The Shadow Market had no official name. No signs, no guards, no registry. Only those attuned to the whispers of the void, or the scent of forbidden power, could find it. And Voryn had been following both.
He stepped through an alleyway, shadows folding and twisting around his feet, concealing his movements. The faint echo of footsteps behind him betrayed nothing; if someone followed, Voryn would know within heartbeats.
Every market has its rules. Most don't survive the first misstep.
Arrival and Observation
The market sprawled in the depths of an abandoned warehouse district, where rusted beams and broken windows barely contained the stalls that glimmered with an unnatural light. Each vendor dealt in forbidden awakenings, illegal contracts, and artifacts drenched in ancient curses.
Voryn's eyes swept across the scene. There was a merchant selling vials of essence harvested from Stage 3 awakened, another displaying shadow blades that hummed when touched, and a third who had a cage containing a living fragment of some void-creature.
Pathetic theatrics, he thought, smirking. All are trying too hard to look dangerous.
Shadows flickered around him, coiling like serpents, as if laughing at the incompetence of the petty vendors.
Voryn moved deliberately, every step calculated. He was not here to purchase trinkets; he was here to gather intelligence, test the morality of survival, and acquire what would give him an edge in the coming Stage 4 trials.
The Merchant of Interest
His attention landed on a frail, hunched figure in the corner, draped in tattered robes that shimmered faintly with a protective sigil. The man's eyes were sharp, calculating a mirror of Voryn's own.
"Looking for something special, shadow-boy?" the merchant rasped, a faint smile twisting his lips.
Voryn's lips quirked. "Information. And a little power, for the right price."
The merchant leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Power isn't free. And the right price… is usually something you don't want to pay."
Voryn raised a brow, letting the shadow wrap around his hands subtly. "I've paid enough already. How much more?"
The man chuckled softly, eyes glinting. "Depends on how much of yourself you're willing to sacrifice. Sometimes… It's memories. Sometimes… blood. And sometimes… morality."
Negotiation and Acquisition
Voryn spent hours in negotiation, carefully weighing the cost of each item and piece of forbidden knowledge. He acquired:
A Shadow Sigil of Concealment, capable of masking both presence and intent.Runed Vials, allowing temporary amplification of awakening powers at severe cost.Maps of Hidden Guild Movements, scribbled in codes only a tactical mind could decipher.
A subtle drain of his life-force accompanied every acquisition, the Black Oath reminding him that power exacted payment, always.
Every choice carries weight, Voryn mused. Every advantage comes with its shadow.
Morality vs Survival
Voryn noticed other patrons, less careful, trading innocents' shadows for momentary advantage. Some left empty-handed, mutilated by curses they had failed to anticipate.
Survival isn't about innocence, he thought. It's about foresight. Execution. Precision.
His eyes caught a vendor displaying vials labeled with human blood and runes of subjugation. A child, unconscious but alive, trapped within the essence. Voryn's shadow hissed, almost urging him to intervene.
He paused. Interference carries risk… but profit and morality are different currencies.
With precise control, he created a subtle distraction. A shadow of himself moved toward the cage, not touching it, just enough to test reactions. Several minor criminals jumped, thinking he was interfering, and chaos erupted briefly in the market.
Voryn used the moment to acquire a single vial and retreat into the alley. Minimal risk, maximum gain.
Calculated morality, he whispered. And yet… it leaves a taste of ash in the mouth.
Dark Humor Amid Tension
As he walked the empty alley, shadows wrapped around him protectively. He allowed himself a small chuckle.
Merchants plotting assassination, fools bartering with stolen souls… and I get to walk away with exactly what I want.
The Black Oath whispered faintly, teasing him: Your humor won't save you when Stage 5 comes.
Voryn ignored it. For now. Humor was a weapon of the mind, as lethal as shadows when wielded correctly.
The Unexpected Assassin
Then, a sharp snap echoed through the alley. A figure dropped from above, landing silently behind the merchant. Its weapon gleamed faintly under the warehouse lights, a dagger etched with void-runes, humming with lethal intent.
Voryn's senses flared. Shadows leapt forward, curling around the merchant in a protective wave.
The assassin struck. The merchant's eyes widened, then he collapsed, silent. Not a scream. Not a warning. Just gone.
Voryn froze. Calculation raced in his mind. Who? How? And why now?
The shadows hissed and twisted, seeking, probing, attempting to track the killer. But the figure had vanished as silently as it appeared.
Rising Stakes
Voryn's jaw tightened. This was no random act of violence. The assassin was trained, precise, and clearly aware of the Black Oath's influence. Someone was watching, testing him.
Stage 5, he thought. Or someone aligned with it.
He allowed the shadows to sweep the market, combing for clues. Broken vials, faint tracks of runes, and the lingering scent of death were all he found.
The city around the market felt heavier, darker, as if the act itself had drawn the attention of powers beyond his understanding.
Strategic Retreat
He moved swiftly, silent, shadows absorbing sound and light. His mind worked on multiple layers simultaneously:
Analysis of the assassin's technique.Potential connections to the Guild and Stage 5 watchers.The optimal use of acquired artifacts without triggering irreversible consequences.
Every step calculated, every breath measured.
Yet beneath the precision, a small part of him, the human part, tensed. Someone out there is stronger than the chaos I can control… and they're learning.
Voryn paused atop a rooftop, overlooking the market. Shadows flared, restless. Then he noticed it:
Above the shattered warehouse skylight, a massive silhouette emerged, impossibly tall, movements deliberate, deliberate enough to suggest intelligence beyond Stage 4.
The creature or person was watching him. And it wasn't hiding.
A whisper filled his mind, not from the Oath, not from any shadow:
"So, the shadow child plays with forbidden toys… interesting. Let us see how you survive the next lesson."
Voryn's shadow surged violently, sensing the power of this observer.
And in that moment, Voryn understood fully: The Shadow Market had been a test. The Stage 5 threat was no longer distant.
And now… it begins.