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There was a time when I was whole. A time when I bore the weight of an unyielding purpose and the certainty of who I was. But wholeness is a fragile thing—easily fractured, easily stolen. My name is V, though names are of little consequence now. I am the shadow that remains when the light is stripped away.
When he—no, when I—chose to sever my humanity from my power, I believed it would be liberation. The monster and the man divided, each free to pursue their truth. But the truth has teeth, and it devours. What remained of me was a brittle shell, too weak to stand alone, yet in the cracks, clarity seeped through. Without the weight of power, I saw the world not as it was, but as it might become.
Humanity revels in its virtues, a fleeting mask for its deeper flaws. It calls itself noble, but I see the truth: creatures of frailty, destruction, and selfish desire. The demon within me sought conquest, the man sought control, but I—the shadow—sought something else entirely.
I woke in the ruins of Red Grave City, trembling, hollow, and raw. Pain lingered in every breath, every step, as if the act of my creation had left a scar too deep to heal. My legs, frail as a newborn’s, faltered beneath me, and I crumpled into the ash-strewn earth. Above me, the sky stretched in endless, indifferent gray, and the jagged bones of the city loomed like a mausoleum.
My breath caught. For all the agony that coursed through me, there was a strange, bitter peace. The man I once was—Vergil—had relinquished his claim to balance, leaving behind two fractured halves. In that moment, I wondered: did this emptiness define me, or would I define it?
“Would ya look at that?” a grating voice pierced the stillness. Griffon swooped low, landing beside me in a scatter of ash. “The boss really did it this time. And what’s left? A poetry-spoutin’ twig who can’t even stand. Brilliant.”
I didn’t respond. Words felt cumbersome, foreign. Shadow slithered closer, her form flickering between solidity and smoke. She pressed against me, her presence grounding me even as it whispered of darker things. I stared at my hands, trembling against the dirt, and finally spoke.
“Balance is a lie.” My voice sounded distant, as if spoken by someone else.
Griffon tilted his head. “Oh, this’ll be good. We’ve got ourselves a philosopher. Next, you’ll be tellin’ me demons need hugs and humans are the real problem.”
I pushed myself upright, swaying but unbroken. “Humans and demons... both are parasites. They devour until nothing remains. But perhaps... perhaps there’s another way.”
The words felt alien, heavy with meaning I had yet to fully grasp. Griffon opened his beak, another quip ready, but Shadow growled low, silencing him. Even Nightmare, looming at the edges of my awareness, seemed to stir with recognition.
The Qliphoth loomed in the distance, its roots sprawling like veins across the broken land. It was a monument to my failure, yet something within its grotesque form called to me. I rose on shaking legs, gripping my cane for support, and took a faltering step toward it.
Griffon fluttered to my shoulder, his claws digging in. “What’s the plan, boss? Gonna fix all this with bad poetry and big ideas?”
I ignored him, my steps gaining strength. The city stretched before me—a graveyard of twisted steel and scorched earth. My mind churned, fragments of thought knitting into something coherent. The man I had been craved strength. The demon I became craved dominion. But I... I sought a world unshackled by chaos, free from the burden of choice.
“A cure,” I whispered to no one in particular.
Griffon’s feathers ruffled. “You’re startin’ to creep me out, mate.”
I didn’t respond. The weight of my realization pressed against my chest like iron, heavy but not unwelcome. Strength is fleeting, dominion breeds rebellion, and chaos thrives in the absence of order. But if chaos could be silenced... if every life held purpose, and every death meaning... what then?
At the edge of the city, I paused. The wind howled through the ruins, a low lament for what had been. My cane struck the ground in a measured rhythm, its echoes filling the silence.
“You sure about this?” Griffon asked, his usual bravado replaced by something quieter. “Playing some kind of bad guy ain’t exactly a picnic.”
I allowed myself a small smile—cold, hollow, and fleeting. “Every story needs an ending.”
The path ahead was dark, but I had made my choice. I would not be the man. I would not be the demon.
I would be the shadow.