Shadow Slave novel Chapter 2245

The cursed sword fell down, its inescapable blade shining in the blinding light. Sunny was kneeling in front of Anvil, looking up — his black mask was baring its fangs in a fearsome snarl, but beneath it, he was pale and terrified.

In his eyes, the thin edge of Anvil's sword seemed as vast as the sky, obscuring the whole world. He was gruesomely wounded and weak, his hands trembling, fear consuming his dazed mind.

He could not move, he could not breathe.

There was no escape.

…There was no point in trying to escape, anyway.

He was defeated, and so, all he could do was surrender. He wanted to surrender.

'Ah…'

Had he not struggled enough? Every step he had taken was an arduous struggle. Every battle he had won was a torturous trial. He was tired, terrified, and in pain — just like he had always been.

It had all been so hard, so painful. So lonesome. He was erased from the world and forgotten by everyone...

He was lost.

There was no salvation from Anvil's blade, but the blade itself offered salvation. A sad and somber kind of salvation, but salvation nonetheless — an end to all his pain and all his fear... as well as everything else.

Sunny had no hope left.

'Let's… let's give up, Sunny.'

He looked at the falling sword meekly, ready to accept his end.

And then, he raised his hand and caught the cursed blade, stopping a short distance away from his neck.

Sunny's hand trembled. The sword trembled as well, and as Anvil pushed it down, the steel blade easily cut the onyx gauntlet, mangling the flesh beneath and becoming smeared in blood. The sharp tip drew closer to Sunny's throat, but it still failed to pierce it… for now.

The two of them wrestled for control of the sword. Anvil was pushing it forward with his physical might and Aspect powers, while Sunny fought to hold it in place with all his strength, desperation, and sheer unwillingness to give up.

Giving up…

Sounded wonderful.

But there was one problem — if he gave up,he would not be able to kill Anvil.

And that was not something Sunny was willing to compromise on.

The cursed sword traveled a bit more, and a bit more of its length became painted by Sunny's blood. It was mere centimeters away from his throat now.

'Not good…'

Pale as a ghost, Sunny gritted his teeth behind Weaver's Mask and looked at Anvil with murderous darkness burning in his eyes.

He had not saved himself from death, really — he had merely postponed it, and not by long at that. He was managing to hold the cursed sword back for now, but Anvil would overpower him soon. The smallest of actions would break his concentration and allow the sword to plunge into his neck, as well.

So… what was Sunny supposed to do?

'Think, think…'

He could sense Anvil's shadow. He could feel Anvil's tyrannical will giving shape to his killing intent and empowering the fatal inevitability of his sword.

Summoning death upon Sunny.

The will, the sword — what came first? What was the true weapon? No… was there even a distinction between the two? Or were they inseparable?

Were they one and the same?

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