And within that darkness—memory.
Shadow stood alone, drenched in blood beneath a shattered sky, his claws soaked in the essence of those who dared harm his world. The screams of the Night Wanderers echoed in the void as he carved through them without mercy.
They had broken his laws.
They had harmed the innocent beings he created.
And for that, they would be erased.
His rage knew no balance, no pause. One by one, he ripped them apart—cities burned, temples shattered, their godless whispers silenced.
The King of the Night Wanderers, desperate and trembling, did the unthinkable.
He went to the Creator.
“Please... he’s wiping us from existence,” the king pleaded. “We’ll go extinct. Intervene. We beg you.”
The Creator, who seldom took sides, looked down upon the chaos and frowned.
“If you vanish, the fabric of the universe will falter. Your extinction will disrupt balance... very well. I will speak with him.”
The Creator descended to Freya, though what he found was only ashes and scars. The Night Wanderers were nearly all gone. Mountains of their bones littered the black fields.
And in the center of it all stood Shadow, unmoved, eyes aflame.
The Creator approached. “Shadow. This must end.”
Shadow didn’t answer.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Your rage has nearly erased a race. You risk tipping the scales of the cosmos.”
Still silent.
The Creator stepped closer. “Even your world, Freya, will suffer if balance is broken.”
That got through.
Shadow turned his head, and after a long silence, he relented.
“Then I stop. But if they ever cross my line again... the balance you speak of will not matter.”
The Creator said nothing.
He remembered all too well.
He remembered the day Shadow had tortured a being—over and over—for answers about his father’s murder. The being had cried, screamed, begged—but Shadow never stopped.
He didn’t kill out of rage.
He broke his enemies slowly—methodically—until nothing remained but regret and pain.
“Warn them,” the Creator had said to the king. “If you provoke him again... even I may not stop what comes.”
Blood.
Steel.
Agony.
Shadow stood over the crumpled, twitching bodies of Adi and Hugo, their divine forms torn and mutilated. His werewolf form gleamed, soaked in black ichor. Their screams were no longer defiant—but desperate.
“You hurt her,” Shadow growled, voice warped with grief. “Now you suffer.”
Every cut he delivered was deliberate. Measured. Relentless.
Varn watched in stunned silence, unable to believe what he was seeing.
Shadow—once controlled, calculating—was now an avatar of pure devastation.
“Shadow, stop,” Varn said, his voice trembling. “She needs you. Right now. Not... this.”
The cries of the twins echoed like a cursed hymn. And far behind the carnage, Sasha, barely alive, opened her eyes.
She saw him.
The god she loved.
Torn in pain, unhinged by grief.
She smiled faintly.
Even if it’s not what I wanted to see... I know why he’s like this.
He still loves me. That’s enough.
Her voice, broken but soft, whispered, “Shadow…”
He stopped.
He turned.
And in an instant, he was beside her, falling to his knees, clutching her hand.
“No. No, please—Sasha, don’t go. Not again. We just found each other. I can’t lose you…”
Tears ran down his face—tears a god was never meant to shed.
She reached up with what little strength remained and gently touched his cheek.
“Thank you... for being here.”
Shadow sobbed. “Don’t leave me.”
Sasha smiled and pulled him into a soft, trembling kiss—their first and last.
“I’ll always be with you,” she whispered. “In every shadow… there’s always light.”
And then, her glow faded.
Her hand slipped from his.
The goddess of the void’s light flickered out.
Shadow collapsed over her, a soundless cry pouring from his throat.
To be continued.....