Was the last chapter over-dramatized? Yes. Do I care? No.
---
Sunny sat there.
His fist, tightly clenched around the sacred soul shard he had bled for.
Just for her.
He had walked into the guts of Godgrave, alone, shadow-wreathed, senses sharpened by the Fragment of Shadow's Domain—amalgamated, solely his.
And there, deep in the dark—
He had faced condemnation once more.
The Cursed Tyrant.
A god he'd once watched die, not by his hand, but Anvil's—during the Domain War, back when Sunny was but a Saint.
It was different this time.
No awe. No fear. Just the weight of intent.
The Tyrant hadn't truly died to Anvil back then, rather the piercing rays above Godgrave. Then it had retreated to the shadow realm, a mere remnant of a once profane deity, which he then slayed during his fight with Slayer.
But now?
Now it was his.
He killed it. He did. It wasn't even that hard… not anymore.
It had been everything—ruins, mist, wind, weight. A being without boundary. But when death came calling in Sunny's voice, it collapsed into one thing:
His shadow.
From its impossible remains, he had extracted five soul shards—sacred, throbbing, perfect.
And now, the best of them trembled in his firm grasp.
Time bled past. He did nothing.
Other selves were moving.
Crazy was weaving a memory in the Nameless Temple.
Happy battled through the ocean en route to Antarctica.
Naughty and Creepy—ever watchful—circled Bastion and Ravenheart.
Haughty crouched low in Rain's shadow, silent and smug.
Gloomy? Still drenched in the blood and ichor of fallen creatures, he watched over Nephis from a respectful distance.
And Lazy… Lazy sat beside him, doing nothing at all. Just thinking. Just feeling.
---
The sun rose, eventually.
Sunny stood. Things needed doing. Moping wasn't really his thing—at least, not for long.
Nephis… would be back to normal by now. Probably. Maybe.
There was a tension between them. A thread pulled taut.
He sighed, made his way to Cassie's door, and knocked gently.
"Cassie? You up? It's time for breakfast."
A pause.
Then, "Give me a minute."
He smiled faintly, leaned against the cold stone opposite her door. After a while, the door creaked open.
"Hello, Sunny."
"Hey," he said, looping his arm gently through hers, guiding her through the Keep's winding halls.
"You're not cooking today?" she asked, the tone feather-light—but not without concern.
"No… not in the mood," he muttered. "Unless you want something. Then I'll make it."
"You don't have to. I wanted to try the food here anyway."
They walked in silence until they reached the main hall.
Unappetizing stew awaited them—monster meat boiled into something resembling regret.
Sunny wrinkled his nose. "Almost forgot how bad this place was…"
He leaned toward Cassie, meaning to whisper, when—
Nephis appeared.
She said nothing. Just sat, bowl in hand.
Sunny nodded, casual. "Nephis."
"Sunny."
Her voice was flat, but not empty. And he knew her too well not to feel the fracture beneath.
He gestured toward the slop. "Not really savory food, is it?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"I'll make something better." He continued
Cassie brightened immediately, though she hadn't tasted the stew. The smell said enough.
Sunny rose.
And was blocked.
Two men. Young. Crude. Familiar.
He groaned inwardly.
'I thought fate was in my favor'
He recognized them—Gunlaug's rats.
He grinned.
"What the fuck are you degenerates staring at?"
Cassie flinched. "Sunny—"
One stepped forward. "What did you say, clown? You know who we are?"
Sunny's grin widened. "Want a medal for it? No? Then fuck off before I kill you lot."
The second smirked. "No need for rudeness. Just offering the girls better company."
Cassie's face soured.
Sunny's rage kindled. He was already close to violence. This made it easy.
"You want a funeral instead?"
But before blood could spill—
A voice. Soft. Too soft.
"No need to be so hostile now."
Sunny turned.
A young man stood in the doorway.
Tall, ethereal. Eyes white as frost. Hair dark as shadows. Skin pearl white.
He was… too handsome. No Sleeper could be so. He might have even been better looking than Sunny.
Sunny couldn't sense him.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The boy smiled. "I am Lucien, The Only Paradox."
Sunny's thoughts ran wild. He had kept track of all the Sleepers in the Forgotten Shore at least once, yet he had never seen this man.
He didn't know him. He should. But he didn't.
The boy had no soul cores.
He had no presence. Not even Sunny's shadow sense could detect him.
Yet— He emanated no sense of strength. As if he didn't exist.
Cassie tugged at his shroud.
"Sunny?"
He blinked.
Lucien was gone.
The room had reset.
The two men—seated, silent.
Everyone else—eating, indifferent.
No stares, nothing.
'Did I—'
Cassie tugged again.
"You were saying… something?"
Sunny shook his head.
"…Pancakes. Yeah. Let's go."
He turned to Nephis.
"You in?"
She looked at him. And nodded.
He smiled, slow and sharp.
"Alright. No honey, though."
---
They walked in silence.
Not the strained kind—just… full.
Sunny guided them through narrow corridors and cold stone halls, every step echoing too loudly. Cassie's hand gripped his arm like an anchor. Nephis followed along beside them, without a word.
When they reached his room, he paused before opening the door. Shadows stirred, recognizing him.
He stepped inside.
It was stark as ever. A straw bed covered in darkness. A small mirror on the wall. And a chest in the corner, along with a table.
He snapped his fingers.
From the floor, darkness bled upward. It coalesced into shape—slow, deliberate. A table rose from shadow, lacquered with darkness, carved with subtle spirals. It looked just like the real thing… other than the lack of color.
He gestured, and three seats pulled themselves from the same darkness. Cassie sat first. Nephis waited for a moment, then joined her.
Sunny turned away from them, then summoned the Marvelout Mimic which took its original form as a coffer. Minus the rows of teeth.
The lock slid open by itself with a rough click.
Inside, the air changed.
He reached in.
Out came a small, gleaming pot of black iron—still warm, steam faintly rising from its spout. Coffee. Real coffee.
Next, a simple glass bottle of milk—lukewarm to the touch. He set it gently on the table.
Then came the main course.
A bone-white plate—polished, almost luminescent. It was gilded with intricate patterns, each one pulsing faintly with essence. The utensils beside it were of matching make. Forks and knives crafted from the marrow-forged remnants of a Great Beast slain in Godgrave.
He set two more.
Finally, the food.
A small stack of pancakes, golden and soft, still steaming. The scent drifted into the air—warmth, sugar.
Cassie's lips parted, smiling wide. Nephis… didn't smile. But her shoulders eased, if only a little.
Sunny sat last.
Poured coffee into three mugs shaped from molten night.
Added a touch of milk.
"Please" he smiled gently, have at it.
---
Another incarnation of Sunny—the Lightless Heir—stepped from shadow near the outskirts of the outer settlement.
He was looking for a man.
Jubei.
A hunter, worn and wiry, his hands calloused from countless hours of surviving.
Sunny already knew what was coming.
Jubei would accuse Andal—a sniveling lieutenant under Gunlaug—of using children as bait.
And for his honesty… he'd die.
So Sunny decided to intervene.
Not out of some twisted sense of justice.
No, he wanted to invoke fear.
And he wanted to kill Harus.
Jubei was resting, seated near a cracked wall, sipping stale water with a hunter's exhaustion. His back hurt. His eyes were half-shut. He didn't know it yet—but Sunny had already written the prologue of his salvation.
'I can't just walk up to him… I need to show my strength.'
Sunny reached out with his shadow sense.
'There.'
He grinned.
A beast. A Fallen-class spider—larger than a cart, clad in thick, jagged plates.
He commanded its shadow.
'Bring your caster to me.'
And so it came.
Not by command. By instinct.
A nightmare in motion, barreling through the ruins. Clicking, clattering.
Jubei heard it. His instincts screamed. He leapt up, summoning his weapon with a curse on his lips.
Too close. Too fast. There was no time.
Hidden in the folds of shadows, Sunny summoned Weaver's Mask, the shadows sliding down his body like oil, cloaking him in dripping silence.
Then came Serpent.
It coiled around his torso and arms, then manifested into the form of a tenebrific odachi. Dripping with deathly aura.
He waited.
The spider burst from the trees.
Jubei stood tall, terror etched into his bones. His blade—a simple shortsword with a gilded hilt—trembled.
The spider lunged.
And in that breath before death, he prepared, he would at least damage—if not kill—the beast.
Then—he saw it.
A blur.
Shadow streaked across air.
One heartbeat later, the spider hit the ground in two clean halves.
Black ichor sprayed across the stone.
Between the dead beast and Jubei stood a man cloaked in living night. A mask like the Weaver's grief shrouded his face. A sword in his hand wept silence.
He didn't look at Jubei.
He flicked the blood from his blade with a practiced motion. It struck the ground like a verdict.
Then he spoke.
His voice was calm. Cold.
"Hunter Jubei. I have come to you… with an offer."