Savior in Shadow Slave

Murphy and Elizabeth soared silently above the jagged ridges of the Crimson Coral Labyrinth, heading westward toward the ashen horizon where the cursed land of the Ashen Barrow lay in wait.

Elizabeth lay nestled in Murphy's arms, her white snake coiled lazily around her wrist, its head peeking out beneath her cloak. Though her posture was calm, her cheeks betrayed her—with a crimson hue that refused to fade. She kept her eyes locked on the horizon, pretending not to notice how close they were.

Meanwhile, far behind them, Akame and Lucas moved carefully through the labyrinth, completing the task Murphy had given them without fully understanding why. It was confusing, even frustrating—but the look in Murphy's eyes when he asked… it was enough. They trusted him.

Back in the skies, Elizabeth finally broke the silence.

"Say, Murphy. Why did you choose me to accompany you?" she asked, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "No matter how much I think about it, I feel I'd fit better with the other group. My snake can fly—if I stayed with them, I could've served as a scout, also as an early warning system. Not to mention increased mobility."

She tilted her head slightly, her tone sharpening.

"And I know you're aware of all that."

Murphy didn't answer right away. His eyes were locked on the smoldering region ahead—on the dead, ashen land that spread like a scar beneath a massive black shadow.

"…It's simple," he said at last. "You're the only one—aside from me—who can resist its influence."

Elizabeth blinked. "Its? You mean… the demon?"

Murphy shook his head slowly.

"No. Not the demon."

His voice dropped a note, deeper and more grim.

"But the one who enthralled it."

Elizabeth felt the snake tighten subtly around her waist, responding to the sudden tension in the air. "What could possibly enthrall a creature like that?" she asked, unease creeping into her voice.

Murphy finally pointed toward the distant, creeping silhouette on the horizon.

"A tree," he said.

"A what?"

"An Awakened Terror," Murphy replied, voice quiet. "It's not a creature in the usual sense. It doesn't move. Doesn't roar. But it thinks. And it sings. Its roots stretch for miles and its body is so massive that if you tried to climb to its top, it would take you several days—without rest."

He paused.

"It doesn't kill directly. Doesn't need to. It invites you. It speaks inside your mind. Shows you things you desire most. It makes you love it and make you protect it without even making you realise. That's how it dominates the weak-willed."

Elizabeth's breath hitched. "…Then how are we supposed to fight it?"

"'We' don't," Murphy said, voice like stone ground against stone.

His eyes remained locked on the horizon where the ashen ground loomed, greyed and dead but flying ever so gently in a wind that didn't exist.

"We kill its servant. And then you run. And I kill."

Elizabeth's expression tightened. Her snake hissed faintly, sensing her unease.

Murphy continued, calm but cold:

"Your only job is to make sure none of its other thralls get close. If I'm right… you will only deal with dominated Scavengers."

"…Only?" she echoed in disbelief.

"Not because it can't control more," Murphy continued quietly, "but because I will be there. My mental defenses are strong, and the moment I step in, it will try to dominate me. That's how it operates."

He glanced at her, his gaze steady. "It's arrogant. It finds joy in whispering to the strong, in twisting them into trophies. And I… I'm worth more than a hundred Scavengers to it. It'll only keep five to ten under its leash—to keep you busy."

Elizabeth swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "So you're saying… the Demon isn't our real enemy?"

"No. It is," Murphy said, his voice low, heavy. "But not the only one."

His eyes remained like steel, unblinking, unshaken.

Below them, a tree stood.

Its bark was darker than the Dark Sea, twisted and gnarled. Its leaves were jagged, serrated like blades, each one a vivid, bleeding crimson. And from its branches hung hundreds of fruits — plump, glistening things that shimmered like gems and dripped with a nectar so sweet in scent it made Elizabeth's mouth water against her will.

And somewhere within that silent tree, a Demon waited with blades of steel and a soul not its own.

"I'll drop you off here," Murphy said, his tone shifting. "Don't panic if I do something strange—it's part of the plan. Engage the Scavengers for about an hour while try to avoid attraction of its other thralls. Then retreat using the serpent."

His expression softened—just slightly.

"Stay alive."

Elizabeth exhaled, steeling herself. "Sure."

***

As Murphy walked beneath the Soul Devouring Tree with [Rengoku] in his hands, the Demon's eyes glistened.

The Carapace Demon rose, its towering form blotting out what little remained of the light. Its metal-plated body groaned and clanked with each movement, the jagged spikes lining its shell catching glints of dying sun. The air warped around it—not from magic, but sheer pressure. Weight. Malice.

Murphy stood alone before it, [Rengoku] held low and steady in his right hand, its obsidian blade humming faintly, as if aware of the carnage to come.

"I have no doubt I can kill you, Demon."

The beast didn't roar. It didn't posture. It lunged.

Its scythe arms swept outward in a blur, carving deep furrows into the stone ground as it closed the distance like a battering ram.

Murphy darted sideways. Too slow.

One scythe clipped his shoulder, sending him crashing into a coral pillar with enough force to shatter bone.

But he was already moving.

Blood streaked down his arm. He gritted his teeth and launched forward, sliding beneath the demon's legs. [Rengoku] flashed up—scraping, ringing, biting into the metal underbelly—but barely digging in. Sparks flew, but not blood.

The demon whirled, its pincers coming down like twin guillotines.

Murphy blocked one with his blade, metal screaming against metal. The force drove him to his knees.

The second pincer shot for his chest.

Murphy let go of the blade with one hand and punched the pincer with his bare fist, shifting its trajectory just enough for it to embed into the ground beside him.

He wrenched [Rengoku] free and jumped back as the ground exploded.

Then, he charged.

The next exchange was a blur.

Blade against steel. Pincers crashing like warhammers. Scythes sweeping to cleave flesh from bone.

Murphy ducked, rolled, twisted, and struck—his every move honed, brutal, and efficient. Cuts opened along his side, across his ribs. Blood ran down his neck and soaked into his tunic.

But with each pass, the demon grew slower.

His blade had begun to find purchase—between joints, under arm plates, through gaps at the base of the demon's humanoid neck.

The monster shrieked, not with pain, but with rage.

It dropped onto all legs, charging like a bull.

Murphy didn't move.

He raised [Rengoku] and roared, swinging with both hands.

The blade struck the demon's shoulder joint—again and again. Sparks erupted. Steel cracked.

The demon's scythe came in. Murphy caught it on his forearm. Flesh tore.

He screamed.

But [Rengoku] bit deeper.

The demon's arm fell.

Still roaring, Murphy spun and drove the sword upward—straight into the creature's chin.

The blade sank, jamming halfway into its jaw.

The beast thrashed, shrieking in metallic agony. One pincer stabbed forward, punching through Murphy's side.

He coughed blood, but didn't let go.

He wrenched the blade sideways.

The metal skull cracked open like a shell.

A geyser of black blood burst from the wound.

The demon spasmed once—then slumped to its knees.

Then fell.

Silence.

[You have slain an Awakened Demon, Carapace Demon.]

[You have received a memory.]

Murphy stood over the corpse, drenched in his own and the beast's black blood. His chest heaved. His arms shook.

One more breath.

Then, he pulled [Rengoku] free with a wet, grinding sound—and turned away.

Just then, it struck him—sudden, vast, and absolute.

An overwhelming need to stay.

A thought. A suggestion.

A command, whispered straight into his soul.

To sleep here. To rest. To guard this magnificent, merciful Tree. To worship it.

Murphy's breath caught in his throat. The wind brushed against his skin like a lover's touch, warm and gentle, humming with serenity. The world dulled at the edges. His shoulders eased. His grip on the blade loosened.

'This is right…'

The words didn't come from his lips, but from somewhere deeper. A truth whispered by something ancient and vast.

'I was meant to be here.'

A smile nearly touched his lips.

'Akame should be here too. And Lucas. And Elizabeth...'

Yes. They would understand. They must.

Once they felt this peace. Once they heard the Tree breathe.

They would kneel with him. Together. Forever.