Savior in Shadow Slave

After a full day and night of rest, the air felt lighter. Even in this realm of nightmares, a rare calm had settled over the group. Faces that had once been drawn with exhaustion now carried a faint shine—battle-worn, but alive.

Akame was the first to break the silence. Her voice was steady, but her cheeks carried a faint shade of red.

"So," she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly, "did you get it? The key that the Carapace Demon held?"

Murphy glanced at her. Calm, as always.

"Yes," he said simply.

A pause. Then Lucas stepped forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

"So… what exactly is the key?"

Murphy's lips curved in the barest hint of a smile.

"A Memory," he said. "One called… [Midnight Shard]."

None of them spoke after that, but Murphy felt their gazes burn against his skin—questions and expectations glinting like unsheathed blades.

With a quiet breath, Murphy decided to indulge their curiosity… and his own. He wanted to see if his interference had changed anything—if fate had twisted in subtle ways.

He raised his hand. And the Memory materialized.

A curved blade, no longer than seventy or eighty centimeters, gleamed in his grasp. The material was strange—neither metal nor crystal—shining with the same eerie luster as Igor's carapace.

The hilt, however, was carved from a wood. A black wood, polished smooth, warm to the touch. Just like that of the Soul Devouring Tree.

"I shall read the runes then."

Memory Rank: Awakened

Memory Type: Weapon

Memory Name: [Midnight Shard]

Description: Forged from the shard of a fallen star, this stalwart blade is firm and unyielding. It favors those who fight to their last drop of blood—and knows no surrender.

Tier: III

Enchantment: [Unbroken]

Enchantment Description: This blade refuses to break. Its resolve mirrors its wielder's. When its bearer stands at death's edge but refuses to yield, the blade awakens—granting strength beyond reason.

Murphy let the words fade into silence.

"This blade is… incredible," Elizabeth murmured, leaning closer, eyes wide with fascination. "Although… I don't fully understand the enchantment."

Lucas adjusted his grip on his spear and nodded toward Murphy. "It means… if the wielder won't surrender, even at death's door, the weapon answers in kind. Pushes them past their limits, right?"

Murphy gave a faint smile. "Exactly. It thrives on defiance. The closer you are to death—the harder you fight—the stronger it becomes. But it's… not particularly suited for me. Which is why—" He turned toward Akame. "—I'm thinking of giving it to you. If that's fine with you two?"

"No problem," Lucas said without hesitation.

"Yeah," Elizabeth added softly, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's for the best."

Akame blinked, taken aback. "Wait—wait—why me? Shouldn't you be the one to use it, Murphy?"

He sighed, expression calm but tone carrying that quiet weight of logic she could never argue with. "Your greatsword was destroyed. The replacement blade? Also destroyed. And then, somehow, you got the same one again—and it's already on its last legs."

His eyes narrowed slightly, teasing but sharp. "Meanwhile, your Aspect—[Aegis]—forces you to endure pain and stay on the razor's edge of death constantly. That alone makes this blade perfect for you. So, any other objections?"

Akame froze. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Finally, she muttered, "…None."

She reached for the blade. Her hands trembled—not from fear, but from curiosity.

"…Thank you," she whispered, voice barely audible.

Murphy watched her, his eyes unreadable. Then, inwardly, a wry thought crossed his mind.

'Quite a contradiction, this woman is. When I will become an Awakened, I will alter the weave to fit it for her.'

"So, Murphy," Elizabeth broke the silence, her voice carrying that edge of impatience. "What now?"

Murphy didn't hesitate. "We train."

Lucas arched a brow. "Elaborate."

Murphy's gaze swept over them—calm, heavy, unyielding. "Elizabeth. Lucas. Both of you know it. In the last battle, you saw your weaknesses clearly, didn't you?"

The words hit harder than any blow. Neither of them replied. Silence spoke for them.

Murphy turned to Elizabeth first. "You survived the Scavengers because of sheer will… and spite. That's admirable. But don't fool yourself—it won't always save you. You could have died a dozen times over." His tone sharpened. "And your biggest flaw? You don't know how to coordinate with the White Serpent. That bond is your weapon, and right now, you're wasting it. Fix that. That's your focus."

Elizabeth's jaw tightened, her nails biting into her palm. She didn't argue. She couldn't.

Murphy's eyes shifted to Lucas. "You're skilled. Extremely skilled. But you can't wield any weapon well enough. And because of our way of fighting, I suggest you train with spear."

Lucas frowned but stayed silent, waiting.

"I want you to train with Akame and Elizabeth. Push each other. Break past your limits. When you're ready, we move together—and we hunt. Every last Fallen abomination we can find within the Labyrinth." His voice was steel. "All Soul Cores go to Elizabeth first until she hits fifty percent saturation. After that, we divide equally."

"What about Memories?" Lucas asked, tone steady but eyes sharp.

"They'll go according to need," Murphy replied without pause. "If armor drops, it goes to Elizabeth or me first. Weapons? Elizabeth and Lucas. Charms depend on synergy. Echoes stay with the user—unless they're critical to our survival, or the receiver needs them more."

The group exchanged glances. No objections, no bravado. Just silent agreement.

Murphy's expression didn't soften. "We can't afford carelessness. Dark City and the rest of the Forgotten Shore is not that forgiving. If you're not ready, you'll die. And I don't intend to bury any of you here. We will continue the training for one month. Understand?"

""Yes.""

***

And so… hell began. Not for the four humans.

Oh no. Hell began for the Fallen that dared to crawl, breathe, or twitch inside the Crimson Coral Labyrinth.

The four didn't just hunt—they butchered. Annihilated. Turned proud Fallen monstrosities into decorative stains on the coral walls.

Parents lost their children. Children lost their parents.

Entire family trees were pruned down to firewood.

Friends? They couldn't even say goodbye.

Rivals? Never got the chance to settle scores.

Whole upper rank of the species whispered in the dark, "If you see them, play dead. Or better—be dead."

And so… time passed.

The Fallen Abominations held a meeting.

Agenda: Stop existing before the humans find us.

Outcome: Unsuccessful.

Because the humans always found them. Always. It wasn't a hunt anymore—it was a full-time extermination business.

And now, standing in the Ashen Barrow, the Four looked like the stuff of bedtime stories. The kind you tell kids so they never leave home.

One month. One week. And one day later—

The Ashen Barrow was silent. No chittering of Scavengers. No whisper of enthralling roots. Only the sigh of a dead wind sweeping through crimson coral spires.

Four figures stood at its heart. Two men. Two women.

They looked nothing like the ones who had first stepped into Dream realm. Their clothes were torn, their armor patched. Scars, both fresh and faded, crisscrossed their skin. Their eyes burned with the cold fire of those who had seen too much—and survived.

Murphy's crimson hair stirred in the breeze as he looked at them—his comrades, his weapons, his burden.

"Today," he said quietly, voice cutting through the silence, "we end this."

Elizabeth's White Serpent hissed low behind her, its scales gleaming faintly like ivory fire.

Akame stood with her new blade—Midnight Shard—resting lightly in her grip, its black wood hilt seeming almost fused to her hand after weeks of relentless drills.

Lucas rolled his shoulders, his spear humming faintly with the countless battles it had endured.

"Our last foe in the Labyrinth," Murphy continued, "a Fallen Demon… Lucas and me decided to simply call it Six-Armed Marionette."

Murphy's gaze swept over the three faces watching him, each marked by fatigue, scars, and something far sharper—resolve. His voice was steady, but beneath it ran a current of warning, a gravity that made the wind feel heavier.

"It's not the strongest thing we've faced," he began. "It doesn't have claws. It doesn't breathe fire. It's not a beast built for raw destruction."

His eyes darkened, the faint reflection of crimson leaves in their depths.

"But when it kills you…" Murphy paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the weight of his words to settle. "When it kills you, it doesn't just take your life. It takes you. Your body. Your memories. It wears them—like a child trying on a parent's clothes—stitched into its own flesh, upgrading itself with every life it claims."

Elizabeth shivered, her hand brushing the serpent's scales as if for reassurance.

"It doesn't kill to survive," Murphy continued softly, his words slicing through the heavy stillness like a whisper of steel. "It kills for fun. For art." His tone shifted—cold, deliberate, carrying a weight that pressed against their chests like an invisible blade.

He looked at them then—Akame, Lucas, Elizabeth.

"It's a doll," Murphy said finally, his voice low, almost reverent in its contempt. "A doll that can mimic every being it has ever slain—every knowledge, every movement, every battle art. Every life it took becomes another mask it can wear." He purposely let the silence after that linger, heavy as the air before a storm.

Then, calmly, with the weight of truth that burned like frost, he added:

"So take this fight for what it really is. We're not facing a puppet."

His hand tightened on [Rengoku], its edge humming faintly like a distant heartbeat.

"We're fighting an Ascended. One without an Aspect but still an Ascended."