Shadow Slave novel Chapter 3181

The shadow remembered his life as the righteous king who had been devoured by doubt.

He remembered his life as the worm of doubt that had devoured the king, as well. He remembered being the hideous creature the king had become...

And the radiant, sinister moth that had crawled out of the king's broken skull, too. The two couldn't be more different. But, for the shadow, they were one and the same. He had lived both of their long and terrifying lives, after all, so he knew. He knew that the moth had wanted to live just as desperately as the king had.

All living things were enthralled by life, and all living things were terrified of death. Except for him.

The shadow was weary of life and denied death, so there was no escape from his endless existence. There was only the tranquil peace of his lifeless kingdom and the unwelcome torment of his memories. He remembered being the moth...

The eerie creature had been insidious, but young and weak. After gaining its dark wings in the chrysalis of the king's ravaged mind, it escaped into the vast, cruel world beyond. It wanted to live, so it wanted to become stronger... to grow. And so, it did, moving across countless realms like a calamity.

Until it became a profane deity, the sinister Spirit of Doubt.

If the shadow wanted to, he could have remembered every detail of its ghastly Apotheosis. But he turned his thoughts away from those memories — not only because a terrifying abyss of Corruption was hidden in them, but also because he had no use for such knowledge.

Even if he wanted to become a god, he wouldn't go about it the same ghastly way the moth had.

‘Still, I wonder...’

There was another memory he was wary of. An event his very being resisted remembering.

It was the day the Spirit of Doubt met the Demon of Fate.

Sprawled across his lifeless realm, encompassing it, the shadow shivered.

‘Weaver...’

Even if he did not know why, he feared the nebulous daemon more than he feared the gods and all other deities.

Perhaps it was because something moved within his soul every time he thought about Weaver, as if it was pierced by an infinite number of golden strings.

The gods were dreadful, but fate was more frightening than the gods.

The Spirit of Doubt had suffered after making a deal with Weaver.

‘Have I met Weaver once, as well?'

That would explain his pitiful fate. Unnerved, the shadow cleansed his mind of all thoughts. It was dangerous to think about gods too loudly, after all... what if they heard him?

Instead, the shadow thought back to the life of the unfortunate king.

The shadow felt like he had been plagued by doubt too, a long time ago.

But eventually, he seemed to have learned trust.

Trust was a weapon that allowed him to prevail over doubt and saved him from eventually sharing a fate similar to that of the king. It allowed him to... do what?

To be cast by another, perhaps.

The shadow did not remember.

With a sigh, he turned his attention to the simple, entertaining existence of shades populating his kingdom.

Time passed.

The shadow's existence was peaceful and empty. Nothing disturbed him — apart from weary wanderers who sometimes came to his dark land, then fled in terror.

Well, and something else.

At some point, a worm of doubt found its way into the shadow's mind.

It wasn't a sinister Creature of Corruption, but rather a mundane suspicion.

The shadow wasn't sure that he was right, or how it could even be possible...

But he began to suspect there was something still clinging to life, somehow, in the dead darkness of his peaceful kingdom.

***

Far away, in a distant realm, a magnificent city sprawled under the vast sky. At the heart of the city stood a towering pyramid, its surface clad in great plates of smooth, polished stone. The pinnacle of the pyramid was encased in sheets of purest gold, and in the brilliant light of the sun, it shone with a blinding white radiance.

It was as if the pyramid was wreathed in flame; as if there was another sun burning at its tip, reflecting the glory of its celestial sister.

That was the temple and palace of the White Abyss, from which she ruled the First Kingdom.

At the moment, an elderly priest was climbing the steps of the pyramid.

He was sweating profusely, enduring the unbearable heat. His eyes were covered by a blindfold — without it, he would have been blinded by the pristine radiance of his goddess. The pyramid was tall, and the priest was old... if not for his Rank, he would have perished on the endless steps, as countless supplicants had perished before him.

But, in the end, the old priest made it to the wide platform at the end of the great stairs. Letting out a relieved sigh, he knelt in front of the golden palace hidden inside the upper part of the pyramid.

The towering gates of the palace were open, and if one was bold enough, they could try to steal a glimpse of what lay inside. However, they wouldn't see anything — because there was nothing inside the palace except an ocean of immolating white flame.

That ocean of living flame was the true form of the White Abyss — the beautiful, dreadful queen of the First Kingdom.

So that she didn't find a flaw in him.

That was why he was enraged and dismayed when, many hours later, a woman who seemed like a homeless beggar appeared in the path of the procession, blocking their way.

The woman was old, with deep lines crossing her weathered face. Her hair was grey, gathered into a messy braid. Her clothes were covered in the red dust of the road, worn and unremarkable, their edges frayed. She had set up a small campfire and was warming her hands in front of it, a simple spear lying on the ground by her side.

They were crossing the desert by then, and the sun was setting... the desert was as vast as the sky. Why couldn't she have set her fire somewhere else instead of in the path of the procession?

What was worse, the woman seemed not to have noticed their approach. She ignored them completely, looking emotionlessly into the flame — the procession would have no choice but to circle around her if they wanted to move forward... unless they were to trample her without ever slowing down. Their glorious queen having to change her path because of a nameless beggar?

A murderous fury ignited in the old priest's chest.

Stepping forward, he raised his scepter, intending to strike the insolent woman down.

"How dare you!"

However, before he could bring the scepter down, a soft radiance ignited under his skin.

This was the light of the White Abyss — her blessing.

A moment later, the old priest opened his mouth and let out a dreadful scream. His skin boiled and blackened, pure white flame escaping from within his body and enveloping him like a storm. His chilling wail ended just as abruptly as it started, and in a second, all that remained of him was a cloud of ash.

The ash was dispelled by the wind.

Sitting atop the towering beast, White Abyss regarded his death with an indifferent expression on her exquisitely beautiful, breathtaking face.

Then, she jumped down to the ground and walked over to the old woman, her white tunic swaying lightly with each of her graceful steps.

Reaching the small fire, she looked down and studied the weathered wanderer. Then, in a voice entirely void of emotion, she asked:

“Have you come to kill me?"

The old woman finally tore her gaze away from the fire and looked at her with a hint of surprise.

“Why would I?"

White Abyss lingered for a moment, then sighed and looked at the sky.

There, the sun was setting, and a scattering of stars was slowly revealing themselves in the velvet darkness of the night. Eventually, she shrugged.

"I just assumed. After all, it is not every day that one of the great gods comes to my realm..."