Arden woke to voices arguing.
"—impossible! It's too dangerous!"
"I told you, we need someone who can draw its attention. Someone it will focus on."
"Even so, there are more suitable people. Students don't have to be bait."
He recognized Commander Thorne's voice and Elara's.
Bait?
Arden forced his eyes open.
The world swam into focus.
Medical ward.
Bandaged arm in a sling.
Body aching from mana exhaustion.
But alive.
He pushed himself up carefully.
"What's happening?"
Everyone turned to look at him.
"You should be resting," Elara said, moving to his bedside.
"Your mana reserves are still—"
"Depleted, I know. What's this about bait?"
Commander Thorne studied him with sharp eyes.
"The main assault is coming. Soon. We need a strategy to deal with their field commander."
"The Ember Sage is still—"
"Not the Sage. Something worse."
Lieutenant Helena entered, carrying a spyglass.
"Confirmed. The entity on the ridge matches descriptions from old records."
She set down a leather-bound book.
Ancient.
Pages yellowed with age.
"The Kar'eth archives. Pre-kingdom era. There are references to creatures that served ancient warlords."
She opened to a marked page.
The illustration showed a massive humanoid figure.
Twelve feet tall.
Covered in thick iron-like hide.
But the eyes...
The eyes were drawn with unusual detail.
Multiple pupils.
Described as "seeing all paths."
"Aura Sight," Arden read aloud.
"They called it Aura Sight."
"You know this creature?" Davrin's voice was sharp.
"I know the concept. Monsters that can see mana flow. Predict movements before they happen." Arden's mind raced through his novel knowledge.
The Obsidian Warden.
The Overlord's field commander.
In my novel, it had the ability to read battle auras.
Could predict tactics. Exploit weaknesses. Coordinate armies with perfect efficiency.
"According to the records," Helena continued, "these creatures were natural commanders. Not through training or tactics, but through instinct. They see weak points in formations. Predict army movements. Know where to strike."
"Like a tactical computer," Brick said, having entered quietly.
"Except it's a twelve-foot monster that wants to eat us."
"Essentially, yes."
Arden swung his legs off the bed.
Pain shot through his body.
He ignored it.
"We need to draw it out. Make it abandon its tactical advantage."
"That's what we've been arguing about," Elara said.
"Commander Thorne wants to use experienced knights as bait. I was suggesting—"
"Me," Arden finished.
"You were suggesting me."
Silence.
Then Davrin spoke.
"Absolutely not. You can barely stand."
"Which makes me perfect bait." Arden met his eyes.
"That creature sees auras. Reads power levels. If it sees a powerful but wounded target, it won't be able to resist."
"You're describing yourself as prey."
"I'm describing myself as irresistible bait. There's a difference."
"Even if you draw it out," Helena said carefully, "how do you survive the encounter? This thing is described as nearly invincible in single combat."
Arden smiled grimly.
"I have an idea about that. But I'll need something first."
He looked at his bandaged arm.
The mana exhaustion is the real problem.
My Integration is powerful, but it requires massive energy reserves.
And what I'm planning...
I've never attempted it before.
"What idea?" Elara demanded.
Arden hesitated.
How much could he explain?
"My Shadow Devil Integration. There's an aspect I haven't revealed yet. Something I discovered during the fight with the Ember Sage."
He gestured to his shadow on the floor.
"I can manipulate shadows. Shape them. Control them as if they were physical."
"We've seen that," Brick said.
"The darkness during your transformation."
"That's just the surface. There's more." Arden paused, choosing his words carefully.
"If I have a fragment of someone's shadow—a piece cut from their essence—I can do something with it. Use it as a template."
The room fell silent.
"A template for what?" Davrin asked quietly.
"For mimicry. I can merge their shadow fragment with mine, temporarily assume their physical form. Size. Strength. Structure."
"You're saying you can become that thing?" Brick asked.
"If I have a piece of its shadow, yes. Physical form only, not abilities. But the size and strength alone..." Arden paused.
"It might be enough."
"How do you get a shadow fragment from something twelve feet tall and covered in iron?" Helena's voice was flat.
Arden pulled a small object from his belongings.
A vial.
Inside—a wisp of darkness.
"From the fake Overlord we fought. I cut a piece of its shadow before it died."
Everyone stared.
"You've been planning this," Elara said slowly.
"Since the duel. You knew we'd face something bigger."
"I suspected. The fake was too weak. Too obviously a decoy. Which meant the real forces would have genuine commanders." Arden held up the vial.
"This shadow fragment came from an Ironhide Berserker. Similar physiology to the Obsidian Warden. Similar enough that I can adapt it."
"Adapt it how?" Davrin pressed.
"Shadow Manifest is what I call it. I merge the shadow fragment with my own, using it as a foundation. Then I build on it—extending the form, enlarging it, shaping it to match what I need."
He gestured to himself.
"It's like wearing the shadow as an outer shell. The fragment provides the template, my Integration provides the power, and I control it all from inside."
"And the cost?" Helena asked.
"Enormous. Mana consumption increases exponentially with size. At twelve feet..." Arden's expression was grim.
"I'll have maybe three minutes before my reserves are completely depleted."
"Three minutes," Davrin repeated.
"To defeat something described as nearly invincible."
"I said maybe. Could be less if I have to fight hard."
More silence.
Then surprisingly, Commander Thorne laughed.
"You're all insane. Every single student in this fortress is completely insane."
He pulled out a map.
"Fine. But we do this properly. Full tactical support. No heroic sacrifices."
Relief flooded through Arden.
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me yet. First, explain exactly how this shadow ability works."
----
Arden stood at the map table despite his injuries.
Around him: Davrin, Helena, Elara, and the senior commanders.
"The ability is Shadow Manifest," Arden explained.
"But it requires three components. First, a shadow fragment from a compatible creature. Second, enough mana to merge and maintain the transformation. Third, understanding of how the body should move."
"Why the fragment?" one commander asked.
"Because shadows carry essence. When I cut a piece from someone's shadow, I'm taking a fragment of their physical structure. Their form. Their substance."
He held up the vial again.
"This fragment remembers what it was. A ten-foot Berserker with iron hide and enhanced strength. When I merge it with my shadow, that memory becomes a template."
"And then you build on it," Elara said, understanding dawning.
"Exactly. I extend the template. Make it larger, stronger, more suited to what I need."
"You've tested this?" Helena asked.
"On smaller scales. During training, I collected shadow fragments from practice dummies, training partners." Arden didn't mention that most of his theoretical knowledge came from his novel.
"But something this large... it will be difficult. And dangerous."
"How dangerous?" Davrin pressed.
"If I lose control of the merge, the shadow fragment could overwhelm my own. I'd be trapped in the form until my mana depletes completely."
"And then?"
"Then I collapse. Probably unconscious. Definitely vulnerable."
"Unacceptable," one veteran commander said.
"If you fail, the enemy's strongest asset remains in play AND we lose our tactical coordinator."
"Which is why I won't be alone," Arden countered.
He pointed to positions on the map.
"Support teams. Positioned to provide covering fire and tactical assistance."
"Who?" Davrin asked.
"My team. They know how I fight. Know how to support me without getting in the way."
Elara stepped forward.
"I'll coordinate the support. Serra provides ice barriers for defense. Rykard handles ranged harassment. Brick serves as backup if things go wrong."
"And you?" Helena asked.
"I watch Arden's blind spots. Keep him alive when the transformation takes his focus."
She met Davrin's eyes steadily.
"We've done this before. We'll do it again."
The commanders exchanged looks.
Finally, Davrin nodded.
"Approved. But with conditions. You wait for Knight-Commander Michel's reinforcements before engaging."
"Sir, that's twelve hours—"
"Non-negotiable. You're already wounded and mana-depleted. Twelve hours gives you time to recover and reinforcements to arrive."
Arden wanted to argue.
But Davrin was right.
"Understood, sir."
"Additionally," Helena added, "we implement full defensive protocols immediately. If the enemy attacks before you're ready, we hold the walls conventionally."
"The Obsidian Warden won't attack before confirming our weakness," Arden said.
"It's too smart for that. It'll probe. Test. Look for openings."
"Then we give it false openings," Davrin said grimly.
"Lure it exactly where we want it."
-------
AAAOOOWWOOO.
The horn sounded throughout Kar'eth.
Arden jerked awake from his meditation.
Already?
He rushed to the window.
The snowfield was covered in a sea of iron and fire.
Thousands of Ironhide Berserkers.
Drake Riders on the flanks.
Siege equipment rolling forward.
"They're attacking," Elara said, appearing beside him.
"Knight-Commander Michel?"
"Still six hours out."
Damn.
"Then we fight without reinforcements."
He checked his mana reserves.
Better.
Not great, but functional.
"Can you do it?" Elara asked quietly.
Arden looked at the distant figure on the ridge.
Twelve feet tall.
Commanding the assault with perfect precision.
The Obsidian Warden.
He pulled out the vial containing the shadow fragment.
The darkness inside writhed.
Eager.
Hungry.
"I have to."
------
"FIRE!"
Rangers released a volley.
Arrows darkened the sky.
Struck the approaching Berserkers.
Some fell.
Most raised shields.
Arden recognized those shields.
Kar'eth heraldry.
Looted from previous battles.
"The bastards," a veteran ranger muttered.
"That's old Captain Hendrick's shield. He died defending this fortress five years ago."
The anger on the walls was palpable.
Good.
Anger meant focus.
More arrows filled the sky.
Unshielded Berserkers fell.
But thousands remained.
They surrounded the fortress now.
Four thousand strong.
Maybe more.
Arrows couldn't kill them all.
KLANK!
The first grappling hook caught the wall.
More followed.
Ladders slammed against stone.
Soldiers cut ropes and pushed ladders back.
But for every one removed, two more appeared.
Drake Riders charged.
The massive beasts leaped, trying to reach the battlements.
"Knights! Repel the riders!" Davrin commanded.
Infantry rushed forward.
Clashing with drakes mid-leap.
Torn and shredded creatures fell from the walls.
Spines breaking.
Necks snapping.
The Berserkers screamed as they fell.
"POUR!"
Great cauldrons of boiling oil cascaded down.
Flaming arrows followed.
Berserkers died screaming.
The catapults launched.
Stone projectiles crushed attackers.
But still they came.
Climbing.
Always climbing.
The western wall infantry was holding.
Focusing on keeping enemies out rather than killing them.
At this height, any fall meant death.
Serra was in her element.
Ice magic creating slippery zones.
Berserkers losing grip.
Falling.
Her face was alive with focus.
Brick fought like a demon.
Each hit he took fueled his power.
Each strike he delivered was devastating.
Rykard's swords danced through the air.
Cutting ropes.
Deflecting projectiles.
Harassing climbers.
Elara moved like water.
Everywhere she was needed.
Nowhere she wasn't.
Hours passed.
The assault continued.
Exhaustion crept into the infantry.
Even the experienced soldiers showed fatigue.
How long can they sustain this?
Then Arden felt it.
A shift in the battle.
The Obsidian Warden had sensed their weakness.
AHHWOOOOO!
A massive drake reached the wall.
Finding its way down the interior stairs.
Twelve feet tall.
Carrying a Berserker champion.
"It gets worse from here!" Arden shouted.
"Serra! Ice wall on those stairs! Now!"
She responded instantly.
A barrier of frozen crystal.
Slowing the drake.
But more were coming.
The Warden had committed its reserves.
Testing the western wall specifically.
Because it sees our weakness there.
Sees the exhausted infantry.
Knows exactly where to strike.
Arden made his decision.
"Elara! Time to draw it out!"
He pulled out the vial.
The shadow fragment inside writhed more violently.
It senses combat. Senses death. It wants out.
Arden uncorked the vial.
The shadow fragment erupted outward.
Wrapping around his hand.
Cold.
Hungry.
Alien.
He activated his Shadow Devil core.
White hair turned black.
Ice-blue eyes became void-black.
Darkness wrapped around him like living smoke.
Then he spoke the words:
"Shadow Manifest: Berserker Template."
The fragment merged with his shadow.
The sensation was indescribable.
Like swallowing something alive.
Something that wanted to take control.
No. I'm in charge. Not you.
He forced his will onto the fragment.
Dominated it.
Shaped it.
His shadow began to change.
Growing.
Expanding.
Not just his shadow on the ground.
His actual physical shadow—the darkness that clung to his body.
It bulged outward.
Building a shell around him.
Using the fragment as foundation.
The soldiers around him backed away in shock.
"What is he doing?!"
"His shadow—it's moving!"
"Stay back! Give him space!"
Elara held her ground, but even she looked uncertain.
The shadow shell was forming rapidly now.
Seven feet.
Eight feet.
Nine feet.
Arden poured mana into the transformation.
His reserves depleting rapidly.
The cost was enormous—just as he'd predicted.
But the form was taking shape.
Ten feet.
The shadow shell solidified.
Iron-black armor made of pure darkness.
Massive frame.
Overwhelming presence.
Eleven feet.
Arden felt his consciousness adapting to the new size.
Understanding the balance.
The weight distribution.
The power.
Almost there.
His mana reserves were already down to seventy percent.
This will drain me dry in minutes.
Twelve feet.
The transformation completed.
Arden stood as a twelve-foot creature of living shadow.
Humanoid.
Massive.
Covered in shadow-formed armor that resembled iron hide.
His sword had grown proportionally—a six-foot blade of pure darkness.
From his position, he could see over the walls easily now.
See the Obsidian Warden on the distant ridge.
And the Warden saw him.
Its head turned.
Multiple pupils rotating in those strange eyes.
Focusing.
Analyzing.
Then recognition.
It sees something that looks like its kind.
Sees a challenge.
Sees prey.
The Warden raised its weapon—a massive cleaver made of black iron.
Then it roared.
"GRAAAAAAHHHHH!"
The sound shook the battlefield.
Not just volume.
Battle fervor.
The monster's version of mana.
A force that sharpened weapons and strengthened bodies.
Arden's mana reserves: Sixty-five percent.
Already dropping from just maintaining the form.
I need to end this fast.
He turned to Elara.
His voice was distorted through the shadow shell but recognizable.
"Support positions. Now."
"Already moving!" Serra was creating ice platforms.
Elevated positions for ranged support.
Rykard's swords formed a defensive perimeter.
Brick cracked his knuckles, moving to backup position.
Elara checked her twin blades.
"Three minutes, you said. Don't take longer than that."
"Wasn't planning on it."
Arden moved to the edge of the wall.
Looked down at the sixty-foot drop.
In his normal form, this would be suicide.
In this shadow-enhanced body...
Time to test the limits.
He looked back at his team one final time.
They were ready.
Waiting.
Trusting him.
Commander Thorne appeared beside Elara.
"Valekrest! What are you—"
But Arden didn't wait for permission.
Didn't wait for backup.
Didn't wait for the perfect moment.
Because the Obsidian Warden was charging now.
Racing across the snowfield with devastating speed.
And if Arden didn't meet it away from the walls, the battle would reach the fortress.
His mana reserves: Sixty percent.
Dropping. Always dropping.
He turned to face the approaching enemy.
Massive.
Powerful.
Ancient.
A commander that had coordinated armies for centuries.
And Arden—a thirteen-year-old boy wearing a shadow like a borrowed suit.
The difference was absurd.
The odds were terrible.
The danger was absolute.
But none of that mattered.
God I need a smoke
Then he stepped off the wall.
And fell toward the approaching monster below.