Paralyzed Demon - Shadow Slave

Morning had come. Morpheus, who had been moving nonstop all night, immediately set to work setting up his camp. He lit his fire and sat beside it. Exhausted, he passed out.

A few hours later, he opened his eyes to find his hand resting in the fire. He quickly pulled it back, but there was neither pain nor burn. The ice covering his glove had slightly melted, leaving only a bit of dampness. This realization dragged him into even deeper despair. He would have to endure the cold a while longer.

He opened his backpack and took out his food. Skewering a small piece of meat on a stick, he began roasting it over the fire. Meanwhile, his thoughts tormented him.

When entering the Nightmare, the voice had intended to call him "Aspirant." But then… then it had spoken his name. He had never heard such a thing before. And there had been excitement in that voice. That was strange—far too strange.

But now was not the time to dwell on it. There were bigger matters to resolve.

He looked at his Aspect again.

Aspect Information

Name: MorpheusTrue Name: —Rank: AspirantSoul Core: DormantMemories: —Echoes: —

Attributes:[Fated][Mark of Divinity][Edge of the Blade]

Attribute Descriptions:

[Fated]: "You were drawn into this nightmare by fate. Fate takes a special interest in you."

[Mark of Divinity]: "A supreme god marked you. This happened so long ago that no one remembers."

[Edge of the Blade]: "You were made to cut."

A chill ran down Morpheus' spine.

Fated and Mark of Divinity... these were dangerous things. He questioned what kind of trouble he had fallen into.

"I shouldn't have entered the Nightmare," he muttered. "I can already defeat Awakened creatures. I should have just followed my own path."

But Edge of the Blade… That didn't surprise him. It was something he had expected. However, the fact that all of his traits were tied to such great things unsettled him.

He ate his meal and set out again. Along the way, he encountered a few lone creatures—wolves like before and some bear-like monsters. Since they were few in number, he dispatched them easily. He gathered soul fragments, but unfortunately, he had not obtained a single Memory.

He kept moving.

This cycle lasted for two months.

-

Morpheus was tired.

Tired of monster meat, of walking, of running… But most of all, tired of the cold and loneliness.

He looked up at the sky and shouted in frustration:

"When the fuck is this winter going to end?! This place didn't look that big from afar!"

He was covered in blood. Around him lay the corpses of beasts—wolves, bears… And beneath his feet, a creature similar to the demon he had seen on the first day.

One hour earlier:

They had attacked his camp this time.

Fortunately, the pack wasn't as large as the one from the first day. And now, Morpheus carried Memories. He had grown stronger.

He had even found a sword in recent weeks—a blade that froze whatever it cut. So far, it had served him well.

Until he faced the demon.

Its strength didn't matter.

All he wanted was to kill it.

He would unleash all his rage, loneliness, and exhaustion on that bastard.

With a savage swing of his blade, he lunged at the black wolf.

One thought filled his mind:

"I will cut you down."

The wolf charged toward Morpheus, its mouth opening wide—it would tear him apart with his own nightmares.

But Morpheus didn't stop.

If anyone who knew him had been there, they would have been horrified by what they saw.

Morpheus, who always fought with grace and precision, was now fighting like a complete savage.

And that grin on his face…

It brought him closer to the his title.

A little closer, and the wolf would devour him whole.

But he didn't care.

He would win.

As the wolf reached him, its jaws snapped shut, aiming for his head.

Time froze for Morpheus.

"Die."

He swung his sword downward.

The wolf swallowed Morpheus whole.

And then…

Something strange happened.

The wolf split in two.

Morpheus emerged from the middle, completely unharmed.

He was drenched in blood, panting. The sword in his hand was breaking apart.

"A breakthrough."

That sensation—time freezing in the midst of battle—was something new to him.

And in that moment, he realized true growth happened within battle itself.

As he looked at the blood covering him, the excitement of his breakthrough quickly turned into a deep sense of depression.

His only protection against the cold was now soaked. He was going to freeze to death.

Yet, he didn't feel the cold.

On the contrary, the air was warming.

He looked ahead and saw that the snow was melting.

Spring had arrived.

After two months, he had finally reached Spring.