Savior in Shadow Slave

In the priestess room of Ruined Cathedral of Dark City, a woman slept—if that ragged, fevered stillness could be called sleep.

Her hair, dark as spilled ink, tumbled all the way to her knees, and her face—though not beautiful by conventional measure—bore the precise symmetry of something unyielding, almost sculpted by war itself. Her eyes, when open, carried a light that only survivors of countless brushes with death could bear.

Her body told its own story. Bruised, swollen, and battered as though she had been hurled through walls and storms. Some wounds still oozed faint streaks of blood, despite the haphazard bandaging of a torn dress.

By her side lay two things that defined her now.

A blade—a broken shard of a dying star, its surface gleaming with a cold, mysterious luster.

And a six-armed puppet. Its porcelain mask was cracked, its body moving with eerie precision despite the dead stillness in its glassy eyes.

Along with a dagger and an armor.

The light of dawn spilled through the shattered windows, cutting through the dust and shadows. It landed on her face, stirring her awake.

Akame opened her eyes slowly, with the expression of someone accustomed to pain. Every motion was a war—her joints protested, and the bruises along her ribs burned as if freshly struck.

Hunger gnawed at her. Her gaze shifted to the corner of the room where a hunk of meat lay—fresh, dripping crimson from the Awakened demon she had butchered the previous night.

Her mouth watered, though the sight of the meat was grotesque—its veins and sinews curled like living worms. Only someone insane would eat something like that.

But sanity wasn't her strong suit anymore.

She reached for it, fingers trembling. But then, she froze.

Her eyes fell on the wall.

There, scratched into the stone, were markings. Hundreds of them. A tally of days.

'One. Two. Ten. Fifty. Eighty. Hundred. Two hundred. Two hundred forty…'

Her breath hitched.

It's been eight months since that day.

The memory crashed over her like a wave of black water.

Akame gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached, her hand tightening around the hilt of the star-blade as if she could strangle the pain out of it.

'Why… why did you make me do all this, Murphy? Because of you, I had to suffer all this. But even if you ask me to do that again, I would still suffer all this again. I guess that's how dumb I am.'

Her words echoed in her mind, bitter yet tinged with something softer—a reluctant warmth she could never kill, no matter how hard she tried.

With a sharp breath, Akame shook her head, throwing off the weight of memory and regret like dust. The cathedral was too quiet. Too heavy. She needed fire—something alive.

She reached into her collection of Memories, summoning one with a flicker of will.

A small light bloomed in her palm, fragile yet warm.

[Broken Candle].

A memory carved from the soul of an Awakened II-tier—ironically, a fire-breathing cow. It was useless for combat, but perfect for survival. Without soul essence, she could only coax a flicker, a small flame that danced faintly at her fingertips, but it was enough to spark life into the crude campfire she had built from broken pews and woods.

The fire caught, spreading with an eager hiss. The faint warmth reached her pale face, chasing the chill of the cathedral shadows.

She decided, for once, to indulge. To treat herself to something that felt human.

The meat from the Awakened demon waited, grotesque and marbled with unnatural fibers, but once cooked over flame, it sizzled with a rich, almost intoxicating aroma. The scent filled the ruined cathedral, pushing back the stench of blood and old decay.

Akame reached for the clay jar resting by the altar. The wine.

She had found it buried deep within the skeletal remains of a cave, sealed in ancient runes that barely held together. Its scent was unlike anything she'd ever known—sweet and bitter, old and wild, as if time itself had fermented it.

Ten thousand years old. Older than the concept of wine in the waking world.

She smirked to herself.

'If I sold this in the real world, I'd be a millionaire overnight. But… who cares about that now?'

She poured herself a crude cup, watching the dark liquid catch the firelight. For just a moment, with the fire crackling and the meat roasting, she almost felt… alive again.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth creeping into the cold, hollow cathedral. Akame sat cross-legged, her blade resting by her side, the meat sizzling above the flame. The first sip of wine burned her throat but carried a strange sweetness, like an echo of something long forgotten.

She stared into the fire, and without realizing, the present began to blur. The scent of roasting meat, the warmth of the flame—it dragged her back. Back to that night.

Where they just bickered, enjoyed the meal and nothing else.

They had huddled around a makeshift fire in the Coral Labyrinth, their bodies all healed by Murphy but still full of pain, but the mood was strangely light. Murphy had managed to catch something vaguely edible—a nightmare boar with flesh so tough Lucas had spent twenty minutes just trying to cut it apart.

"You call this meat?" Lucas grumbled, his face twisted as he poked at the half-burned slab with his spear.

"It's better than the last thing you tried to roast," Akame smirked, arms crossed. "What was it again? Oh, right—a lizard with two heads that screamed when you cooked it."

Lucas scowled. "It smelled good."

Elizabeth sat by the White Serpent, quietly sipping water while trying not to laugh. "It smelled like burning despair."

Murphy, who had been sitting slightly apart from them, sharpening [Rengoku], finally sighed.

"Stop complaining and eat. You're acting like children."

He gestured to the meat with his blade. "It's protein. Protein keeps you alive. Eat it before it gets cold."

"Protein, huh?" Lucas muttered, glaring at the meat. "Feels like you're secretly trying to poison us. Admit it—this is all part of your plan to kill me, isn't it?"

Murphy looked up, his deadpan expression making Akame snort.

"Yes, Lucas. I carried you on my back for miles and nearly died fighting a centipede the size of a house… all because I wanted to kill you with overcooked pork."

"Sure, you and dying. Especially in the hands of an Awakened Demon."

Elizabeth laughed softly, covering her mouth. "I mean… you are glaring at him a lot, Murphy."

"That's just his face," Akame added, grinning. "You get used to it after the first dozen times."

Murphy shook his head and muttered something under his breath, but the corner of his lips twitched—a rare hint of amusement.

The sound of their laughter faded, replaced by the empty crackle of her lonely fire. Akame swallowed the wine in one harsh gulp, the warmth doing nothing to stop the cold ache in her chest.

She looked at the carvings on the wall again. Eight months. Eight months since she'd seen his face, heard his tired sighs, or felt his hand on her shoulder when she was about to lose herself in battle.

"…Damn it, Murphy," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Where the hell are you?"

Her fingers dug into the blade's hilt until her knuckles turned white, the veins on her arm standing out like strained cords.

"I'll find you," she whispered, her voice trembling like a blade about to snap. "Even if I have to cut through every monster in this damned realm… I'll find you, Murphy."

She bit her lip until blood welled up, the metallic taste grounding her, yet not enough to stop the storm in her chest. Her eyes, sharp and tired, flickered toward the carvings on the wall—the crude lines she had etched, one for each day since he vanished.

"Do you know…?" Her voice cracked, quiet but seething. "Only a month after you disappeared, everything you built—the friendship, the team, the family—it all shattered. We all went our own ways. Like cowards. Like fools."

Her breath shuddered. She closed her eyes, the memories cutting deep.

"We promised we'd meet every week, no matter what. But it's been four months since we last saw each other. Four months of silence. If we didn't have each other's Memories, I wouldn't even know if they were alive. That's how far we've fallen without you."

Her nails dug into her palm, blood mixing with the dried scabs on her fingers.

"Lucas… he's not Lucas anymore. After he saw you vanish, something inside him broke. Every time the Dark Sea recedes, he jumps into the sea bed alone—alone, Murphy—and he kills every abomination he finds, no matter how big or small. Last time I saw him…"

She paused, her throat tightening. The image of Lucas's eyes—wild, sharp, burning with something unhinged—flashed in her mind.

"…There was this mad light in his gaze. He kept muttering something I didn't understand. 'The answer is Abyss,' he said. And when I asked what it meant, he just… smiled. A hollow smile. Then he walked away without looking back."

Akame's breath hitched as she continued, her voice softer now, trembling with something almost like guilt.

"And Elizabeth… she went back to the Crimson Labyrinth. She's been killing anything that moves in that cursed place. I don't know if she's trying to get stronger or if she's just trying to drown in blood to forget. The last time I saw her… her expression was so dim, Murphy. Like the light in her was dying. Her abdomen looked… swollen. I didn't ask. I couldn't. I'm scared of the answer."

Her hand tightened on the hilt until her knuckles felt like they might snap.

"If I'm not wrong, both of them have fully saturated their cores by now. But I know they're hiding something. Something dark. And I…"

Akame's voice faltered, the words tasting like glass in her mouth.

"…I'm no different. I'm hiding something from them too. Something I can't say out loud because I know it would break them. I've become a monster in my own way. And yet—"

She looked up, her eyes wet but burning with a fierce, wild determination.

"—I'd do it all again. Every fight. Every wound. Every scream. I'd become a demon if it meant bringing you back."