The Shadowlands - by Shawn Carman

The Crab stood on guard at the Wall, oblivious to the world that lay hidden just beyond their reach. They wreathed themselves in stone and steel and depended upon the immaterial qualities they valued: courage, strength, honor, to protect themselves from powers they hated but could never understand. Under different circumstances, Shokansuru might pity them. The oni summoner walked among the Crab, his presence masked from their perception by the demon that writhed around his shoulders like a serpent. It was a small demon, its essence focused utterly on stealth and concealment. Its power, focused so precisely, would mask him from even the Crab’s most powerful wards, but at the cost of the beast’s life. It would begin to wane and die in a matter of hours, its soul tormented ruthlessly in the process before it was finally sent shrieking back to the depths of Jigoku.

It mattered little. It was a beast of burden, nothing more. An animal. Not like the vast intellects that could be found deep within the Realm of Evil. Not like Shokansuru’s true lord. The demon lord had shared its power with Shokansuru centuries ago, and he wielded that power like an artist, sculpting the most exquisite masterpieces of corruption, such as the little bauble of a creature that he wore now. It would serve his purpose well enough: it would allow him to reach the gates of Kyuden Hida.

The home of the Crab lords was truly massive. Even Shokansuru’s greatest creations would have difficulty destroying such an edifice, but destroy it they would, one day. It was a stark and dreary place, a dead castle with no soul or beauty – a castle built upon blind hatred and ignorance. From atop the castle gates, a massive horned skull gazed down at Shokansuru with empty eyes.

“Lord Nikoma no Oni,” he whispered. “Greatest of the Oni Lords. Return now to this mortal realm and consume our enemies.”

Shokansuru drew a shard of obsidian from his robes and used it to slice open his palm. He whispered words of power, ancient words that the demon lords had taught him while he honed his art within the Forgotten Tomb of Fu Leng. His blood began to sizzle and boil where it touched the stone. Shokansuru held his hand open, the drops of blood wrapping about the stone, twisting and writhing as if suddenly alive. When he could contain the power no longer, the demon summoner released the stone from his hold. It shot through the air faster than any arrow and shattered against the Maw’s great skull, sending a tiny shower of black crystals all around it. Where the stone struck the bone, a tiny crack appeared.

It was a little thing, but that was how such things always began.

Shokansuru smiled. From that tiny seed, the destruction of all mankind would grow. And not simply the Crab, but all humans, including the deluded fools who followed Daigotsu in the Shadowlands. The human portion of his soul had long since washed away. Now, only the demon remained. Soon, the City of the Lost would be washed away as well.

Shokansuru’s pale, bitter face twisted into a smile at the thought. He fell to his knees as his strength faded, as his life drained from his body. He could feel his life, his essence, his magic, all that he had once been now faded away to fuel the Maw’s growing power. This was the purpose of his existence, his destiny, to restore his master to this world. The loss of his life was nothing – if anything it was a relief.

And let the mortals tremble at the Maw’s return.

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