Every Lord Monster was of the Fallen Rank, though their Tier varied. If we possessed a Lord Shard, it meant we had successfully slain one before.
"In the Catacombs, that old pile of bones down there dropped it. Was a complete bitch to kill, but we got lucky with the compatibility and managed to eke out a victory" I smoothly twisted the narrative to make it sound harder than it was-it was difficult yes, but in the way a battle of attrition was: a slog but not life-threatening.
"Wait, so we have half the Shards in the Forgotten Shore gathered in one place?" Effie raised her voice in surprise before lowering it. "Holy hell, I can see why Seishan placed her hopes on you. We might actually have a chance here."
Whether she was referring to killing the Black Knight or escaping the Forgotten Shore, I couldn't tell, and I didn't ask. Instead, I turned towards Sasrir. "Are you ready?"
He patted me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not that treacherous bastard-I won't lose in a battle of shadows."
Under the confused gazes of the other three, not knowing who Sasrir was talking about, he turned into shadows and slunk towards the cathedral. "Come on, we need to blitz it as soon as Sasrir captures its' attention."
For a long moment, there was only silence from within the cavernous hall. Then, a furious, metallic shriek tore through the night, a sound of pure rage that could only mean Sasrir had succeeded. The oppressive darkness inside the cathedral seemed to writhe and convulse.
"Now!" Gemma roared.
We burst into the grand hall. The scene was one of chaotic motion. The Black Knight was a towering obsidian figure, its form flickering at the edges as it drew the tangible darkness of the room around itself like a cloak. It was fast, unnaturally so, a blur of sharp edges and brutal force. But Sasrir was its equal in the shadows. He wasn't fighting it directly; he was unmaking its advantage. Wherever the Knight tried to merge with the darkness to reposition or heal, Sasrir's own shadows were there, contesting the territory, turning the Knight's sanctuary into a battleground.
Gemma didn't hesitate. With a guttural yell, he charged directly at the Knight, his sword swinging in a devastating arc. The Knight met the charge, its own blade a blur of darkness. The two weapons clashed with a deafening clang, but the Knight was faster. It twisted, and its blade sliced deep into Gemma's side, shearing through armor and flesh, revealing a flash of white bone.
Gemma grunted but didn't falter. As he disengaged, we all watched in stunned silence as the horrific wound began to seal itself. Muscle fibers writhed like worms, knitting back together. Skin stretched and smoothed over, leaving only a faint pink line that faded to nothing in seconds. It wasn't just healing; it was a grotesque, rapid regeneration. He shook off the injury, his physique seeming to swell slightly, the near-death experience pushing his body to repair itself stronger. "Is that all you've got?" he taunted, spitting a glob of blood onto the stone floor.
The Knight, enraged by its failed kill-shot, focused entirely on Gemma, becoming a whirlwind of slicing darkness. Gemma became our unbreakable anchor, a regenerating punching bag. He took blows that would have bisected a normal man—a deep gouge across his chest, a slash that nearly severed his shoulder. Each time, he staggered back, his body audibly cracking and sizzling as it repaired the catastrophic damage, each recovery leaving him a fraction more resilient, his movements growing more brutally efficient as his body adapted to the punishment.
Seeing Gemma fully occupy the Knight's attention, Seishan decided it was time to escalate. A low, inhuman groan escaped her lips. There was a series of sickening pops and cracks. Her body began to change, her limbs elongating, her spine twisting to an impossible angle, making her seem several feet taller. Her smooth grey skin roughened, becoming the texture of rough shark hide. Her eyes rolled back into her skull, revealing a second, horrifying set of pupils—vertical slits surrounded by a sea of blood red. Her jaw unhinged with a wet tear, distending to reveal several rows of needle-like, backwards-curving fangs.
This was no longer Seishan the courtly lieutenant; this was a deep-sea nightmare given form.
Gemma's regeneration finally began to slow as the sheer volume of damage taxed even his incredible power. He took a massive overhead chop from the Knight on the flat of his sword, the force driving him to one knee with a grunt of pain. The Knight, sensing weakness, raised its blade for a final, decisive strike.
But Seishan was already there.
Her elongated, shark-hided form flowed between them with that same unnatural, jerking speed. She didn't try to block the blow head-on. Instead, she swung her beaked war hammer in a precise, upward arc. The narrow, sharp beak of the hammer didn't meet the blade directly; it struck the flat of the dark sword with a deafening clan*, deflecting the killing blow just enough that it slammed into the stone floor beside Gemma, sending shards of rock flying.
The Knight, off-balance from its missed strike, left its chest exposed for a fraction of a second. Seishan didn't waste it. With a guttural hiss that escaped her distended maw, she put the full, twisted strength of her transformed body into a single, vicious swing. The hammer, this time the flat side, connected with the Knight's chestplate. The sound was not of clanging metal, but of a deep, resonant crunch, like a mountain cracking. The obsidian plate didn't shatter, but a massive, web-like dent was punched deep into its torso, causing the Knight to stagger back several steps, a grating, pained rasp escaping its helm.
It was the first real, structural damage we had managed to inflict, a testament to her monstrous strength. She had become a physical powerhouse, intercepting the Knight's assaults and landing a blow that even Gemma's relentless blade-work hadn't achieved. She stood poised for a moment, her red, vertical pupils fixed on her handiwork, a predator assessing a grievous wound, before flowing back to harry the Knight's flank with another swing. She was a versatile and terrifying weapon, seamlessly shifting between roles to exploit every weakness.
Effie was the opportunistic striker. She didn't have Gemma's regeneration or Seishan's monstrous transformation. She had pure, unadulterated battle instinct and strength. She darted in and out of the fray like a wolf, her bronze spear striking with surgical precision. She aimed for the joints, the gaps in the dark armor, the spots Seishan's disruptions had made vulnerable. When the Knight backhanded her, sending her flying into a pillar hard enough to crack the stone, she just shook her head, spat out a tooth, and lunged back into the fight with a feral grin, her resilience as much a part of her as her spear.
And through it all, Sasrir waged his silent war within the shadows. He was the reason the Knight's wounds, inflicted by Gemma's axe and Effie's spear, didn't instantly vanish. He was a territorial predator, constantly challenging the Knight's control over the ambient darkness. When the Knight tried to melt away to heal, Sasrir's shadows would congeal, forcing it back into a solid state. He was the linchpin, the one who turned the Knight's greatest asset into a contested battlefield. Of course, he couldn't entangle with the Black Knight for too long either: bursts of one or two seconds was all he could manage without being at risk of contaminating Corruption.
My job was to wait. I stood protected by the Starlight Cloak, my hands clenched around the Unshadowed Crucifix. I poured my essence into it, feeling the familiar, draining pull as it began to heat up, charging for a single, purifying blast. I watched the brutal ballet, timing my moment.
The fight was a grueling war of attrition. Gemma was a mass of fading scars, his regeneration visibly faltering as his essence ran low. Effie was bleeding from a dozen cuts. Even Seishan's monstrous form was showing strain, her staggering blows becoming less frequent. But the Knight was faring worse. Its form was now riddled with unhealed gashes and punctures, its movements sluggish. Sasrir was winning the shadow war.
But that only seemed to drive it madder with rage.