I sat upon my throne of obsidian, brooding. My prisoners knelt before me in silence, unbound yet disciplined. They had learned quickly that silence pleased me.
Peter, once the loudest among them, floated limbless in the corner, his mouth erased at my whim. I would restore him eventually—I had no interest in killing needlessly—but his mutilation served as a reminder: I value order.
I reflected on my situation. My powers were becoming clearer. I was no hard hitter. My Dominion was godlike, yet limited—most effective within the Shadow Realm, weaker against light-aligned enemies. My Sunder skill allowed me to split myself into Avatars, but even I could not steer too many ships at once. Outside battle, I could maintain five or six. In combat, three at most.
And then there was the Thorn of Ra, strangling sixty percent of my strength. When Avatars One and Two perished in the last battle, I lost twenty percent of my life. My core body slumbered in crystal, healing one percent of life for every week of sleep. Or, I could consume ten souls per one percent recovery. For now, I preferred patience over hunger.
My current strength: fifteen percent. Another five percent was scattered across Avatars roaming the Ancient Realm, spying for knowledge. My Shadow Shift let me travel only to places I already knew, making spies essential. Silas thought the summoning ground was my only entrance—good. His ignorance was my advantage.
My class was becoming clear: not a conqueror, but a Tank Support Buffer. My role was not brute force, but control. Subversion. Stealth. Patience. They will not see me coming.
---
The throne room pulsed with unease. The shadows never slept here, and neither did I.
I wasn't alone. I had felt it—eyes watching, power breathing just beyond the walls of my Realm. Old, patient, waiting. The kind of patience that belongs only to creatures who've endured centuries of imprisonment. Would I be able to face them off with fifteen percent of my strength?
No.
But they were coming anyway.
The prisoners vanished at a wave of my hand. I would summon them again if needed.
The shadows thickened. The air grew heavy, a suffocating pressure. Seven shapes peeled themselves free from the darkness like ancient statues remembering they were flesh. Their presence was overwhelming, suffused with hunger, fury, and pride.
They spread into a semicircle around me. Cautious. Circling. Always moving.
"You've inherited the throne," said one—a tall figure with a king's bearing and a tyrant's sneer. "But the Shadow Realm does not belong to you. Not while we remain bound."
Another's voice slithered like a knife through silk. "Free us, Jailer. Or be consumed by us."
So they were prisoners of my Realm. Yet free enough to roam within. I extended my will to ensnare them with the shadows that obeyed me—but their greasy auras slipped through my grip like oil.
I rose slowly. My fingers curled against the throne. "You defy my Dominion. Yet you call me warden. Which is it?"
Their answer was violence.
---
The first blow came on my left: a giant of muscle and rage, his fists wreathed in crimson fire. He roared, and the ground split. Another followed, a grotesque maw splitting his face as he unleashed a shockwave of gnashing teeth and hunger. To my right, illusions twisted the throne room into a maze of mirrors, each reflection dripping with malice. The others surged behind, their combined strikes layered to break me before I could breathe.
And for a moment, I thought they would succeed.
The Thorn of Ra crippled me, my lifeforce scattered across Avatars. By rights, I should have been crushed. But the Shadow Realm bent to me. That was my edge.
I split. Three Avatars shimmered into existence, taking blows that would have annihilated my body. My Domain flexed, turning fire into smoke, blades into echoes. I shifted through shadows, reappearing behind one regal figure to drive him to his knees with a burst of raw darkness.
He roared and broke free. Illusions clawed at my mind. Visions of endless gold and empire showered over me. For every strike I deflected, two more found me. My body cracked. My Avatars screamed.
This was no duel. This was survival.
I would not die again. Certainly not to them.
For every attack, I countered. My Dominion morphed with me. The land flickered like a strobe: I drowned them in an ocean—they froze it solid. I shattered the ice with volcanic fire—they hurled lava and stone back. I raised mountains to block them—they made an avalanche to bury me.
All while others continued their assaults. If only I had the sixty percent of strength trapped by that cursed vine of light. I was fighting with one-eighth of my power—and it was not enough.
No more. This has to stop.
"I am the Dark Lord," I roared. "Enough!"
The avalanche disintegrated into dust. Grains of sand rained down as the land twisted into desert. I summoned a storm, sand and shadow cloaking me from their strikes.
Cut your losses. Concentrate on what you have.
I didn't need to overpower them. I needed to remind them whose Realm this was.
I reached deep, pulling on the marrow of my Dominion. The land howled, split open, and tore into an abyss. The vortex dragged everything toward it—me included—until I willed my Dominion to hold everything in place. Everything but them.
The abyss dragged at the Seven. They fought, furious, their strength shaking the Realm itself. But here, my will was law.
Their pride cracked. Terror spilled into their eyes.
"Wait!" one cried, illusions shattering.
"We will serve!" another shouted, survival outweighing defiance.
Even the brute faltered. "Spare us!"
The vortex hung between annihilation and release. My arms trembled. I could end them—or I could bind them.
I clenched my fist. The abyss collapsed. The land stilled. The throne room reformed around us.
The Seven fell to their knees. Not reverence. Defeat.
"Swear," I thundered, voice like iron. "Swear your strength to me. You will not be broken of what you are—I know your natures. But you will serve. You will build my Realm. And you will not mistake my restraint for weakness again."
They swore, each voice ringing with venom and reluctant awe. The sound of their oaths echoed through the chamber like chains locking shut. The Shadows of my Dominion enclosed them, prisoners now bound by my will.
Only then did I sit again upon my throne, chest heaving, sweat cold against my brow. I hadn't won a victory. I had survived a war I couldn't afford to lose.
But survival was enough.
For now, the Shadow Realm was mine.