it almost shamed the divine, they whispered:

"Just once. I won't get another chance."

And so, they leaned down. And stole a kiss. From the Divine Shadow, who remained unaware of such action and such desire.

Their joy—radiant, boundless, unrestrained—ignited the heavens with silent fireworks.

Smiling, they murmured to themselves:

"No witnesses."

And so, the temple vanished. The surroundings were ruthlessly torn from the thread of reality. The land, the trees, the sky—erased.

What remained was peace.

The great beasts of corruption of the void lay still. The forest bloomed, unaware of the chaos.

The treacherous shadow and the -Unknown- were gone—taken beyond time and reason.]

Cassie dreamed it.

She awoke with a gasp, trembling, heart pounding. The vision had scorched itself into her mind. She rushed to write it down.

But the ink blurred. Her fingers slowed.

Slowly, the vision faded.

Her memory blurred.

The wish of the -Unknown-—"no witnesses"—had echoed across time.

Even the blind seer of fate was not immune.

So Cassie lay down again, unaware of what she had glimpsed. Unaware of what she had lost.

Or what she had once known.