Shadow Slave : Shadow Clan

Broken Sword's boots struck the ground like war drums, his senses flaring with spirit essence as he darted through the chaos. Every step carved into the scorched street as he moved with relentless precision, ignoring the smoke choking the air, the distant screams of civilians, and the tremors caused by something immense shifting below the earth.

Then he saw them—Sunny and Nephis—still running, their youthful forms silhouetted against the flickering light of burning wreckage and shattered city lights.

Relief bloomed in his chest like sudden flame.

They were alive.

Alive.

A whisper of hope he hadn't dared to speak aloud.

But that hope shattered a heartbeat later when his eyes caught a familiar figure running from the opposite end of the avenue—Abel. His pace was wild, desperate. His gaze wasn't on the children.

It was on what lay behind them.

The Fallen Titan, once weakened, now surged with renewed life, limbs mutating, its form no longer resembling the grotesque worm it once was. It twisted with intelligence, with purpose.

It dove underground.

And Broken Sword understood.

It was going to ambush them—from beneath.

He didn't think. He didn't hesitate.

He moved.

Like a blade being drawn from the soul.

Spirit essence erupted from within him like a volcano, and the world bent slightly around him. Metallic debris—shattered lamp posts, street signs, bent guardrails—rose into the air, drawn like obedient soldiers answering their commander's call.

His Aspect: Living Steel roared to life.

The fragments liquefied in his presence, melting into armor that coated his body like war-forged skin—jagged, beautiful, deadly. His body became steel. His breath turned to steam.

And then came the second pulse.

Echo Blade.

A sharp, shimmering aura coated his massive sword.

One swing.

And then a ghost.

An afterimage.

A memory of that strike.

It would return every two seconds, endlessly repeating until the wielder's spirit essence faded.

Broken Sword didn't wait.

He lunged into the Titan's flank just as it began to rise from beneath the concrete behind the children. His blade tore through its scaled flesh with a sound like splitting mountains.

Two seconds later—echo strike—the wound exploded open again, spraying black ichor across the ruined street.

He didn't stop.

He moved faster.

Strike.

Echo.

Strike again.

A whirlwind of metal and fury, he became legend in motion, his transcended form blurring through the Titan's twisting limbs and reshaping flesh. He struck bone joints, limb roots, and the creature's distorted face.

He knew these monsters.

He knew what they became.

And he realized with growing horror—

It wasn't just mutating.

It was evolving.

From Fallen… to Corrupted.

As if on cue, the worm's body quivered and tore apart. A second Titan began forming from the discarded flesh—smaller, incomplete, but already growing limbs, eyes, and mouths.

"Shit," Broken Sword hissed.

Before he could finish the second swing, the new duplicate twisted and slammed into him with full force.

He crashed into the side of a collapsed building. Stone and steel exploded in a shower of sparks and dust. But he stood.

Living Steel held.

And from the dust, he saw what mattered—

Sunny, Nephis, and Abel—now distant, safe… for a moment.

He had bought them that.

Even if the cost wasn't paid yet.

————

The battlefield trembled with chaos.

Smoke blanketed the world.

The shriek of the Titans shook the sky.

Amid the inferno, Abel ran, coat torn, blood on his cheek, carrying Sunny and Nephis in both arms. The world blurred around him, fire and screams blending into background noise. The only clarity he felt was the small weight of his son and the girl beside him.

Up ahead, through flame and steel, the Black Rings extraction squad broke through—eight cloaked elites, carving a path with weapons of soul steel.

Abel reached them.

"Take them!" he barked, thrusting Sunny and Nephis into their care. "Get them away from here—now!"

Sunny fought, panicked. "Father! Wait—what are you doing?!"

Abel leaned in, resting his forehead against Sunny's. "Live. That's what you do now. Live."

And then he turned.

And ran.

He didn't look back.

The sky cracked as Abel broke the sound barrier, moving like a comet of vengeance. Even Broken Sword turned in disbelief—Abel had always been strong, but this?

This was suicidal.

Abel's blade ignited.

Aspect: Ghost Blade.

A weapon that struck past flesh.

It cut the soul.

But every miracle had its price.

His Flaw: Eclipse Reversal.

For each soul-damaging strike, the cost was time itself.

Lifespan

Burned away

One strike 1 YEAR

Two strike 2 YEAR

Ten Strike 10 YEAR

and he was just getting started

But he didn't slow.

He couldn't.

He was a father.

A protector.

And if it meant buying Sunny and Rain a tomorrow…

Then he'd give them all of his todays.

Abel roared.

His Ghost Blade flashed, carving into the Titans again and again. Their screeches were horrific—ancient voices made of nightmares screaming in agony as their very souls were being torn apart.

Strike.

Ghost.

Strike again.

Their twisted limbs fell. Their flesh unraveled. They tried to regenerate, to split again—but Abel was too fast. Too precise.

And finally—the kill spell activated.

(You have slain a Fallen Titan: Bloody Worm)

(You have slain a Fallen Titan: Bloody Worm)

They were dead.

Abel stood alone.

Victorious.

And broken.

His legs gave way.

His blade fell.

And he collapsed, coughing blood.

The world tilted—smoke dancing around him like a shroud, embers glowing like stars.

He didn't feel the pain.

He felt… peace.

He had done it.

Then hands caught him—Broken Sword, appearing at his side, armor scorched, eyes wide with grief.

"Abel! Abel! No what did you do?"

Abel tried to answer, but his voice was brittle.

"I gave… everything."

"You—your Flaw. You burned your life away," Broken Sword whispered.

Abel nodded. "Each strike. A year. Then more. Then more again."

"Why didn't you wait? Why didn't you let me help?"

"Because you wouldn't have survived. Neither would Olivia."

The smoke parted.

Olivia arrived.

Her cloak fluttered behind her, soot and shadow on her skin. She was shaking. Not from exhaustion.

But from fear.

And when she saw him—

She ran.

"Abel…?" her voice cracked.

She dropped beside him, hands clutching his face. His once-youthful features were lined with decades burned in minutes. His lips trembled.

"Why…?" she whispered. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

"I couldn't… You were empty. Your soul core was drained. Broken Sword was wounded. If I didn't do it…"

"Don't say it!" she snapped. "Don't talk like it was the only way!"

"It was," Abel said, voice nearly gone. "And you know it. You knew it when I gave you my will last winter."

Tears fell freely from Olivia's eyes. "You bastard. You were planning this…"

"I was hoping it'd never come to this," he whispered. "But if it did… I wanted you all to live. To smile again. Rain—she should see sunlight without a war siren screaming overhead. And Sunny…"

He turned to her.

"Tell him I'm proud. Even if I never said it enough."

"And Rain?"

He gave a soft laugh. "She was my light. My little sunrise."

She tried to hold him tighter, but his skin had gone cold.

He was fading.

And she knew it.

His final words were a whisper carried on the wind:

"Tell them…

Tell them their father loved them.

Even if I was never there enough…

I always… always did."

His eyes lost their shine.

His hand fell away.

And Abel of the Shadows was gone.