Shadow Slave: The Four Horseman of Deviants

Chapter 9: Inside the Core (2)

The wind roared past Will's ears, the silence of it more deafening than any scream. The ground below rushed up to meet him, a blur of jagged, dried land that promised a brutal end. His stomach lurched, twisting in knots, as if gravity had abandoned him entirely.

The air grew heavier with every passing second, hammering against his chest like a battering ram, squeezing his lungs until each breath became a painful, desperate gasp. His skin stung, stretched tight against the relentless pressure of his descent. It built in his temples, a pounding rhythm that echoed in his skull.

His heart thundered in his throat. His eyes, raw from the biting cold of altitude, blurred with the sting of wind, and he finally shut them against the aching sensation, the world was spinning around him, descending in a fast phase.

He was falling.

Panic surged through out his body, he was wailing his arms uncontrollably.

Think!

He needed to act fast!

He forced his mind to work past his anxiety. He summoned his Echo, the Proudful Griffin.

In an instant, the griffin appeared beneath him, wings beating furiously. The massive creature caught him just as the ground loomed dangerously close, averting a bone-shattering impact by mere inches.

The landing, however, was less than graceful. The griffin dropped him face-first into the dirt, a thud that made his body ache but didn't do any serious damage.

Will groaned, flipping over and rubbing his nose where the impact had left a bruise. "Yeah, thanks a lot," he muttered, the sting of his pride more painful than the physical injury. He dismissed his Echo with a flick of irritation. "Payback for stabbing him no doubt about it." He gently caressed his nose, "prideful bastard." He dusted himself off, standing slowly, trying to get his bearings.

He found himself on a desolate plane, even more barren and lifeless than the last place he had been. The land stretched out in every direction, cracked and dry, as if the very essence of life had been drained from it long ago.

Trees, looking like bones and drained of its vitality, stood like gravestones against the horizon, their twisted branches reaching toward a sky that was equally bleak—choked with clouds, hiding any trace of the sun. Bones jutted out from the earth here and there, half-buried in the dirt, remnants of creatures long dead. Grass, or what was left of it, lay in brittle patches, yellowed and curled from a lack of moisture.

It was a wasteland. A horizon of famine and despair, where the soil was dust and the air was thick with decay. Cracks split the earth, deep gorges running like scars through the land, exposing dried-up roots that seemed to claw their way out of the ground in a desperate search for water.

Will looked up at the cloud-covered sky. The oppressive weight of the atmosphere pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. 'Not much to work with here', he thought grimly. But he wasn't going to stay grounded.

Summoning his griffin once more, he mounted the creature and directed it upward, aiming to break through the clouds. The griffin's wings beat powerfully, propelling them higher, but something was wrong. An unseen force pushed back against them, a barrier that wasn't there the last time they flew.

Frustration creeping into his voice. He clicked his tongue in annoyance but pressed on, determined to find something—anything—that might offer a clue to where he was, or what this place was meant to test.

"Not like the last time," Will muttered,

He kept flying, scanning the horizon for anything out of place.

The desolate landscape stretched endlessly before Will, offering nothing but eerie silence.

It was quiet, too quiet….

Hours passed without a single change—no sound, no movement. The sky gradually shifted from day to night, and a cool breeze gently pressed against the dried grass. The peace that surrounded him might have been relaxing to some, but for Will, it was suffocating.

Hunger gnawed at him relentlessly; it had been days since he'd last eaten. His eyes, dark and heavy with exhaustion, strained from the endless journey. He was tired—both physically and mentally—and hope was slowly slipping away.

As the hours dragged on, Will's frustration mounted. He had been wandering for what felt like an eternity with no progress to show for it. His patience was wearing thin, and irritation flared within him. "There's nothing but desert! Where is that damn core?" he shouted into the vast emptiness, his voice echoing across the barren plains.

Deciding he needed a change, Will dismissed his griffin and opted to travel on foot. The endless flight had become monotonous, and he wanted to stretch his legs and feel the ground beneath his feet. With a wave of his hand, the Proudful Griffin vanished.

Will rubbed his glabella, sighing in frustration, his stomach growled, "I'm so hungry." He mumbled.

The emptiness around him mirrored the hollowness he felt inside, both physically and emotionally, as his search for the core continued without a hint of success.

"Maybe, I should just take a rest first. Then I could continue later."

Will lay on the sand, feeling the rough yet oddly soft texture beneath him. The warmth of the sand contrasted with the cold breeze brushing over his skin, creating a strange, fleeting sense of comfort. It wasn't much, but in his exhausted state, it was enough. His body, aching and worn, seemed to sink deeper into the ground, finally finding a moment of peace. He welcomed the feeling, his groggy eyes fluttering shut as the weight of his exhaustion overcame him. Within moments, he slipped into sleep, the desolate world around him fading away, leaving him in the embrace of a much-needed rest.

…

Will sat at the table, his mother and father seated across from him. The warmth of their home enveloped him as they shared a simple dinner, the sound of clinking cutlery mingling with light conversation. Will recounted his day at school, animatedly talking about the antics of his three friends and the latest responsibilities he had as part of the student council. Tomorrow, there was an event to set up, and he was already thinking of how to organize everything.

His father, ever the jokester, peppered their meal with lighthearted comments about the country's politics, poking fun at the questionable economic decisions made by politicians and the absurdities often seen in the media. Will chuckled, but his mother would always chime in with her calm, level-headed feedback, pointing out how certain topics weren't always a laughing matter.

His father sighed in mock defeat, he laughed awkwardly, "You're right, dear," he admitted, shaking his head with a smile.

Will's mother giggled softly, towards his father. She then looked at Will, reaching over to pat his back. "I know you're doing your best out there," she said, her voice soft and comforting. "Just don't get yourself into trouble, okay?" She leaned in and kissed his forehead, a simple gesture of love that made Will feel secure.

And then, just like that, everything went dark. Will's vision narrowed, the warmth of the room shrinking away, until it was nothing.

….

Slowly, he opened his eyes, the familiar coldness of the sand greeting him. He was back in the desolate world. The night sky loomed overhead, and everything around him was eerily calm. For a moment, he just lay there, staring up at the clouds drifting lazily, obscuring the moon yet still allowing its faint glow to seep through.

Will frowned, a thought gnawing at him. Maybe that's the core, he wondered, staring at the blocked moon. Pushing himself off the sand, he muttered, "Let's see if that force field is still up."

His stomach growled.

With a wave of his hand, he summoned the Proudful Griffin. The majestic creature materialized, and with a command, it ascended toward the moon. Will had to be careful this time. They couldn't afford to rush like before—they had been lucky then. As they climbed higher, the air grew heavier, the wind howling with increasing intensity. He summoned Plagued Ravager, his battle axe, gripping its cold handle tightly.

The wind battered them relentlessly, each gust stronger than the last. Will could feel the pressure mounting, forcing the Griffin to fight against it just to stay aloft. He held onto its back, knuckles turning white from the strain, as they slowly ascended through the thickening air. The higher they climbed, the more difficult it became. The wind wasn't natural—it was trapping them, concentrating around them like a cage.

The Griffin flapped its wings desperately, instinctively knowing that any sudden movement could spell disaster.

Will gritted his teeth, realizing something wasn't right. An anomaly. They were being deliberately held in place.

"Come out!" Will shouted into the void, his voice carried away by the wind. "I know you're out there. You kept me waiting long enough!" His voice didn't waver; he couldn't afford to show weakness. "If you think I'm bluffing, I know enough to say that a core can't exist without a guardian. So show yourself!"

"Be quiet, you have got to keep that puti

A figure emerged from the moon's shadow, stepping into the moon's dim light. Will's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight. The figure—it was familiar, painfully so. He knew that face, the it presents itself.

It was him.

But distorted, twisted somehow, as if his reflection had been stretched into something grotesque.

If he could describe it, he was a fatter version of him.

Disgust churned in Will's gut. "That's one hell of a way to trigger someone," he muttered, gripping Plagued Ravager tighter.

The figure smirked, bowing slightly. "Good day," it said, its voice smooth, unsettling. "You may call me Gluttony. Have I made you hungry enough?" It smiled wider, a dark, sinister grin.

"So, the previous place I just cleared... that was your brother, Sloth, wasn't it?" Will asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

The figure cocked its head, amusement flickering in its eyes. "What makes you say that?" it asked, the tone casual but mocking.

Will shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't show up because he was too lazy? I guess."

The figure grinned, clapping slowly, its hands making a dull, unimpressed sound. "Wow, what a great guess. Am I supposed to be impressed by that answer?"

Will said nothing, keeping his grip firm on Plagued Ravager. His silence seemed to irk the figure more than any retort would have.

"Oh, why so silent now?" the figure teased, its voice dripping with mockery. "Are you preserving your energy for a fight?" It laughed, a hollow, unsettling sound. "Why would I fight you, silly? Have you seen my shape?" It gestured at its distorted form. "I'm not here for a fight."

With a flick of its wrist, a cup of milk tea appeared in its hand. The figure took a long, exaggerated sip, savoring the drink while eyeing Will with thinly veiled amusement. "Hmmm, delicious. You haven't eaten in days, have you? Aren't you glad it wasn't me keeping you from food?"

Will's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his axe even more. His hunger gnawed at him, but he refused to give in to the figure's taunting.

"Now, where was I?" the figure mused, stepping forward nonchalantly. It glided effortlessly through the air, spiraling as it moved, its body twisting unnaturally.

The grotesque figure started waving his hands, into a circular motion. Its body moved along with it.

A gust of wind surrounded the Griffith and along with Will in it. It felt like an invisible prison sphere.

The winds felt razor sharp, enough to cut Will into shreds.

"Ah, yes. You need to get out of that unscathed."

"You're fucking kidding me…?" Will's expression dropped, his anger became baffled.

"And don't worry," the figure added with a smirk, "you have no time limit. So take your time. I'll be... watching." With that, the figure vanished, dissolving into thin air, leaving nothing but the faint scent of tea and the strong gust of winds hum circulating around him.