Shadow Slave: The Four Horseman of Deviants

Damian returned to the church dorm's late at night, just before curfew. The corridors were dim, and shadows stretched long under the flickering torchlight. Disciples shuffled quietly into their rooms.

Soon after, a priest began his nightly patrol down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

In his dimly lit room, Damian lay in his bed, staring up at the cracked stone ceiling, his mind heavy with the preacher's words.

A weight settled on his chest—the burden of expectation pressing down on him.

Why had this responsibility been thrust upon him?

Was there something the preacher saw in him that he couldn't see himself as?

The thought of leading people felt nerve wrecking, even almost impossible for him.

He pictured himself trying to rally the citizens of this dark, oppressive city, persuading them to stand up against the Shadow Dragon. But the image quickly crumbled, replaced by the doubtful whispers in his mind.

How was he supposed to raise the morale of an entire populace?

Sure, he could charm his way out of tricky situations—talk his way out by giving logical and innocent reasonings.

But stirring people's hearts, inspiring them to action… that was an entirely different skill.

"If I'm going to get out of this nightmare…" he muttered, scratching his head in frustration. "I have to face my fear of public speaking." The words felt heavy on his tongue, like admitting a deep-rooted fear he'd tried so hard to bury.

He let out a frustrated sigh. Here he was, stuck in a role he'd always dreaded, with no clear way forward.

The fear gnawed at him, a lingering reminder of the one thing he'd always wanted to avoid.

A slight pain seared through his throat— his breath hitched, the air thickening as fragments of a memory stirred, tugging him back toward a memory he'd tri

Damian returned to the church dorm's late at night, just before curfew. The corridors were dim, and shadows stretched long under the flickering torchlight. Disciples shuffled quietly into their rooms.

Soon after, a priest began his nightly patrol down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

In his dimly lit room, Damian lay in his bed, staring up at the cracked stone ceiling, his mind heavy with the preacher's words.

A weight settled on his chest—the burden of expectation pressing down on him.

Why had this responsibility been thrust upon him?

Was there something the preacher saw in him that he couldn't see himself as?

The thought of leading people felt nerve wrecking, even almost impossible for him.

He pictured himself trying to rally the citizens of this dark, oppressive city, persuading them to stand up against the Shadow Dragon. But the image quickly crumbled, replaced by the doubtful whispers in his mind.

How was he supposed to raise the morale of an entire populace?

Sure, he could charm his way out of tricky situations—talk his way out by giving logical and innocent reasonings.

But stirring people's hearts, inspiring them to action… that was an entirely different skill.

"If I'm going to get out of this nightmare…" he muttered, scratching his head in frustration. "I have to face my fear of public speaking." The words felt heavy on his tongue, like admitting a deep-rooted fear he'd tried so hard to bury.

He let out a frustrated sigh. Here he was, stuck in a role he'd always dreaded, with no clear way forward.

The fear gnawed at him, a lingering reminder of the one thing he'd always wanted to avoid.

A slight pain seared through his throat— his breath hitched, the air thickening as fragments of a memory stirred, tugging him back toward a memory he'd tried to bury.

….

It was back in middle school, Damian had run for Student Council President. Everyone knew him for his stellar grades and solid reputation.

His campaign was going smoothly, his motives were clear, and he had strong supporters.

It was a close race—his rival was just as popular, neck and neck with him. Damian was confident he could win.

Everything used to feel right in his world, he felt deeply in control of his life. The moment of satisfaction and happiness within seemed so liberating.

Everything was within his grasp, it's as if nothing could waver his outlook of winning the election.

"Hey Damian, are you ready for the speech tomorrow?" One of his supporters asked.

"Yeah, I'm ready. I'm going to blow all of your minds with the speech that I have for tomorrow."

Everyone around him cheered for him, "I hope so too. You're a good guy after all, and pretty smart too!"

"Yeah, with us by your side, you'll be unstoppable. We'll help spread the word about your projects."

"You'll come to the Math Club tomorrow, right? We really need your help with sorting our paper works."

"Damian, Damian, could you help us at the literature club. We need you to check our works for the upcoming exhibit."

Damian chuckled, a nervous edge creeping into his laugh as he looked at the everyone around him. He could feel the pressure—a weight that settled over his shoulders like an invisible hand pressing down. The expectations were intense, but he took a deep breath, brushing it off with practiced ease. This was just another task, he reminded himself. Nothing he hadn't handled before.

"Yes, yes. Thank you, everyone," he said with a steady nod, forcing a smile. "I'll make time to visit the clubs tomorrow before the speech."

…

The day of the speech arrived, and Damian had gone over his words so many times he could practically recite them in his sleep. Confidence thrummed through him as he left home, ready to fulfill each promise he'd made to his supporters. By the time he walked into school, he was already checking things off in his mind—tasks, greetings, reminders—everything moving in perfect rhythm.

When he reached the hall, the MC was just beginning to announce the start of the event. He was right on time. Slipping backstage, he shrugged on a crisp black coat, adjusting the collar with careful fingers. He tugged the tie into place, catching his reflection in a nearby mirror. Formal

Although it was nerve wracking for Damian at first, Damian felt like he could handle it. After all, he was confident with his words and how well he could articulate them.

As the moment he went up in stage along with his contender walking out the opposite side.

The both of them introduced themselves, everything went fine for Damian, it was going smoothly so far.

His contender went first— walking towards the podium with dignified poised and well mannered movement.

Every movement his contender took felt very domineering. Every action that they did was engraved within him.

As he stood among the crowd, he gave out his speech. Which consisted with words that were quite common to a presidential candidate — a promising change for the school. Although his intentions were the same as Damian, his contender delivered his speech thoroughly, blowing everyone away with his stern and inspiring voice.

They had a sense of authority, as if controlling everyone around them with their powerful demeanor.

They were like a general giving his last speech before battle, raising the morale and stimulating their adrenaline as if it were natural for him.

Even Damian felt his entire body awakened as his rival perfectly delivered their speech.

His last words held high as it reverberated through the room. It was filled with cheers and loud screams.

In that moment, his rival felt like a looming shadow—someone larger, brighter, better at everything Damian tried to be.

When it was Damian's turn, he stood at the podium, his legs trembling. As he began to speak, his voice wavered, each word stumbling out unevenly. He could feel the weight of every stutter, hear the faint murmur of the crowd's reactions—a chorus of whispers and murmurs that he didn't need to understand to know were critical.

He risked a glance at his rival, who stood with a gentle, disappointed look. They shook their head slightly, as if saddened by Damian's struggle. The gesture hit him like a blow.

When the speech and Q&A section ended, Damian went backstage, he was sitting down at the stair case, reflecting everything he had done so far.

He held his head down, his arms supporting his head. He had a troubled face, drops of water flowed through his arm.

He dabbed the tears off with a handkerchief, fixing himself up and make his way out before anyone could see him.

"Hey Damian, good to see you here. I was just actually looking for you," as he was about to exit, a voice called out to him.

It was his fellow contender, they had a look of satisfaction on their face. "Nice speech you had back there, although you could've done it better if you weren't fumbling your words."

Damian held a calm demeanor, but deep down inside he was trigged by their words.

As much as wanted to punch them in the face, he held himself back, managing to form a perfect smile.

Damian cleared his throat then politely spoke up, "You made a great speech, I admit you are quite admirable."

His rival smirked, their hands on their waist. "What can I say, I'm just that great."

they clenched their fist up in the air, "My goal of becoming student council president is within my grasp."

Damian bowed slightly, "Well, I wish you luck then."

Damian was reluctant of continuing the conversation further, he silently walked out of the room without saying anymore words.

But his rival refused to let it end just like that.

"Damian, what do you want to establish in this school?" his rival asked in a boisterous tone.

Damian grabbed the door handle, but he halted as he heard their voice.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know how determined you are… how clearly you've envisioned the ideal school you want to create."

Just as he heard those words from his rival, he couldn't help but admire his dedication. A solemn smile crept on his face.

"I guess I want to establish equality among the students and faculty in this school. I want to make the school more comfortable for others who also struggle with education and also with their financial security."

His rival raised an eyebrow. "So your only goal is equality and stability? Don't you want to make it more than just that?"

Damian gently smiled. "I prefer it to be simple."

"But simplicity wouldn't make any much of a difference.... Even more so, the possibility of having equality is quite impossible for people of our age... Do you have a plan that can support your cause?" They crossed their arms.

"I, uhm.... I've never really thought about it." Damian scratched his head nervously, "I guess I just pictured a happy school full of happy people."

"That's it?". stepping back, visibly unimpressed, "You haven't really thought this through, have you?"

"Why are you over reacting to something so trivial?" Damian's calm demeanor crumbled bit by bit. "I have my own beliefs and I want to establish it. What makes you have the right to judge me?"

"Your beliefs are shallow, they don't even carry any weight."

Damian's voice began to contort in irritation.

"What makes your beliefs better than mine?"

"My rules and regulations that I will establish in this school will accomplish more feats against your pitiful beliefs."

"Pitiful? Pitiful?" Damian approached his rival with irritation. "I care for the people in this school, you have no right to berate me for what I believe in!"

His contender scoffed at his rebuttal, "have you even made the rules you need to establish? How can you have equality when you don't know how to control the people around you?"

"You!" Damian's patients finally broke apart, "You-!"

His contender huffed, he rolls his eyes, "Enough. I'm done here."

"Get back here, we're not even finished yet!"

They gazed back at Damian, he walked out the room without speaking any further.

….

"Maybe I should just do it myself, kill the Shadow Dragon and get home."

Damian held his breath, nervously contemplating his words, "but…. Am I even strong enough?"

His eyes began to water but he wiped it away instantly. After all, he needed to be strong, and being weak right now would hinder his progress of getting home.

There's no time to dwell on it any further, he needs to take action. He stood up from the bed, and started writing on a piece of paper, making a lay out for everything he needs to do.

"I don't want to be weak, I need to be strong." He gripped the quill on his hand, he dipped it on the ink that was provided by the church. His teeth clenched as if holding something back. "I will prove myself wrong, I will face this nightmare and get out of here!"