Chapter 23:Shadow Walker
I advanced with purpose, slipping seamlessly into the velvet depths of the shadowed realm, my form swallowed by the dark as if it had been waiting just for me. The rush was immediate—an intoxicating surge of freedom and focus. Here, the air felt richer, fuller. My senses awakened with crystalline sharpness. The mundane bled away, peeled from me like shed skin, and in its place came something… more. This wasn't hiding.
This was becoming.
Down in the pit, the stench of blood clung thick to the air, curling in the nostrils like smoke from a cursed altar. Onlookers had begun to gather—all outer sect disciples—drawn not by curiosity, but by instinct. By dread.
Faces twisted with disbelief. Some covered their mouths, others simply stared, as if blinking might undo the horror before them.
"What has transpired here?" one murmured, voice raw, hand trembling as it lifted to stifle nausea.
"Look at that body over there," another said hoarsely, pointing. Their voice cracked. "Is that… is that Fendrick?"
A third stepped closer, only to recoil. "That is his corpse," they whispered, words brittle with revulsion. "But who—what—could've done something like this?"
They didn't get their answer. Not right away.
The forest behind them split with thunder.
A sound like gods clashing ripped through the trees, and the crowd flinched as if struck.
"Make way!" came the roar—sharp, commanding, a voice that could only belong to one with power carved into their bones.
Panic broke. Disciples stumbled aside, clearing a path as a figure emerged from the gloom like a judgment given form.
"Isn't that Lord Noah? The fifth strongest of the outer sect?" someone gasped.
And there he was—Noah. Hair cropped short, red like spilled wine in firelight. His features were plain at first glance, but his eyes... those eyes burned. Fierce, amber-gold, like a predator denied the kill. He radiated presence—unrefined, elemental, undeniable.
Flanked by two disciples, he strode forward, steps hammering the earth until he came to a stop at the body.
Fendrick's corpse lay in pieces, hacked apart by hands that had either no soul—or too much. His head had been placed grotesquely atop his own torso, limbs cast aside like afterthoughts. Even his manhood had been severed, ripped away in what could only be described as insult added to injury.
Noah stood silent.
Then, with a slow exhale, he stepped forward. Dropped to one knee. His hand shook—just barely—as he reached to close Fendrick's eyes. Blood smeared across his fingertips, but he didn't flinch.
Memories flickered behind his eyes—Fendrick, arrogant and proud, grinning over his shoulder while Noah trailed behind, half in awe, half in resentment.
"Big brother!" he cried, and this time the scream came from the core of him, fractured and raw. The sound ripped through the pit like lightning through still air.
He hadn't let himself believe it. Not until now. Not until the truth was in his arms.
"I begged you," he whispered, clutching the ruined body. "I pleaded with you to stay by my side…"
The tears came freely. No shame, no restraint. He turned away from the gore-scattered field, blood soaking into his robes, his back bowed beneath the weight of something deeper than grief.
"Why couldn't you just stay by my side…"
The crowd, hardened and callous as they were, silent. No one dared move. Emotion like that—open, honest, unfiltered—had become myth among them.
Noah's steps were heavy as he carried the corpse out, but his voice, when it came, was steel on steel.
"I swear on our late parents," he said, "I will avenge your death."
"That was truly tragic," muttered one man, his face wrapped in cloth, eyes hooded beneath his cowl. He lingered just a breath longer, then turned. "Leave this place now if you value your lives."
Then he vanished into the forest like a ghost abandoning the battlefield.
"Wait—wasn't that Snake?" someone exclaimed.
"The seventh strongest disciple?! Why would he—?"
Their voices faltered as silence crept back in, cold and absolute.
And then—I reappeared.
No flourish. No theatrics. I simply stepped into view, indifferent to the sea of eyes now locked on me.
Over two hundred experts filled the pit.
I met their stares with quiet contempt and made for my severed arm, the ground crunching beneath my feet as if it too held its breath.
Squatting down, I retrieved it.
That's when the panic truly began.
"Who the hell is that?!" a man shouted, eyes wide. "Why couldn't we detect his approach?!"
Another voice rose, steeped in fear. "It can't be… He must be the one responsible for this gruesome scene!"
Their gazes turned rabid—suspicion and dread coiled together like serpents in their throats. Some took stances. Others backed away.
I smiled.
Unhurried, I flexed the fingers of the decapitated limb. The crowd recoiled.
"That arm belongs to him," someone muttered, eyes fixed on the twitching flesh.
"Sister, listen to me," a boy whispered, maybe sixteen. "If he moves—run. Run and don't look back."
She nodded, not blinking.
That's when it happened.
One man, sword in hand, snapped. His fear curdled into rage.
"Let me knock that stupid smile off your face!" he roared, charging forward in a blur of steel and bravado.
We locked eyes.
His pupils shrank in realization—too late.
With a flick, I swung the severed arm.
The air cracked.
And then—
SHHHRAK!
His head spun off his shoulders, blood geysering into the air, splattering those behind him. His body stumbled, then dropped to the ground like a sack of meat.
"Too impulsive," I remarked, my tone almost conversational, though madness shimmered beneath the surface.
And then I spoke, voice rising, calm and chilling.
"Deliver this message: I, Damon Rim, am coming for you all... as we dance the dance of devils."
I slammed the severed arm back into my shoulder with a brutal crunch. Roots burst forth, writhing like snakes, binding it tightly back into the socket with wet, visceral squelches.
The pain was sharp, electric—but I welcomed it.
"He just killed someone using a severed arm!" a girl gasped, staggering back. "He wielded it like a blade—like it was alive—he's a monster!"
She collapsed, knees hitting the stone, the breath knocked from her chest.
They were terrified. And rightly so.
But I felt it then—that gnawing emptiness inside me.
My energy reserves were nearly gone. I could feel my body beginning to draw from something deeper—more vital.
Life force.
"If they attack now," I thought grimly, "it's going to get complicated."
And as if to test me, a handful of them began to close in—disciplined, cautious, deadly.
Too many.
I shifted.
One instant I was there—then I wasn't.
Their swords came down. Struck only dirt and blood.
I slipped through the shadows like ink through water, darting through the forest with supernatural grace. Trees blurred past. Leaves ripped in my wake.
Behind me, they watched—stunned, uncertain.
"Hahaha…" I laughed, the sound wild and unchained, flung behind me like an echo. "This is exhilarating!"
I vanished into the night.
"Vivi!" I called within my mind, reaching for the spirit tethered to my soul.
"Yes, Master!" came her bright reply, instant and alive.
"My body's failing," I told her. "How bad?"
"You are running on fumes, Master. Your spiritual essence is now sustaining your form," she replied gently.
A grin tugged at my lips despite the burn in my soul.
"What's the fun if there's no danger?"
She giggled softly. "Then it's just another walk through the woods."
I didn't need to say more. She understood me.
"Vivi, contact the tree spirits. I need sanctuary."
A heartbeat passed. Then—
"Head north. There's a lake—pure, ancient. A waterfall feeds it, and behind the fall lies a cave. The roots there are old and deep. They'll help you."
"Got it."
I surged forward, deeper into the dark.
The forest opened like a living thing, branches parting. The scent of moss and wild magic pulled me onward.