Rage burned inside him, a dark and terrible beast, swearing bloody revenge upon the world and everything in it.
Rage was devoured by the jaws of hatred. Even a world away, she still insisted on reminding him of his inferiority.
Hate was then consumed by a crashing tide of sadness. She probably didn't even remember him anymore—nobody did.
Sadness was replaced by a slow but inevitable cloud of apathy. Who cared if she was stronger than him? He was going to die anyway.
Apathy was crushed under the weight of hope. He was still alive; as long as he was, he could still find a way out and live the happy life he rarely dared to truly dream of.
Hope was usurped by pride. He was the greatest Sleeper of all time—if someone could do it, it was him.
Pride toppled on its own. He was nothing but a worthless little rat; deluding himself into thinking anything else was exactly what had brought him to this situation.
Amidst the storm of emotions, Sunny's hatred for the Brood and their vile poison grew even further.
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It took two whole days—two agonizing, sleepless, painful days—for his body to fully purge the poison.
To finally be free of it, to be able to think without a flood of emotions crashing over him, felt exhilarating—almost deliriously so. Though that was probably more related to the lack of sleep.
He stood up slowly and painfully; his injuries were not quite healed yet, and they made themselves known with vindictive pleasure. Sadly, time waited for no one, and he had already spent too much time in one place.
The corpses of Brood monsters at Saint's feet more than proved it.
He took a moment to give her a thankful nod before stretching his rigid limbs—an action he regretted instantly when the wounds made themselves known with even greater intensity. It was going to take him days to recover from this.
Days he didn't have. He could already see more nightmare creatures coming in the distance. They were all Awakened too; the deeper he went, the fewer dormant versions he saw.
It made sense: the strongest pushed the weakest to the outskirts. It said worrying things about his future when, after only a few days in the region, he was barely finding any more dormant creatures. He sighed and dragged a hand across his face. It was not a good time for worrying about his future.
"No rest for the wicked, right guys?" None of his shadows answered, aside from the creepy new guy, whose only reaction was to somehow manage to look even creepier. "I really need to find chattier company; this is just depressing."
He sighed once again. What he would do for someone he could talk with and not just to.
"Not now, Sunny. There are far greater worries right in front of you." The time for jokes was over; the Brood would reach him in less than a minute, and he had to prepare.
He sent his three shadows to Saint and then summoned both the [Bow of the Lone Hunter] and the [Safebox of Greed]. He wasn't in a good enough state to fight in close quarters, so he would have to settle for acting as her backline support.
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[You have slain an Awakened Demon…]
[Your shadow…]
Sunny exhaled tiredly. The skirmish had been short but intense, and his weary mind and body did not appreciate it in the slightest. He was quite annoyed at his performance too—he had missed far too many shots for his liking.
At moments like these, he missed Kai. The annoyingly handsome bastard could have taught him how to operate a bow far better. As skilled as Saint was with one, it was the kind of skill that couldn't be taught properly by just showcasing it.
He exhaled once more. He missed him, just like he missed Effie—how he missed hearing a voice that wasn't his own. At times, he even missed them…
Another tired exhale came from him. He didn't have the time for that tangent right now.
Staying in one place was too much of a risk, so despite the protests of his exhausted body, he quickly gathered the arrows that could be reused and stored them inside the safe. Then he scavenged as much meat as he could from the creatures and stored it too.
The idea of eating creatures that looked so close to humans—as much of a parody of one as they were—disturbed him, but one couldn't be a picky eater in the Dream Realm. Not with how close he was to running out of rations.
Once he finished the preparations that could be done in a short span of time, he started walking—although, given his speed, it was more akin to an ungraceful limp. A flicker of amusement graced his lips for a fraction of a second.
"I'm definitely leaving this part out of the script."
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Sunny was resting on the thick branch of a massive tree he had found. With no other shelter available and far too tired to keep going, he decided to make camp on its branches. He had checked and found no cores, then stabbed it a little just in case.
He already had enough with one carnivorous tree in his life, thank you very much.
His attention was currently on his runes—more specifically, on the new memory he had received.
[Memory name: Drop of Ichor.]
[Consume?]
It was his reward for attaining the second mastery of [Shadow Dance]. The description was all he needed to deduce whom it belonged to. It also gave him a lot of questions, but those could be dealt with when he wasn't suffering from a massive headache.
Three days without sleep was too much even for him, and the downright pathetic state of his body did not help.
"Don't do it."
The reason he hadn't consumed it yet was the voice—although it was misleading to call it that. It couldn't even be considered a whisper; it was more akin to a feeling, an idea, an instinct. It was telling him that he would regret it if he did, that he wouldn't get what he was looking for.
He had already felt like this before, back when he was deciding which direction to go when departing from the Dark City. Though at that time, he had thought it to be nothing but instinct. Back then, it had told him not to go east, and now it was telling him not to consume the [Drop of Ichor]. He had felt it before too—far less clear and more diffuse.
Since the day [Fated] had evolved to [Beloved Child of Fate], it had become easier to tell what it wanted to say, to the point that he could almost hear it speak. Was it Fate itself? Did having its undivided attention and interest mean he also had its guidance?
Sunny didn't know. However, he did know something else.
Sunny hated it.
It made him feel like a puppet, like he was helplessly dancing to someone else's tune, like his every action was being directed by something so unfathomably greater than him that he wasn't even a speck of dust in comparison. The mere idea of it was something he found so disgusting he almost retched.
He already had one Master and one voice in his head too many; he didn't want another. Not now, not ever.
"Don't do it."
The feeling had grown stronger, the almost-whisper louder, the intention behind it more palpable. It only reinforced his decision.
"Consume."
[So be it.]
"DON'T do it!"
He paid no further attention to the Spell or Fate. A cold feeling was already rushing through him—the blood of the God of Shadows was already spreading. It felt weird, like bathing in ice, like wearing wet clothes, like the first cold morning after a harsh summer. As strange as it was, it was also refreshing, filling his body with strength.
He could feel his muscles grow stronger, his bones denser, his skin softer and yet paradoxically more resistant. And then, everything went wrong.
A furious snarl came from his very being; he could almost feel [Blood Weave] stir and set its hungry gaze on the encroaching ichor. It was a possessive beast—one that didn't like to share, much less with the enemy of its progenitor.
Just like that, his body became a battlefield—on one side, the broken fragment of a Daemon; on the other, the complete bloodline of a God. It happened so fast he almost didn't have time to react. Had he not been on guard already due to Fate's warning, he wouldn't have.
Against all odds, the Daemon's fragment was winning, quickly and unerringly consuming the encroaching shadows—its triumphant roar all too clear to him. If he waited a single second more, the bloodline of the Shadow God would be erased.
Sunny could not allow it—would not allow it.
"DON'T DO IT!"
He was too weak to pass up such a boon. [Blood Weave] would have to share, whether it liked it or not. Without a better idea, he recalled his shadows from where they were keeping watch and sent them to reinforce the flagging ichor.
Reinvigorated, it started to fight back, slowly recovering ground. The bloodline of a god did not give up easily—much less one destined for a cockroach like Sunny.
It fought tooth and nail against the tyrannical influence of his blood until it managed to gain a firm foothold where it could settle. And then, to his surprise, it stopped on its own just a microsecond after. Whatever power the ichor had possessed had run out and couldn't do anything more. On the other side, Blood Weave seemed to lose all interest once its opponent stopped expanding.
Whatever it wanted from the ichor, it had already taken as much as it could. And it did take—he could feel how much stronger his healing had become.
[One of your Attributes has evolved.]
[You have acquired a new Attribute.]
Sunny sighed in relief. A boost to the healing provided by Blood Weave was invaluable, especially without any healer around to deal with his wounds. However, it didn't stop him from fearing the idea that, in the end, he would get nothing else from the ordeal. Being able to quickly recover from wounds was good—but being strong enough not to receive them in the first place was even better.
Not willing to wait any longer, he quickly pulled up the runes and searched for his spoils.
[Attribute Name: Ember of Blasphemy.]
[Attribute Description:You carry within you an ember of both the divine and the profane. Rejected by both, your mere existence is an affront to reality itself.]
Sunny couldn't stop himself from snorting in dark amusement. Like the world needed any excuse to despise him. The feeling was mutual—it could burn for all he cared, as long as Rain and his cohort were fine.
[Attribute Name: Endbringer]
[Attribute Description:The Shadow God issued a single decree upon creating Death: "Everything that ever was and ever will must end. Nobody—whether mundane, divine, or —unknown— is exempt from this rule. And even I, when the time comes, will find myself within the embrace of shadows."
This is but a fragment of a God's lineage. Your sight has been altered, allowing you to see the end of all things.]
Now this—this was far more interesting. Whatever it meant, it couldn't—or at least he hoped it wouldn't—be weak.
Already accustomed to the alternate sight he had received from [Blood Weave], it didn't take him long to find the mental switch that enabled [Endbringer]. It was… strange.
In his field of view, hundreds of what looked like shadowy tendrils appeared, coming straight out of everything within sight. They varied in size and, for lack of a better term, intensity—but everything emitted one.
He turned his sight to the trunk of the tree, from which came a single small tendril that, despite its diminutive stature, emitted shadows so deep they almost looked like they were devouring what little light there was under the downpour of rain.
He tentatively extended his hand and tried to grasp it, and surprisingly… he could actually take hold of it. The feeling was eerily wrong, like he was holding an eel —whatever that was— covered in oil. The most minimal mistake would have the tendril escape from his hands, so he grasped it more firmly to avoid just that, but he didn't know what else to do.
Aside from how slippery it was, he received no sensation from the tendril. He could be holding plain air and wouldn't be able to tell a difference.
Suddenly inspired, he channelled a trickle of essence into the tendril. Had he not been paying such close attention, he wouldn't have noticed the difference. Fortunately, he did.
The tendril had grown even darker and… was it just his imagination? Or did the green leaves of the tree become a little less vibrant? He channelled more essence, and sure enough, the tendril became darker while the leaves started to yellow.
Just seconds later, he ran completely out of essence. As expensive as the ability was, its effect could not be denied: the once vibrant tree was… dead. All its leaves had fallen; its bark was crumbling under its own weight; its branches suddenly thin and frail.
The potential applications both in and outside a fight were so many that his mind was spinning. It would take testing and a lot of practice to make it truly useful, but his future suddenly seemed far less doomed.
Further thoughts about the applications of [Endbringer] were interrupted by a sudden crack that came from the branch he was resting on. By the time he realized what it was heralding, it was already too late. The branch broke, and he fell with it.
Laying precariously on the ground, he groaned in pain—but even that couldn't take away from his good mood. He had just defied Fate and received an awesome reward out of it. What was a little—more like a lot—of pain against that?
"You… did it."
Speaking of the devil—he had almost forgotten about it in his thrill for exploring his spoils. Its almost-whisper sounded weird… like it was delighted by his defiance?
Sunny couldn't help but despair. When had his life become so weird!?