studiobondurri Chapter 773: In The Belly Of The Shadow
Chapter 773: In The Belly Of The Shadow
Chapter 773: In The Belly Of The Shadow
The first thing Northern noticed was silence.
No winds. No screams. No sound of battle.
The outside world, once shrouded in the cacophony of clashing steel and the guttural roars of monsters and men alike, had been swallowed-suffocated by walls of shadow.
Northern slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping across the scene with cautious scrutiny.
The ground-if it could even be called that was a vast, reflective sea, its solid surface mirroring the endless abyss of swirling shadows. Mist coiled and drifted above it like sentient night, creeping with a slow, deliberate motion, as though it bore the weight of ancient knowledge.
It was calm. Almost too calm.
The mist exuded an eldritch grace, an eerie stillness that felt less like stagnation and more like quiet sentience. It was the kind of silence that belonged to something that had endured eons, tempered by time itself—a shadowed existence untouched by mortal comprehension. But Northern was not fooled.
This was no sacred body, no ancient relic to be revered.
This was a monster.
An Apex Maelstrom.
A thing that had survived for the stars knew how long, consuming men and monsters alike, growing fat on the essence of those swallowed within its depths.
'Perhaps this is how it lures them in,' he mused grimly. 'A silent, open calmness that promises sanctuary. A slow, insidious creep into the mind, wrapping around the soul like a whispering phantom before dragging its victims into the nothingness and taking over their soul.'
A shudder rippled through him. He scanned his surroundings again, but this time, his Chaos Eyes flared to life.
The world shifted.
Beyond the veiled surface, beyond the illusion of emptiness, the truth unraveled in fragments of runic ligatures.
They were unlike anything he had encountered before-alien in their formation yet eerily familiar in their fundamental essence.
Northern had seen soul ligatures countless times. He had peered into the very fabric of monster souls, their essence laid bare before him in the form of ancient runes deciphered by the system. The patterns, the alignments-subtle yet distinct-had become second nature to him.
It was the same when he looked into the souls of Drifters or even ordinary humans. Over time, he had learned to recognize the nuances, the disparities that made each ligature unique.
And that was why, in this moment, he knew-
This wasn't merely the belly of the Shadow Storm.
This was its soul.
And maybe... just maybe...
The Shadow Storm had never possessed a physical body to begin with.
A slow, uneasy breath escaped him.
'A mass of soul... with no flesh to bind it? Or have the bodies of the devoured become its vessel?'
The uncanny coordination it had displayed earlier suddenly made sense.
So did its ferocious desperation to swallow him whole.
Surely, a being like Northern would make for a fitting vessel.
A shiver crawled up his spine at the thought. The idea of being consumed his body controlled by something monstrous, his soul bound in servitude to a formless wraith-was sickening.
the mist as easily as he would through mundane shadows. And in that ease, a realization
settled in his mind.
The Shadow Enthrall was not simply a monster of shadow.
It was a shadow.
If it were anything less, anything other than a true shadow-being, using its essence as a medium of transport should have been impossible. But it wasn't. It worked flawlessly. That discovery changed nothing. The bastard still refused to die.
As Northern weaved through the ceaseless assault, dodging, sidestepping, vanishing and
reappearing, his mind kept racing.
'Think. Think.'
Actually, a single notion had been lingering in his mind all this time.
A solution... A risk.
'No... not that. Let's not do that now...'
He clenched his jaw, suppressing the thought, forcing it down.
It was dangerous. Too unpredictable. He had been suppressing the thought, pushing it aside,
telling himself there had to be another way.
He kept pushing forward, weaving through the relentless tide of wraiths. Dodging. Shadow- stepping. Evading with every ounce of precision he had.
But he knew.
Sooner or later, it wouldn't be enough.
The shadows were learning. Their numbers were growing. Their strikes were closing in,
adapting to his every move.
And when the moment came-when slipping past them became impossible-
He would have no choice.
Because what he was dreading-the very thing he was resisting-
The Shadow Enthrall would force upon him eventually.
It was only a matter of time.
The wraiths were closing in, their movements tightening like a web, an inescapable snare.
Every moment he delayed, every second he hesitated, only served to make his inevitable
capture more certain.
So it came down to a decision.
Submit now-willingly. On his terms.
Or be taken by force when there was no choice left.