Shadow Slave : Shadow Clan

The night was heavy with stillness.

Outside, snow whispered against the windows, soft and relentless—draping the city in a blanket of silence. The moon hung like a pale sentinel in the sky, its light spilling across the marble floors of the estate. Within the Shadow Clan's grand home, all was calm. Peaceful. Warm.

But in Olivia's heart, a storm raged.

She stood at the edge of the hallway, cloaked in midnight silk, her dark hair tied back, eyes shadowed not by fatigue, but burden. Her blade strings were coiled tight beneath her long coat. Around her waist was a belt lined with pouches and thin, silent daggers. Her boots didn't make a sound.

This would not be a night of sleep.

It was a night of ghosts.

She turned to the first door—Rain's room.

The door creaked softly as she slipped in. Moonlight pooled at the center of the floor, where a plush carpet was scattered with stuffed animals and books. On the small bed nestled in a corner, Rain slept with one arm curled around her stuffed bear, her storm-grey hair fanned across the pillow like a silken veil.

Olivia knelt down slowly beside her.

She reached out, brushing a lock of hair from Rain's cheek, letting her fingers linger. Her daughter murmured something in her sleep, and Olivia's throat tightened.

She leaned in, pressed a kiss gently to Rain's forehead.

"I'll be back," she whispered. "Be brave, my little raincloud."

She pulled the blanket tighter over the sleeping girl and stood with a slow, aching grace.

One child down. Two to go.

Next was Sunny's room.

The boy she had raised through war and grief. The boy who had become something far greater than even she had foreseen. As she entered, she paused at the doorframe.

He was asleep on top of the blankets, his sword still at his side.

Nephis was curled beside him, her black hair absorbing the moonlight, her head resting gently against Sunny's shoulder. Their hands were touching—barely—but enough to make Olivia's heart ache with something bittersweet.

She stepped closer, barely breathing.

Sunny's face was peaceful. But there were dark circles under his eyes—wounds not of the flesh, but of the spirit. His journey had not been kind. Neither had hers. And still... here they were. Together.

She crouched beside him, brushing her knuckles across his jaw.

"You're becoming him," she whispered so softly even the wind might not hear. "But your path... it'll be brighter. I swear it."

She turned her gaze to Nephis. A girl born of flame and burden, curled beside her son like a quiet promise. She brushed her fingers through Nephis's hair gently.

"Protect him," Olivia said under her breath. "As he protects you."

Then she leaned forward, kissed Sunny's head, and one more kiss on Nephis's head

"Forgive me," she whispered. "But this path... I must walk alone."

⸻

She left their room with the weight of the world on her back.

At the front of the estate, the grand doors stood closed, towering and dark. Olivia paused before them, casting one final glance behind—toward the soft warmth of the home she had carved out of darkness and pain.

Julius would watch over them.

Jet who was in the dream realm and will return 

Sunny had grown strong.

Rain still dreamed with open eyes.

And Nephis... Nephis had begun to heal.

Olivia's hand touched the door.

"I will return," she murmured, more to herself than the house. "I promise."

She opened the door into the cold night.

The wind pulled at her cloak like unseen hands. The snow had grown thicker, turning the street into a silent sea of white. Somewhere in the shadows, cloaked figures waited—The Black Rings.

She walked toward them without hesitation, her boots leaving no trail behind.

Behind her, the house remained still, unaware.

Olivia, the woman who had carried too many burdens.

Walked into the night—

—toward war, toward truth, toward Anvil.

———

Bastion.

The city of lights. Of music.( don't know why I wrote this)

Olivia stood at the heart of it, her cloak billowing softly in the chilled breeze as the last echoes of day faded into the glow of the evening. Here, the towers shimmered with crystal lights. Balconies bloomed with winter flowers untouched by frost. Even the cobbled streets were brushed clean of snow, warmed by the heatstones hidden beneath.

She stood on the edge of the central promenade, gazing out at Bastion's riverside, where the glasslike waters reflected the opulence of the city above. Gentle ripples distorted the light, but not the stillness.

Behind her, the Black Rings stood quiet—twelve in total, their black armor gleaming with faint violet runes, their masks pale as bone. Warriors of myth. Assassins bred in shadow.

And yet... Olivia did not wear a mask.

Her face was bared to the wind. Her eyes, dark and silent, soaked in every detail of the city she once considered a miracle.

It still was beautiful.

But it was no longer innocent.

"This place," she murmured, not turning back, "is too clean. Don't you think?"

None of the Black Rings answered.

She stepped forward.

The riverside sloped down in wide stone steps, where children once played and musicians gathered under the sun. Now it was quiet—too quiet. As if the river had grown weary of reflecting the lies of the city.

At the bottom of the slope was a natural stone formation where the river split, curling around a still, dark pond.

There were no lights here.

Only moonlight, and water like glass.

The Moonpond.

Said to have formed where a god once wept into the earth, it was a sacred place—untouched, forbidden to enter. A full moon hung above it, casting a silvery glow over the surface.

And Olivia, without hesitation, stepped into the water.

The moment her boot touched the surface, the water rippled—but did not splash. The pond pulled her in like a mirror drinking its reflection. One by one, the Black Rings followed.

They descended—not in depth, but through space itself.

Through the Pond

It was like falling into a dream that was trying to forget itself.

The world twisted. Gravity bent. Light shattered and reformed.

And when Olivia's eyes opened—

She stood in a place that mirrored Bastion...

...but broken.

The shattered streets of DaRk / BrOkEn Bastion stretched before her, lit only by the ruined moon above and the flickering lamps of a long-forgotten age. Towers leaned like crooked teeth. Market stalls were burned down to cinders. Statues of forgotten saints wept rusted tears as rot climbed up their stone limbs.

But Olivia didn't stop to mourn.

She walked.

Her boots crushed ash and broken glass. Her long black cloak whispered against the corpses of banners, once proud with the crest of unity, now reduced to faded scraps in the wind.

Beside her, the Black Rings moved like shadows—no words, no hesitation, only purpose. Twelve blades of death in human form.

And then—they came into view.

A platoon of soldiers.

Anvil's men,clad in reddish armor forged by Anvil, their armor branded with Two sword. Their movements were stiff, controlled—less men, more machines shaped by his will.

They turned as she approached. Their weapons shimmered in their hands.

"Hold," one of them ordered, voice mechanized and drained of soul. "You are trespassing in—"

"Kill them," Olivia said, her voice cold as the void.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

The Black Rings moved as one.

Like wolves unleashed from a leash they didn't need.

They descended.

Blades clashed, blood sprayed.

No war cries. No drama. Only precise death.

Olivia stood in the middle of it all—still, eyes focused forward, heart silent. Her fingers danced lazily in the air, and with each movement, threads of silver string shot out, slicing necks and severing tendons with impossible sharpness.

She felt no guilt.

Not anymore.

These weren't men. Not in the way that mattered.

They had chosen to serve him.

They had chosen to betray their humanity.

And she?

She would burn it all down just to know why.

Why Anvil had looked into Broken Sword's eyes—her oldest ally—and decided he must die.

Why he had plunged a blade into the spine of the world and twisted it until it broke.

And why... why in the name of every god still breathing had he done it with smiling eyes.

When the last soldier fell, gurgling on blood and regret, Olivia stepped over the corpse and kept walking.

The Black Rings followed her, stepping over corpses like wind over sand.

At the edge of ruined Bastion, where the sky grew dark with swirling violet, a mansion stood like a dying giant. Its bones were cracked. The roof had caved in long ago. Vines crept along shattered windows, and the gate hung open—inviting, yet dead.

This was his place.

Not Anvil's home.

His fortress that hides his crimes

The air was thick with wrongness. A faint hum, like an ancient bell tolling under layers of time, vibrated beneath their feet. Even the Black Rings slowed, unsettled.

But Olivia did not.

She walked forward, eyes locked on the grand entrance.

She didn't flinch at the bones littered across the courtyard. Didn't falter at the sigils carved into the walls—symbols of the War God, written in blood.

Because there was no turning back now.

Her mind replayed the day she had received Broken Sword's final memory—the instant he poured what was left of his life into a whisper, trusting only her.

"If anything happens to me... promise me. Get her out. Protect Nephis."

She had.

But it wasn't enough.

Not until the one who caused it all was brought to the edge of his own ruin.

Olivia stood at the threshold of the broken mansion.

She didn't pray.

She didn't knock.

She simply stepped forward, her strings already humming with fury.

"Anvil," she thought, "I'm not here to punish you. I'm here to understand you. So I know exactly what part of you to tear apart first."

And with that, the doors creaked open.

The darkness within welcomed her.

Inside the crumbling mansion, dust floated like ancient memories in the stagnant air. Cracked pillars loomed overhead, their carvings worn by time and corruption. At the far end of the grand hall, surrounded by flickering torches and broken statues, sat Anvil—monarch, murderer, monster.

His throne was a jagged ruin of blackened steel and scorched ivory. A throne built not to inspire awe—but to remind others that he had conquered.

He sat slouched, one elbow on the armrest, a goblet of dark liquid in hand. The crown resting at the foot of the throne—not worn, but present—spoke of disdain for tradition. His face, once regal, was now carved by ambition. His eyes... they were voids. Depthless. Cruel.

When Olivia entered, her boots echoing with sharp purpose, the torches seemed to dim in fear.

"You Monarch. You bastard."

Her voice rang out like a blade thrown across stone.

"What did he ever do to you? What did Broken Sword do?! He called you brother. He fought beside you. And you repay that loyalty with betrayal?"

Anvil didn't respond right away. He swirled the wine in his cup, watching the liquid twist like time itself. Then, finally, he looked up.

His stare cut like a sword. Calm. Empty.

"So what?"

The words fell like stones in a grave.

"In this world, you don't win by being loyal, Olivia. You win by surviving."

He stood slowly, placing the goblet on the throne's arm.

"Broken Sword was too good. Too kind. Too soft. A man like that has no right to rule—not in a world like this."

He took a step forward. The torches flared. The shadows danced.

"You call it betrayal. I call it strategy. Vision. I'm building a new world... one where weakness like his isn't allowed to exist."

Olivia's jaw trembled—not with fear, but fury. The strings on her fingers gleamed with restrained violence.

"Vision?" she spat. "He saved your life. He took you in. Fought with you when no one else would. That man stood beside you through every nightmare. And you crushed him like trash."

Anvil tilted his head, expression unreadable.

"The strong choose who to become, Olivia. You're strong too. I can see it. But he? He was a dying fire pretending to be the sun."

He smirked.

"And you... the great Shadow Queen Olivia." He said her name slowly, with mock reverence. "That's all I could find after combing every record. Just Olivia. No past. No origin. Hidden so well. Tell me, did you ever believe hiding would save your children I know they exist but where I don't know, but I will do everything in my power to find them and make them mine?"

Olivia's hands flexed. The memory of Abel. The warmth of Rain. The weight of Sunny's voice asking her why love made the heart beat faster.

"Don't worry," Anvil said. "I won't kill Nephis. Asterion was clear. He wants her untouched. Her fate is not mine to decide."

Olivia let out a soft, bitter laugh.

"So... you're scared of him. Of Asterion. That's why you're hiding here like a coward."

Anvil's smirk cracked. For a second, the mask slipped.

And Olivia stepped forward, her voice cold and cruel.

"You're terrified."

"Because you know that for all your plans you are still nothing compared to Broken Sword. You needed to kill him to sleep at night. And even now, you can't wear your crown. You leave it on the floor like it's too heavy for your guilt."

Anvil's eyes darkened.

"I don't feel guilt. I only feel what is necessary."

Olivia's cloak fell from her shoulders, revealing the full gleam of her transcendent form. Threads of living string curled around her arms like veins of light and steel. Her eyes glowed with silent vengeance. Her fingers were already dancing—faint flickers of deadly intent tracing across the air.

"I will kill you," she whispered.

"Not for power. Not for politics. But because the person you killed was like a brother to me."

"And you... you deserve to be unmade."

She took her stance. Her breathing slowed.

Anvil rolled his shoulders, and the floor cracked beneath him with the weight of his Domain.

"So be it, Shadow Queen. Let's see if the strings of fate are strong enough to strangle a god."