Shadow Slave alternate paths: The sun of song

They made their way through the manor, descending into what could only be described as a private training sanctum. The halls down here were different—less elegant, more functional.

Black stone walls, dim overhead lighting, reinforced doors at regular intervals. Everything had a purpose. Everything was built to withstand destruction.

Which was a given, since these were supposed to be built to withstand a Saint's might.

Then again, maybe it was simply built to withstand the casual spars of Saints, since there were very few things beings like Saints couldn't break.

If any.

They stopped in front of a thick metal door. Lonesome Howl didn't bother with keys or codes—she just pushed it open and led them inside.

She made it look easy, but just looking at the door, Sunny could tell it weighed several tons at least.

The room was massive.

A sunken arena occupied the center, ringed by stone bleachers and observation platforms. The floor was reinforced black glass, etched with some kind of sorcery Sunny didn't recognize.

After all, there were many types of sorcery in the Dream Realm.

Scorch marks and deep gouges marred the stone in places—evidence of past battles fought here.

Moonveil sat at the edge to observe, a cup of tea almost magically appearing in her hand.

If Sunny hadn't known better, he would've thought tea simply appeared wherever she was.

Lonesome approached the center of the field, wielding a large, weirdly double-pointed wooden sword.

Sunny asked her about it and was told it was a Scimitar.

Sunny couldn't even pronounce that, so he just nodded as if he knew what it meant.

When Lonesome said it was time for a "spar," Sunny had assumed it would be like what Silence had taught him.

Him attacking, and her correcting his form while prodding him whenever he was lacking.

Because at the level of a Saint, even a slightly strengthened swing with a wooden sword would lead to multiple broken bones—

If not straight-up death.

Lonesome, however, could not give a flying fuck.

"Only rules are: try not to die and try not to be boring. You can use any tricks you want.

I'm going to hold back just enough so you can follow," she said in between stretches. "Might increase the pace here and there, but please do try to make this interesting."

And barely follow, he did.

Sunny barely managed to dodge the first strike.

It wasn't a warning blow or a test of reflexes.

It was a full swing aimed directly at his ribs, with no regard whatsoever for whether he could dodge or not.

The only reason he wasn't on the ground heaving for breath was because he felt her shadow move before his eyes could even register that she was gone.

Sometimes, having a sixth sense was lifesaving.

Or in this case—rib-saving.

He twisted out of the way, the wind of her strike brushing past him like the edge of a guillotine.

"Too slow," Lonesome Howl called casually.

Sunny was already regretting his life choices.

Or maybe just this morning's decision to follow his sisters into a Saint's private arena like some kind of eager idiot.

He barely had time to find his balance before the next slash came at him. The Scimitar blurred toward him in an arc of polished wood.

It would absolutely break his bones if it ever made contact. That was a fact he was sure of.

He jumped back.

Not with grace, nor like a trained combatant.

More like someone trying really, really hard not to die.

Sunny ordered his shadow to wrap around himself. Maybe like this, he could take a hit.

The two Saints observed curiously as the shadow simply disappeared from beneath their brother.

Sunny felt himself becoming faster and stronger under the augmentation of his shadow.

But the question remained—

Was it enough?

***

It was not enough.

Sunny was battered and broken; he could barely remain standing.

"Come on, pup," smiled Lonesome. "Don't stop now! It's only starting to get good!"

Lonesome almost looked disappointed, as if her new toy was already broken.

Moonveil smiled while sipping her tea, as if this was an enjoyable show.

Sunny gritted his teeth and began circling slowly, his odachi raised.

He lunged forward with a quick thrust.

She parried lazily, her weapon shifting almost of its own accord to redirect his blade away from her. Then, without any wind-up, she slapped the flat of her Scimitar against his side.

Sunny dropped to his knee, clutching his ribs.

"Welp," she stretched, "that was a good effort."

And she meant it.

By Sleeper standards, he wasn't all that good, sure.

But for someone who had been an uneducated street rat less than a month ago?

Not bad.

Then she heard it.

A quiet laugh coming from Sunny.

I didn't push him over the edge, did I? she thought, concerned.

She was about to ask what was wrong until—

Chomp.

Something bit her leg.

As expected.

And the source?

A familiar large lizard with almost midnight-black scales and mossy growths.

Knowing what happened, she laughed.

She laughed long and hard.

***

Echo: Drownscale

Echo Rank: AwakenedEcho Class: Monster

Echo description: [Dwelling in shadows unknown, its corrosive touch whispered in fear—By the time you see it, it would already be too late.]

From the description and appearance alone, one could tell that this Echo was very good at one thing—

Ambush.

Would it be considered cheating to pull out an Echo during a spar?

Well, no. Not really.

What was it she had said again?

Only rules are: try not to die and try not to be boring. You can use any tricks you want.

Lonesome Howl kicked off the lizard with a laugh.

"I have to say," she said with a wide grin, "that was an impressive trick you pulled there."

Sunny knew she was acting, though.

It was hard for her not to notice the ethereal sparks, given her heightened saint senses. However, Lonesome had clearly decided to limit herself to a Sleeper's level.

In the middle of a life-and-death battle between Sleepers or Nightmare Creatures, the opponent wouldn't notice the trick until it was too late.

So, she willfully ignored it.

And Sunny didn't say anything about it.

She gave him a pat on the back and congratulated him.

"Very cunning," she said with a smile. "I pity your enemies in the future."

And she meant it.