Shadow Slave: A Supreme Bond (Sunphis Wedding One-Shot)

Morgan spat out blood, her breath ragged and uneven.

But she didn't care.

Because, after what felt like an eternity of suffering, she had finally severed a limb from the wretched bastard.

Her first true victory. Her first real wound on the Devil. The first sign that her agony had not been in vain.

It wasn't much. But it was a beginning.

The Devil reeled back, its grotesque face contorting in fury. Then, with a maddened scowl, it lunged at her—abandoning its usual cunning, forsaking its ranged attacks, committing to direct combat.

Morgan chuckled, wiping blood from her lips.

"That's what I wanted."

Here, within the Sovereigns' domain—where her wounds mended and her strength was constantly renewed—she had the advantage. Her opponent did not. The domain strengthened her while weakening the Devil.

Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes as they exchanged blow after blow. The Devil clawed, kicked, lunged, and bashed, forcing Morgan to endure the full brunt of its wrath. Yet she refused to falter, grinding through the pain, seizing every sliver of opportunity to strike back.

Unlike her, the Devil couldn't heal. Unlike her, it wasn't built to endure.

And so, as time passed, the tide shifted. Morgan's breath was ragged, her body screaming in pain, her soul fraying at the edges—but she was still standing.

The Devil? It lay there, broken and beaten, twitching from the damage that refused to heal.

She exhaled, barely suppressing a grin. She had won. But it had taken everything.

The Sovereigns' healing could only do so much. The wounds may have closed, but the exhaustion, the mental toll, the sheer agony of being torn apart over and over again remained.

It had been a frustrating duel. A miserable, excruciating nightmare.

But finally— it was over.

Morgan tightened her grip around her blade, stepping forward.

"Die, you pathetic wretch."

She lunged, her blade slicing through the air, aiming for its throat.

Victory was within reach—just a few inches away.

The miracle was within her grasp. She only needed to extend her hand and-

Pain.

Blinding, searing pain tore through her. Her thoughts shattered as something slammed into her stomach, sending her body twisting through the air.

The Devil's leg had struck her at the last possible moment, sending her flying. A split second later, it leapt after her.

Morgan gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus, ignoring the fire lancing through her ribs.

"It's meaningless," she muttered, adjusting her grip on the sword. "You should have understood by now... you don't stand a chance."

High above the battlefield, suspended mid-air, she waited. Readying herself. Bracing for pain.

She wouldn't fail. This strike—this final, decisive strike— was worth any price.

Let it hurt. Let it burn. As long as she killed this bastard, nothing else mattered.

She would do it for her Clan. For glory. For the end of this goddamn nightmare.

However, just as the Devil was about to reach her, something changed. Its grotesque body split apart, unraveling into hundreds of writhing limbs—each one holding a venomous, barbed projectile.

Morgan's breath hitched.

Every single one of those projectiles was aimed at her heart. And unlike the ones before, these were different. They were Sharper. Deadlier.

There was no way she could dodge or deflect them all—not while suspended helplessly in mid-air.

"Tch."

Her mind raced.

'How?'

How could the wretch still have this much power on the verge of death? It didn't make sense.

And then— A familiar voice whispered in her mind.

[You have slain a Great Devil...]

Morgan's eyes widened. Then, a realization struck her like a hammer.

"That wretched bastard!"

It wasn't just an attack. It was a death throe.

The Devil knew it was going to die. And rather than accepting defeat, it had decided to take her down with it. A suicidal final attack.

Morgan clicked her tongue and... laughed.

She had won. And now, she was going to die.

Ordinarily, that would have been a devastating realization. But right now, it didn't bother her at all.

After all, She had won. And she hadn't made a single mistake until now. This was her first one.

"It's fine," she exhaled, accepting her fate. The pain of dying to such a monstrous poison would be agonizing beyond words. But she would endure it.

She would return.

She would spit on the bastard's corpse first thing after resurrecting.

The barbed projectiles launched toward her. A storm of lethal spears, streaking through the air. They were mere inches from tearing through her body.

Her pupils shrank.

And then, something slammed into her from below. A rigid, unyielding force collided with her body—jolting her upwards, pushing her out of the projectiles' path.

The air roared. A violent hurricane erupted beneath her, swallowing the venomous barrage in a swirling vortex, diverting their deadly trajectories.

Not a single one reached her.

Morgan's mind reeled.

A voice, gentle yet powerful, reached her ears.

"Are you alright?"

She blinked.

Then slowly, she looked up. A pair of golden eyes gazed back at her, filled with warmth.

A dragon. A mighty, awe-inspiring dragon.

Its wings beat against the wind as it soared away from the battlefield, its formidable claw holding her securely within its grasp.

Morgan stared for a moment.

For a moment, her pride urged her to protest—to say she had only made one mistake, that she would've been fine.

But instead... Instead, different words left her lips.

"Thank you Kai... for saving me."

Her voice was soft, almost vulnerable. Her fingers curled around the dragon's massive claw in a loving embrace, pulling herself closer.

Exhaustion crashed over her. She had nothing left. Not a sliver of essence. Not an ounce of strength. Her body was too drained to even sit up properly.

The battle with the Great Devil had taken everything.

As if sensing her condition, the dragon spoke. His voice, deep and resonant, rumbled through his colossal frame.

"You did well. Now leave the rest to us."

Morgan exhaled softly. A small, tired smile touched her lips.

And then, darkness took her. Wrapped in the dragon's protective embrace, she surrendered herself to sleep.

...

A shrill, ear-splitting screech tore through the battlefield. The Great Tyrant loomed over the Saints like a walking nightmare, its hundreds of eyes glowing with malice.

It let out a deafening roar. And with that, the swarm surged forward.

The ground heaved as dozens of its minions emerged, crawling like rotting corpses—their flesh barely clinging to their grotesque frames, their twisted limbs twitching unnaturally.

The battlefield was renched in blood both fresh and rotten, mingling with the shredded remains of ripped-open abominations. The stink of rotting innards and decayed flesh was thick enough to suffocate.

But the ones still fighting were barely in a better condition.

They were bleeding. Exhausted. On the brink.

"We... can still... win..." Revel gasped between ragged breaths, stumbling back from the crushing impact of the Tyrant's claw.

Her body ached, her mind reeled. And then the Tyrant's countless unblinking eyes fixed onto her.

A suffocating heaviness settled over her body. Like an invisible force was draining her life away.

"If only... it didn't have so many damn minions..." Lonesome Howl gritted her teeth, ripping apart a swarm of clawing undead that had latched onto her.

For every wretched minion they cut down, another crawled out of the earth. And all the while, the Tyrant lashed out with the ferocity of a mad beast.

Even with the Sovereigns' domain reinforcing them, even with all their strength combined... It was taking everything just to stay alive.

And now— Now the fight had turned for the worse.

The yrant shrieked. The sound was sharp enough to cut through bone. And as it did, the air thickened with the stench of death.

More minions erupted from the earth. More clawed hands, rotting limbs, twisted faces.

The Saints of Song fought back. But it wasn't enough. One by one, they were being overwhelmed. They were on their last legs.

And the Tyrant knew it.

"No matter," Revel hissed.

The monstrous arms of the Tyrant grabbed her— one hand around her upper body, the other around her legs.

She felt her ribs crack.

"This... is only our first mistake..."

The pressure increased.

"We... will come ba—AHHH!"

Ahorrific, splitting pain shot through her body.

The Tyrant was pulling her apart. Like a wild beast tugging at a fresh kill—ready to tear it limb from limb.

Her mind blurred. She felt like a trapped rat tied to ropes— each end pulling in opposite directions. The ropes were her own flesh. And the beast pulling them was the Tyrant itself.

Her stomach stretched. Her limbs threatened to rip free from their sockets. Her bones screamed. Her soul screamed.

She had suffered countless nightmares. Endured countless horrors in her journey to become a Saint. But this—this was different.

The Tyrant's grip carried more than just physical force. It carried its will. A sick, twisted will that fed on suffering.

It was dragging out the pain. Savoring it. Enjoying it.

Her nails clawed at its monstrous arms, trying to free herself— But she was trapped.

Her breath hitched. Her mind reeled. Somewhere, in the agonizing whirlwind of suffering, a thought surfaced.

'Maybe I should have retreated.'

She had been given the chance. Moonveil had told her. Had asked her. Now, if she could turn back time—if she could go back to just a few minutes ago...

Would she have chosen differently?

Would she have let herself run?

Revel clicked her tongue. And then... she smiled. Because the answer was no.

She wouldn't have retreated then. She wouldn't retreat now.

Even knowing this unimaginable pain awaited her— Even knowing she was moments away from being torn apart— She would do it all over again.

Because to turn back would be to give up. To give up on her Clan. On her sisters- the ones who looked up to her.

She refused.

She refused to let fear dictate her choices. She refused to set a bad example. She refused to waste thetwo chances she had been given.

"If Sovereign Sunless has granted me two mistakes..." Her smile widened, even as her body trembled. "Then I will damn well make the most of them."

Even if it meant dying right here and now. Because she would return. And next time— Next time, she wouldn't fall.

"Just... just end it now." The words barely slipped past her lips.

She could feel the final stretch of agony in her stomach— The last, unbearable pull. Her body was moments away from splitting apart. And then—

The force vanished. The monstrous grip that had been tearing her in two suddenly went limp. The Tyrant's limbs collapsed, dropping her like a discarded toy.

She hit the ground hard. Pain rippled through her body, but she had no time to dwell on it.

Revel gritted her teeth, reaching deep into the Sovereigns' Domain— Drawing in its power like a drowning child gasping for air.

A rush of energy flooded her broken body. The pain dulled. Her mangled flesh knit back together. Her mind cleared.

She exhaled sharply, pressing a trembling hand against her stomach— And looked up. And her jaw dropped.

Where the Tyrant's monstrous head had once loomed intact— Now, three colossal claw marks ran through it, splitting it into four jagged pieces.

She watched, stunned, as the severed strips of flesh collapsed—

Falling. Falling.

And with it, the Tyrant itself.

Its massive, wretched body crumpled like a felled mountain, its lifeless weight shaking the battlefield.

"What...?"

Her breath caught in her throat.

The brightest full moon of the year bathed the battlefield in silver light.

Glorious. Luminous. Eternal.

And beneath that celestial radiance, hovering above the corpse of the slain Tyrant, a divine figure loomed.

A gigantic wolf made of swirling moonlight.

Majestic.Unreal. Ethereal.

It floated in the air, its massive, luminous form swirling like mist and stardust , its gaze calm yet overwhelming— Like a god looking down upon mortals.

A stunned silence fell over the battlefield.

"W-what kind of creature is that...?"

"I-is that really a—?"

The Saints murmured, their voices unsteady, caught between awe and terror. Hope and fear tangled in their hearts.

This being... Was it an ally? Had some unknown Saint come to their aid in the darkest moment of battle?

Or—

Was this something far worse? Had they simply traded one nightmare for another?

No Saint should have been able to ever the head of a Great Tyrant in a single strike. Not even when it was weakened from battle.

Not unless they were something absurd. An anomaly. A transcendent on the level of Saint Rain, or the Sovereigns, before they reached their supremacy.

So was it a Nightmare Creature? Could something so serene... so divine be touched by corruption? It didn't feel so.

But a Saint like that couldn't just... exist unnoticed. Not for long. Not without the great clans knowing.

...Could they?

The answer came in the next breath. The olf of light shifted, until the towering beast was no more. Moonlight swirled and condensed, folding in on itself, and when it cleared—

A young man stood upon the corpse of the fallen Tyrant.

Effortless.

Like a king seated upon his rightful throne.

His carefree grin clashed with the sheer majesty of his presence. His midnight hair shimmered under the moon's embrace. He was beautiful. Unreasonably so.

In his hand rested a sword woven from pure moonlight, its radiance so brilliant that it seemed to bend the very night around it.

The glow of the full moon only enhanced the otherworldly allure of his form, wrapping him in a radiance that made him feel utterly otherworldly.

Revel swallowed.

A strange heat crept up her neck.

"Are you alright, young lady?"

His voice was smooth, unhurried—yet it carried a weight that made her heart skip a beat.

"To have endured the creature's crushing pain for so long... you have a strong mind."

Revel felt her face grow hot, and for the first time since the battle began, her composure wavered.

"W-well, yes, I am—uh—" Her thoughts tangled. What was she even saying?

"I-I mean, thank you for saving us." She rubbed the back of her head, trying to focus.

The longer she looked at him, the harder it was to gather her thoughts. But she needed answers. And so, despite the storm in her chest, she forced herself to steady.

"You're clearly far stronger than any ordinary Saint should be," she said, finally regaining control. "Yet, we've never heard of you before."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Are you a member of the Shadow Clan?"

It was the only plausible explanation. A Saint this powerful couldn't have escaped the watchful eyes of the great clans—unless they belonged to the one place that no one knew anything about.

The Shadow Clan.

And yet—deep down—she hoped it wasn't true.

If he wasn't officially bound to them, if he was free, then maybe... maybe there was still a chance.

A chance to recruit him.

That was the only reason she wanted to know more about him. It had nothing to do with the strange, giddy feeling twisting in her chest every time she looked at him.

Nothing at all.

The man simply smiled. "I am currently with them, yes."

Revel's heart sank slightly. Of course. That was the expected answer.

Her shoulders slumped slightly as she exhaled, preparing to turn away— But then, he spoke again.

"But I'm not an official member."

She froze.

"To be honest... I'm not sure I want to become one."

His gaze lifted slightly to the sky, thoughtful.

"All these clans and whatnot..." He shrugged. "They don't seem that interesting to me."

A gleam returned to her eyes.

'Not an official member yet... So there's still a chance!'

Before she could say anything, however— His figure began to dissolve. The silver light surrounding him unraveled, scattering into a torrent of moonlit mist.

"Wait!"

Revel called out, reaching instinctively.

"What's your name—?"

But— Too late.

The moonlight had already surged skyward, reforming into the shape of a majestic, luminous wolf.

With an elegant bound, the radiant beast soared through the battlefield, its ethereal form gliding beneath the full moon—

Regal. Distant. Untouchable.

And then, gone.

Revel exhaled, staring at the empty space where he had stood just moments ago.

And then—

"I told you, didn't I?"

A hand tugged at her shoulder, and she jumped slightly. She turned to find Moonveil, wearing an unmistakably teasing smirk.

"Missing one chance just means there's someone better out there."

Revel felt heat rush to her face. She whipped her head away, trying to hide it.

"What are you talking about, idiot?" she muttered. "I just wanted to know in case there's a chance I can make him join our clan."

"Yeah, sure." Moonveil grinned knowingly, but before Revel could argue, she turned towards the battlefield. The shattered remains of the Tyrant lay around, its minions still rampaging mindless in their final throes.

"Let's finish this, shall we?"

Revel sighed, grateful for the change of subject.

"You don't have to remind me."

With a final glance at the now-empty sky, she clenched her fists, and charged forward.