"Is that the Gate Guardian?"
Waren spoke calmly as he drove his fist through the chitinous chest of an abomination. Black blood splattered across his uniform, indistinguishable from the pitch-black fabric.
"Considering it isn't dead yet... it should be."
A spear of ice shot through the bloated torso of a tentacled horror. The ice melted instantly, then rose with a soft gurgle, reformed into a fresh spear in Aria's hand.
Gareth said nothing. He stepped forward, sword gleaming, and split the scythe-arms of three crab-like nightmares in one fluid motion. But the tension on his face—quiet, heavy—said more than words could.
"We don't have a lot of time."
Elle finally broke the silence, her voice calm but taut as a drawn bowstring.
Gareth glared at her, then sighed heavily.
"The Princess hasn't called for aid."
His blade shimmered with a golden glow as he ducked, pivoted on his ankle, and cleaved through an abomination the size of a small building. A monstrous elder cousin of the crab-creatures—this one had pincers and scythes for limbs, each the length of a man.
With its death, the area around them grew momentarily still.
It wouldn't last. More would come. But for now, there was quiet. The air reeked of smoke, blood, and ash.
And in that moment of uneasy peace, all four of them did what they hadn't dared yet: They watched. Watched the battle none of them dared to interfere in. Watched the child-like guardian clash with Lady Morgan, blade for blade.
And said nothing.
"Do you doubt our lady?" Gareth's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. No one answered. Their silence was answer enough.
"The Government Awakened will arrive soon," Elle said softly.
And if that happened before the Gate was cleared, it wouldn't just be a problem. It would be a disaster.
Valor's reputation would be shattered. Five Masters, one of them the Princess of Valor herself, unable to clear a measly Category 2 Gate without backup? The media wouldn't let that slide. The headlines would write themselves. Valor's prestige would suffer. And worse—so would Morgan's.
Still, none of them moved. The seconds dragged on.
"...Five more minutes."
Waren's voice was quiet, but firm.
"If we don't act by then—"
Clang.
The pommel of Gareth's sword hit the ground with a resounding crack. His words followed, low but sharp.
"No one will move," Gareth said. "Until Lady Morgan calls for us."
His words were final. Gareth was the highest-ranked Knight present. And in Valor, strength and rank were law.
Elle clenched her fists.
This is stupid.
Morgan was struggling. They could all see it. Why the hell were they still standing?
The child-guardian wasn't normal. That much was obvious. And every second it remained standing was a second closer to disaster.
I have to kill it. But how?
Disobeying orders wouldn't end well. She looked around, desperate for a loophole, a chance—until the Gate behind them screamed.
"Get ready. They're coming."
Another wave poured forth—howling, twitching horrors. Tentacles, pincers, too many limbs and not enough reason. They rushed forward in a maddened frenzy.
But Elle's eyes stayed fixed on one figure. The boy. The Guardian.
That's the real threat.
Her arms moved instinctively. White sparks danced along her palms, coalescing into a golden bow and a silver arrow. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she pricked a tiny spot on her forearm with the arrow's tip. A drop of blood slid down and coated the shaft.
She raised the bow. Aimed. Fired.
The arrow arced into a cluster of abominations. A beat of silence—
Then a thunderous explosion. Blood. Chitin. Scythes. All launched skyward.
Her Ascended Ability—Exploding Blood.
Any weapon laced with her blood became a bomb. The scale of destruction depended on the blood spent and essence consumed.
The blast didn't kill them all, but it tore through their ranks. Those left behind writhed, stunned and limbless. A flash of steel—someone else's blade—finished them off.
Still, Elle didn't look away from the Guardian. She studied him. Every inch. Every motion.
Then her eyes narrowed.
Interesting...
...
Swords clashed, ringing like thunder. Morgan's feet dug into the ground, her entire body leaning forward, pressing the child back with sheer force.
"What the hell are you?"
The child smiled.
"I am just a shadow."
A... shadow?
The moment the words left his lips, he vanished.
Morgan stumbled forward, caught off-balance by the sudden lack of resistance. Her eyes widened. Where the child had just stood, there remained only a faint smear of darkness—his shadow.
A ripple in the air behind her.
She spun on instinct, pivoting on her heel. Steel met steel as their blades collided again. The child—no, the shadow—had emerged from behind her, as if he'd climbed up from her own shadow.
Morgan dropped low. His second sword sliced the air above her head, missing by inches. She retaliated, her boot slamming into his chest. The impact hurled him backward, crashing him into the side of a house. Dust and rubble exploded outward.
What the hell is this thing?
Not just spatial storage... but teleportation? Or was it something else entirely?
She steadied her breath, eyes locked on the dissipating cloud of debris.
Movement again. Behind her. But this time, she was ready.
She lunged forward, spiraling mid-air, her sword slicing through the dust toward his exposed neck.
Got you.
The same trick wouldn't work twice. She'd learned.
Only... it wasn't his neck her blade met. Something invisible stopped it cold.
Morgan flinched.
That single instant—barely a heartbeat—was all he needed.
The child's blade dropped from above, piercing her chest. It sank through her armor like it was paper, its strength multiplied beyond reason. Blood spilled, sliding down the blade, dripping from its pommel onto the cracked stone below.
And he didn't stop.
His second sword came down, hammering into her shoulder again and again.
"Ack—!"
Morgan coughed blood, her body spasming under the brutal onslaught. What should've been a decisive victory had twisted into catastrophe in the blink of an eye.
But it wasn't over. Not yet.
She couldn't die here. Not yet.
Her wish... it still hadn't been granted.
White sparks ignited around her, swirling like fireflies.
Her Ascended Ability.
It allowed her to store up to three enchantments- ready to be activated at will.
First was a healing enchantment. Second was a physical boost that lasted for 30 seconds. Although it could be disabled midway to be used later.
Third was for long distance teleportation- useless in this battle.
Morgan's eyes lit up. Her face brightened.
Even with a half-severed shoulder, she lashed out, grabbing the boy's head with her arm—and smashed her forehead into his.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
Bone cracked. The world rang.
Her wounds began to knit closed. Blood flow slowed. The healing enchantment pulsed through her body.
The child staggered.
Morgan didn't hesitate. She swung her sword with a roar.
"Take this, bastard!"
Her blade roared forward, aiming to cleave his skull in half. But something unseen clashed with it in midair—some strange, invisible force.
Her gaze flicked down for a moment, and she saw his shadow acting strangely. Its arm was extended forward, meeting her sword's shadow, as if it was the one who blocked her blow.
'Another ability? Fine.'
She planted her foot, twisted her hips, and brought her other leg around in a wide arc, smashing her boot into his temple.
The child stumbled.
And for the first time since the battle began—he bled. Black drops slid from the corner of his lips, pattering softly onto the rubble-strewn ground.
Morgan stared, stunned.
'His blood is... black?'
Somehow, she had expected red. Subconsciously, she'd expected something human. But the thing before her was anything but. It was a nightmare creature. No matter how human it acted, it wasn't one.
But that didn't matter.
Human. Monster. Shadow. Whatever it was. A sword didn't discriminate. It killed what it was pointed at.
The boy wiped the blood from his mouth and laughed—a laugh that didn't belong to any child.
"You're still the same," he said, voice dripping contempt. "Just a mindless killing machine. Who doesn't care about anything... Or anyone."
Morgan gritted her teeth.
"Don't act like you know me."
Her blade pressed against the creature's throat, gleaming with restrained fury.
"Tell me—what are you?" she demanded, driving the edge closer. "How is a creature like you sentient enough to—"
"I told you," the child whispered, his voice barely above the wind. "I'm just a shadow."
Morgan tensed, dropping into a supportive stance, sword lowered at her hip, every nerve screaming in anticipation.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The only sound was the faint hiss of dust falling from broken stone.
Her eyes flicked downward, drawn to the drop of blood he'd left behind. It was black—but not just in color. Something about it was wrong. Like it had depth. Like it was pulling the light in.
But that wasn't the only thing bothering her.
It was the slow, steady rhythm of her heart. The realization that when he had pierced her chest, he had missed her heart by an inch.
She frowned.
Had it truly missed her heart by chance? Or—
No. That wasn't likely. A strike that precise... a near-fatal wound just far enough to spare her life?
Why didn't it finish me?
Not that it would have killed her—her healing enchantment would have saved her regardless.
Still, the question remained, digging into her thoughts like thorns.
Why would a nightmare creature show mercy?
Unless...
Morgan gritted her teeth harder, feeling the taste of iron flood her mouth.
Does it need me alive?
That thought chilled her more than any wound ever could. A nightmare creature making such decisions? Was it really a nightmare creature at all? No. It had to be. Only the corrupted could pass through a nightmare gate.
So what the hell was this thing?
Before she could finish the thought, she ducked—just in time.
A narrow projectile whistled past her ear. The house behind her erupted with a thunderous boom, and a corrosive mist poured from the rubble, hissing as it devoured brick and steel.
Poison. The creature even used poison.
"Sneaky bastard."
She raised her sword and deflected another projectile. Then another. And another. A barrage of thin, thorn-like darts sliced through the air, each one carrying a different form of death—acid, explosion, darkness—ravaging everything they touched.
Through the chaos, something massive streaked toward her—a serrated greatsword hidden among the storm. Morgan shifted, raised her blade over her shoulder, and slammed it down in a vicious arc—knocking the weapon aside.
But that was her mistake.
A hand shot from the greatsword's shadow, grabbed its pommel—and drove the blade straight through her legs.
Pain exploded.
Another hand surged upward, swinging a second sword toward her exposed neck.
And then came the smile. That awful, inhuman smile.
"Tell me your dream, Morgan," the creature whispered. "While you still can."
Her legs had been severed. A nightmare creature had spoken her name. In any other situation, she would have frozen.
But not now. Not here. Because it was now—or never.
She gritted her teeth and activated the second enchantment.
Power surged through her like lightning. Her heart pounded. Muscles twitched. Essence flooded every nerve, every cell. Her body spasmed with sudden strength. Her eyes snapped open—burning.
Thirty seconds.
That was all she had.
Her sword flew up, intercepting the azure blade aimed for her throat and knocking it aside. With her bleeding stump, she slammed down on the embedded greatsword, pinning it to the ground.
Her other hand shot forward, aiming straight for the creature's face.
The child, still only half-emerged from the shadow, reacted instantly—releasing the weapon and retreating into the darkness.
But he was too slow.
Morgan's fingers tangled in his hair. With a vicious snarl, she yanked him out—ripping him from the shadow and slamming him onto the shattered ground.
He landed hard. Morgan pressed the tip of her sword against his throat, eyes blazing with killing intent.
"Don't move," she warned, voice low and deadly. "Or this ends here."
The creature froze.
Morgan grimaced, sparing a fleeting glance at her severed feet—still pinning the greatsword beneath their weight.
The entire exchange had taken less than ten seconds.
She immediately deactivated the second enchantment. Her body shuddered.
Her heart thundered in her chest. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Vision blurred, hearing dulled. The pain she had cast aside till now came flooding back like a crashing tide, merciless and overwhelming.
But none of it showed on her face. Her grip didn't falter. Her sword remained pressed to the creature's throat.
"Now talk," she demanded, her voice as cold and sharp as her blade. "Who are you?"
Her tone left no room for lies.
"And don't you dare say you're 'just a shadow.' Tell me—how do you know about me?"
A pause. Then, more quietly, with steel behind the words:
"Why do you want me alive?"
This wasn't a baseless accusation. It wasn't just once or twice—throughout their entire battle, the creature had repeatedly avoided fatal strikes. Nightmare creatures weren't capable of mercy. Even the intelligent ones only used their minds to hunt more effectively.
So why? Why spare her?
A silence settled, thick and ominous, before the creature finally spoke.
"I am... a forsaken shadow," it murmured. "I don't really... know you." It tilted its head, eyes distant. "Not the current you, at least."
It paused again, gaze flickering to her mangled legs.
"And... I don't really want you alive."
Morgan's lips curled into a grin.
"You think you can bluff your way out?"
She activated her first enchantment.
A warm pulse of light surged through her body. Soothing. Rejuvenating. Her torn flesh began to knit itself back together. Fatigue lifted like fog retreating from a rising sun. Her legs began to regenerate—slowly but surely.
With a smooth twist of her wrist, she drove her blade into the creature's hand, pinning it to the broken earth.
Black blood bubbled up, thick and gleaming like oil, staining the steel.
"I'm stronger than you," she said flatly. "This is your last chance."
Her sword returned to its place at his throat. The creature looked down at its bleeding palm.
"No," it whispered. "I can't bluff my way out."
It raised its gaze. The madness had returned—quiet and measured, lurking in the depths of its eyes.
"You might be stronger than me. But—"
Its smile widened, teeth bared in something between mirth and menace. Its eyes gleamed like twin pits of void.
"I'm not the only one you have to fight."
In the next instant, a scythe slashed toward her neck.
Morgan reacted instantly—leaping forward, her blade cutting in a tight arc to meet it. Steel rang against steel.
The impact hurled her backward like a ragdoll. She crashed through the rubble of a crumbling building, a shockwave of dust and debris rising in her wake.
That hurt.
She gritted her teeth, pushing through the throb in her skull.
Her wounds were mended, but her mind was fraying. Fatigue clawed at her thoughts like invisible fingers.
She opened her eyes.
And what she saw towered above her. An abomination—tall as a tree, grotesque and alien. Two limbs ended in scythes, the other two in jagged pincers.
Strange madness flickered in its many eyes, and a complex, writhing pattern of circles and squares spun across its shell, radiating a pulse of dread like a living curse.
What the hell...? Morgan narrowed her eyes. Is it a demon? A higher variant of the Carapace abominations?
Her grip tightened on her sword. No time to wonder.
She planted her foot against the broken stone—and charged.
Pain burned through her muscles. Her ribs throbbed. But her lips curled into a grin. That same wild glint returned to her eyes.
The madness—the fire—burned anew.
She raised her sword high over her shoulder as the abomination descended upon her.
And she met it head-on.
Blade clashed against scythe. Sparks flew.
I'll show you what a real demon looks like.
AN: Do share your thoughts in the comments and leave a review if you liked it. Join my discord if you chat with me and other readers. https://discord.gg/sjawMc8PuS
Thx for reading.