36"Dark Shadow : The Beginning of the Dominion"
As morning finally crept through the cracks in the window, golden light fell softly on John's body. He awoke with an unusual serenity. His muscles felt light as if they had been washed in spiritual waters. As he stretched, his limbs flowed with renewed grace, and his sonar—sensitive as that of an arcane predator—picked up sounds with crystal clarity. His connection to the elements of water and earth seemed deeper, more harmonious.
— Oni... what happened to me?
The answer came, calm and direct, from the deep sea of the soul, where the presence of the spirit resided like a lucid shadow.
[Your soul is purer because of the pact. The crimson energy flowing through you has purifying properties.]
John nodded, still savoring the lightness.
— So that's it... I understand . Very well.
[And will continue to purify itself over time.]
- That is good?
[Extremely. You will soon discover the advantages of having a purer soul than the average.]
John took a deep breath. This wasn't the time to delve into more theories. He knew they were waiting for him.
— Okay... I'll leave that for later.
After a quick shower—where the water seemed to glide over his skin as if respecting his new nature—he went down to the living room. The familiar aroma of breakfast enveloped him like a living memory. Fernando and Catarina were already waiting for him, sitting side by side at the table.
— Good morning, father... mother .
— Good morning, son — they both replied, in perfect synchrony, with that routine warmth that now seemed more precious than ever.
"How was your night?" Fernando asked , examining his son with attentive eyes.
— It was good... calm .
John sat down. He knew silently that this was his last meal with them before they left. There were no more guests, no more protocols: just the three of them. Breakfast returned to the simplicity of ordinary days—warm bread, aromatic tea, and fresh fruit. Every bite, every sip, carried an almost ceremonial symbolism. None of them said it, but they all knew it.
After the meal, Fernando stood up and walked to a discreet shelf against the wall. He returned carrying something that seemed to weigh more than metal and soul combined.
— Take this.
He tossed John seven black spheres, so dark they seemed to suck up the light around them. John caught them in midair with practiced reflexes and carefully stored them in his storage ring. However, before he could hide them completely, he caught one between his fingers.
As soon as his senses touched the energy contained there, a shiver ran down his spine. It was raw power. A presence so overwhelming that, for an instant, his body froze. The mere glimpse of the hidden force in those spheres was enough for him to understand: if one of those things exploded near him, not even Oni would save him.
He pressed his lips together and put the sphere away without saying a word. Sometimes, silence spoke better.
John held the black spheres as if they had a life of their own. Their weight was not physical, but spiritual. Fernando watched him carefully before finally explaining:
— Do you know what these things are, son?
John looked up, curious.
— No... what are they, father?
— These are spheres that save lives.
— Spheres that ... save lives?
— Yes. My most powerful art is sealed within each of them. If you channel your elemental power into one of them and strike an enemy, the art will be released. One blow. Simple... yet devastating.
John frowned, taking in every word. Fernando's tone was direct, almost clinical.
—With these spheres, you will be able to survive up to seven direct attacks from a level one superior being. Of course, that's assuming you're an average being.
—So... I can only use them when I reach the Middle Kingdom?
— Not exactly. You can activate them now, in their current phase. But the yield will be much lower.
- Why?
Fernando took a deep breath, as if he was already expecting the question.
— Because a primary being can only extract 10 to 15% of the total power of a sphere. A base being can reach 30 to 40%. But when it reaches the middle realm, then yes: between 50 and 70%. And in the superior realm... almost 95% of the total strength will be its own.
— I see... — John murmured. — I see, Father.
Fernando approached and placed one of his hands on his son's shoulder, firmly, paternally.
—Junior... although the ideal would be to wait until your foundation is more solid, do not hesitate to use them if you are in danger. The most precious thing we have... is your life.
John nodded slowly, his eyes slightly watery but his face firm. He deeply valued his existence. As much as he wanted to grow and test his limits, he was no fool: he would use the orbs without hesitation if the situation called for it.
It was then that Catarina stood up silently. With a serene but intense expression, she approached holding four other spheres, smaller but equally strange. Her hands were shaking slightly.
— Take these too. They're not as powerful as your father's, but they'll still be useful until the base realm.
She held out the spheres, and when John touched them, a shiver ran through his body. They were cold as the touch of death. An icy sensation invaded his bones, as if the very essence of those spheres were made of ancient snow and silence.
As he quickly stored them, almost instinctively, he noticed the difference: while Fernando's seemed to contain pure destruction, Catarina's carried... something more subtle. A kind of protection sharp as ice.
Now he had eleven life-saving spheres.
John stared at his parents, his heart racing. For the first time since the idea of leaving had come to him, he felt truly ready. Silently, he considered how much he could raise by selling just one or two of the precious things.
But Fernando, with the wisdom of someone who reads thoughts, cut short the line of reasoning:
— Junior... these spheres cannot be shown to anyone. And they must never be sold.
Fernando's words firmly crushed the idea of selling the spheres.
— In any case, no one but you will be able to use them — he added, with a look that closed the question.
Fernando then took a deep breath, as if sealing a chapter.
— Now let's go. The others are waiting for you.
Outside the majestic Venhorst Castle , on the golden plains beneath the clear morning sky, stood Beatriz, Iza, Barbara Bo and Álex . The tall grass swayed gently in the wind, while the sun bathed the countryside in a warm, golden light. The sound of hooves in the distance indicated that the carriage was approaching. Among the group was also Ceto, Álex 's father and faithful steward of House Venhorst , dressed with his usual composure and dignity.
— John! Here! — Iza called , waving her arms with a radiant smile when she saw him approaching.
"How is everyone?" he asked , stopping in front of the group.
"I'm fine," Iza replied, her face lit up with enthusiasm.
"Young lord, Barbarian Bo is ready to depart," Bo said , his voice firm, almost ceremonial.
"I am fine, young lord," Beatriz said, her expression neutral, almost cold. But her eyes… her eyes betrayed a veiled turmoil.
"I am fine too, young lord," Alex said , his voice brisk. But there was something else in his eyes—a subtle shadow, a hidden sadness.
John looked at each of them in turn. Then he sighed.
— You should stop calling me 'young lord'. Outside... outside Venhorst territory , we will have the same status. No titles. Just equals.
Beatriz raised an eyebrow, curious.
—And what should we call him, then?
— Just like Iza does. Only John.
— John… — Beatriz murmured, as if she was silently savoring the name. Her eyes met his for an intense moment and then quickly looked away. Iza, who had been watching the scene from the corner of her eye, pursed her lips into a pout and quickly approached John, as if claiming a space next to him.
Meanwhile, Ceto and Álex maintained a low but meaningful conversation — advice, words of motivation and restrained affection between father and son.
It was then that a carriage bearing the Venhorst crest appeared, gliding down the dirt road. It was large, imposing, with gold trim and scarlet velvet curtains.
— You will go to Novo Redondo with this carriage — Fernando informed. — There, you will divide into two groups. Each group will follow its own path from then on.
Everyone nodded. The farewells, however, were not over yet.
Before going up, John was surrounded by his mother's arms. Catarina showered him with loving kisses, her eyes filled with tears, her voice full of love and warnings.
— Eat well. Don't sleep outside. Don't provoke magical beasts. Don't get involved with girls from unknown cities…
Fernando, in turn, hugged him tightly and offered more practical advice—instructions, reminders, tactical warnings—with the firmness of a general and the heart of a father.
Finally, everyone boarded.
The carriage departed, the horses trotting lightly under the blue sky. Catarina, Fernando and Ceto stood there, motionless, watching as the carriage slowly disappeared into the horizon, like a dream that fades away. The wind carried away the last echoes of the farewell, and with it, a silent promise: John would return. Stronger. Wiser. Or he would never return.
"Will they be okay?" Catarina murmured , her hands clasped together, her eyes fixed on the now empty path.
"Madam, you don't need to worry," Ceto replied in a calm and respectful tone. "They are strong. Very strong for their age."
Fernando, beside her, nodded firmly.
— Ceto is right. There is no reason to worry. They will arrive safely at their respective institutes.
Catherine closed her eyes and clasped her hands together in front of her chest. In silence, she said a short prayer. She asked the Goddess to protect her son and the others, to guide them to safety and keep them away from death.
After some time, the three returned to their tasks, as if life could somehow go on.
The city of Novo Redondo was bustling with the energy of caravans and travelers. The sky was covered in light clouds, and the smell of smoke mixed with spices hung in the air. John and his group headed straight for the Mercenaries' Guild—a sturdy building with polished stone columns and red flags fluttering from the balconies. There, they gathered information and, with some negotiation, secured a carriage for the next stage of their journey: the city of Londa .
In front of the carriage, John turned to Álex .
— Álex … our paths separate here. I hope you do your best to become stronger.
Álex smiled confidently, but his eyes, for a brief moment, shone with a restrained glow.
— Don't worry. When we meet again, I'll clearly be stronger than you. It's you who needs to be careful.
John smiled, but was surprised by Álex 's next words .
— John… take good care of Iza.
It was the first time Álex had called him directly by name in public. And the first time he had made a request of him.
John nodded, feeling the weight of that responsibility.
— Don't worry. Iza will be safe with me. I won't let anything bad come near her.
Álex just nodded, and the tension between them dissolved into a silent understanding.
— Iza — he said, turning to the girl — you need to stay strong… to protect John.
She stepped forward and hugged him tightly, surprising him.
"I'll do my best," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
— Beatriz… — Álex looked at the girl with a cold expression but attentive eyes. — I'm leaving John and Iza in your care.
"Don't worry," she replied firmly. "I'll protect them well."
Before their final separation, John, Iza and Beatriz retraced the paths that had brought them together. They visited the old square in Novo Redondo, whose cracked mosaics still held silent memories. They walked to the favelas, where Iza and her family's house used to be — now just an empty lot, surrounded by silence and nostalgia.
Then the two groups climbed into separate carriages.
John, Iza and Beatriz boarded a carriage with purple curtains and the golden coat of arms of Londa sewn on the side.
Álex and Bo Bárbaro entered another, with banners from a military institute focused on brute force and combat.
The two carriages set off in opposite directions.
As the horses advanced, the group looked out the windows, seeing the city of Novo Redondo becoming smaller and smaller, until it became a blur on the horizon.
Somewhere in the Kingdom of Ngola ...
Space twisted in on itself, folding over and over like the jaws of a beast about to devour its prey. A tear opened in the air—abrupt, violent, as if reality itself had been ripped apart by invisible claws. From within the crack, two figures emerged. The gash closed behind them as suddenly as it had been created.
That rift was more than just a portal: it was a connection between absolute extremes. On one side, the material world; on the other, Hell—home to demons and countless dark life forms.
The pair that had emerged from the tear were not, however, entirely demonic.
Dark Shadow was a fallen human. A corrupted soul transformed into a hybrid being, half man, half demon. Beside him, a girl — youthful in appearance, pale skin and lightless eyes — walked silently. An undead, belonging to a subspecies not yet classified.
—The air up here... still has that taste to it, — Dark said. Shadow , with a hoarse and deep voice, inhaling with delight the scent of the material world.
He turned to the girl beside him.
— Little sister... are you okay?
She nodded slightly, without saying a word.
Dark Shadow frowned and looked around.
—Where are we? This... this doesn't look like the Eastern Continent.
The girl remained silent. Perhaps she did not know how to respond. Or perhaps she simply chose not to.
The surrounding countryside was vast, covered in short grass and dotted with wildflowers that swayed in the breeze. The sky was a dull blue, streaked with gray clouds that resembled dying embers.
A butterfly flitted across the field, floating lazily until it landed on a nearby flower. The girl's eyes lit up. There was something innocent in that look—a childlike, almost human curiosity. Without warning, she ran after the insect, her steps light as a child's.
The butterfly flew forward, and the girl followed with silent determination.
— Hey, little sister , come back here! We don't know where we are! It could be dangerous! — he warned Dark Shadow , running after her.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist firmly, pulling her back towards him.
They were both in an open field, surrounded by small hills and twisted trees. Dark Shadow cast a careful look at the horizon, trying to identify some reference.
— Let's look for someone who can tell us where we are.
They walked for almost two hours, in silence. At the end of the path, they saw a simple village — made of worn-out wooden houses, surrounded by poorly maintained plantations and dirt trails.
Dark Shadow approached a middle-aged man chopping wood with a grim expression.
— Sir, what is this place? — he asked in a controlled voice.
The man did not look up. He continued his work, completely ignoring the newcomer's presence.
Dark Shadow clenched his fists, and his shadow seemed to grow for an instant.
— Hey, sir! I'm talking to you! How dare you ignore me like that?
The villager glared at him with disdain, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
— Get out of here, brat. Go bother someone else.
Dark 's presence Shadow was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
Dark Shadow was about to growl at the villager again, determined to teach him what was good—his way—when he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, his little sister running after another flying insect.
— Hey, little sister! Come back here! It might be dangerous!
But she didn't listen. She continued on determinedly, as if the world around her didn't exist. In the heat of the chase, she bumped into a young man of about sixteen or seventeen years old. The boy was part of a group of seven others—eight armed young men in all, all with swords strapped to their belts and looking too confident for their age.
The girl fell to the ground, but got up naturally. She shook off her dusty clothes with gentle gestures, gave a brief indifferent glance at the armed group, and resumed her hunt for the insect, as if nothing had happened.
— Hey, brat! Stop right there! — growled the muscle-covered mercenary, the most imposing of the group.
The girl didn't react. She continued running after the insect, completely oblivious to the threat in his voice.
— Hey, I told you to stop! — he repeated , now visibly irritated.
In a fit of rage, the man took a few steps forward and grabbed her arm. As soon as his fingers closed around her cold skin, his expression changed. There was something deeply wrong with that feeling. The girl's arm was absurdly cold, fragile like glass about to shatter. For a moment, the mercenary hesitated.
— Hey, you fucking brute — Dark 's voice Shadow cut through the air like a cold blade. "Get your paws off my little sister if you value your life."
The group turned around in unison. And what they saw made everyone burst out laughing.
There he was: a boy who barely looked nine years old, thin, frail, dressed in simple clothes and threatening a group of adult mercenaries with a serious expression.
— Hahahahaha ! Hahaha ! Ha ... ha ... hah ... — The laughter echoed between them like mocking thunders.
— Make me, if you dare! — replied the brute, still laughing, his hand squeezing the girl's arm.
BENG.
In an instant, like lightning, Dark Shadow stepped forward. A dull sound of impact echoed across the field. His fist connected squarely with the muscular mercenary's chest, followed by an ominous crack —the sound of something breaking.
The man fell to his knees, his face frozen in a mixture of pain and shock. The laughter of the others immediately ceased.
What appeared to be the leader gave a hand signal. Two of the mercenaries moved forward silently.
But as soon as they got closer, something changed.
A black aura began to rise around Dark Shadow . Dense. Opaque. Almost alive. The darkness around him seemed to react to him, as if recognizing a master. The dark elements of the spirit world rushed towards him with ferocity.
The two who were advancing stopped. Their eyes widened. Their legs began to tremble.
And then they fell. Not from attack, but from the sheer terror that overcame them. The fear was so overwhelming that their bodies no longer obeyed.
Dark Shadow looked up.
His eyes roamed over the others.
Everyone fell to their knees, one after another, as if they were facing the devil himself. They were trembling. They were sweating. None of them dared to even blink.
The leader, with a little more courage — or desperation — took a step forward. His voice escaped his throat in a stutter:
— P - p -powerful warrior… please calm your anger! — the leader begged , stuttering, his face bathed in cold sweat.
The mercenaries, though arrogant, were nothing more than primitive beings. In that remote village, all they needed was some strength and a blade to be considered prestigious figures. They would never have imagined that a stranger like that—a skinny boy—could hide such terrifying power.
Afonso, the leader, had already encountered true warriors in other lands. He knew from bitter experience that the difference between a primitive being and someone truly evolved was like the distance between heaven and earth. Before the powerful, they were no more than ants walking along a road—fragile lives that could be crushed at any moment.
— Mighty warrior , we will pay for our lives if necessary! Please… have mercy!
Dark Shadow remained silent, pondering silently. Not out of compassion. But out of strategy.
He was in an unfamiliar place. Killing indiscriminately could cause unwanted trouble. Perhaps there was some influential figure in that village—someone who would not tolerate wanton slaughter, even if the victims were just vermin.
Even so… the idiot who had dared to touch his little sister had already received his due punishment. His fate was sealed.
The black aura that surrounded Dark Shadow began to retreat. The force field of dark energy dissipated like mist before the sun. The air, which had previously felt suffocating, began to become breathable. The mercenaries, pale and panting, were finally able to move a little. The two closest to Dark Shadow , however, was still bleeding from the nose and mouth, their bodies collapsing under the invisible impact of the spiritual pressure they suffered.
Still, none of them dared to stand up.
Dark Shadow gave the leader an icy glare.
- Who are you?
Afonso was shaking from head to toe, his voice breaking with every word.
— I-I am… Afonso… leader of the mercenary group Sábado Noturno…
— Saturday Night? — Dark Shadow frowned, his eyebrow arching in disdain. "What the hell kind of name is that?"
— Don't worry, mighty warrior! If that name displeases you, we can change it right now! Right, comrades?!
The leader gave his men a distressed look. Like a chorus of despair, they all responded in unison:
— That's right! We can change!
Dark Shadow sighed.
— Do whatever you want with the group's name.
— Thank you, mighty warrior! — replied the leader, bowing until he was almost kissing the ground. Then, with a hesitant voice, he dared to ask:
— Mighty warrior… could you please spare our lives?
— Yes, I will. — he replied. Dark Shadow , with a cold and serene voice.
— T-thank you very much! The mighty warrior is truly magnanimous! His mercy is vast as the sea, boundless as the stars in the sky! — the leader burst into desperate praise.
— Don't be fooled. — he cut in. Dark Shadow , looking at him with contempt. — I will spare your lives... but you will have to pay for them. Hand over to me all the money you carry.
His voice was firm, with no room for negotiation.
—If any of you dare to refuse… I won't mind ripping payment straight from your corpses.
Everyone shuddered at this. Tension fell back upon the group like a blade held to the neck.
— O- o- of course! — said the leader, trying to keep a smile, although his face was pale.
— Get up. — he ordered. Dark Shadow .
One after another, the mercenaries stood up, avoiding any sudden movements. Each took out their bags and held them out with trembling hands. Dark Shadow received the contents and quickly counted them. Ninety silver coins.
He held up the coins, assessing them disdainfully.
— That's it? What kind of mercenaries are you? — he grumbled , disappointed.
Without hesitation, he stuffed the coins into the storage ring he wore on his finger, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"D-don't worry, mighty warrior!" the leader said hurriedly. "We can get more! As long as our lives are spared, money doesn't matter. As long as we're alive, we can always earn more!"
Dark Shadow crossed his arms and stared at them with indifferent eyes.
— You're lucky. None of you touched my sister. So, in addition to sparing your lives… I'll give you a bonus.
He paused for a second, as if savoring his own generosity.
— From now on, I will accept you as my servants.
The statement fell like a rock into the silence that hung in the air.
The mercenaries looked at each other for a moment. Serving a nine-year-old child? Ridiculous. But... what if that child was a monster capable of killing them with a look?
The reasoning was immediate. They nodded silently and knelt down, bowing with forced smiles.
— Thank you very much, master! Your servants pay respect to the master! — they said in unison, trying to sound sincere.
The leader then raised his head and asked with practiced humility:
— Esteemed master… what is Your Excellency's name?
— My name is Dark Shadow .
— W- wow … so powerful… so imposing… Master, your name will be known throughout the kingdom! Dark Shadow ! A name that will resonate even in the most distant mountains!
— Enough of that. — he interrupted. Dark Shadow , already bored with the flattery, "Take us somewhere decent to rest."
— Of course, master! — said the leader, excitedly. — Follow us! We will take you to the best inn in the village!
The leader cast a surreptitious glance towards the muscular mercenary, trying to check his condition. However, he was interrupted by a cold voice that cut through the air like a blade.
— Don't worry about this pig. He's dead. Death is the reward for anyone who dares to touch my sister. — he said Dark Shadow , indifferently.
The mercenaries swallowed hard. The warning had been given. They all registered the lesson with cruel clarity: do not provoke the new master, and never approach his sister.
The leader then led Dark Shadow and his sister to the nearest inn, while the others dispersed—some to bury the corpse of their fallen comrade, others to tend to the two wounded men who were still groaning in pain.
One week later.
John, Iza and Beatriz had been on the road for seven days. During that time, a lot had happened.
Beatriz, who had initially been distant, had grown closer to the two, especially Iza, whose captivating personality made it difficult to keep her distance. Now, Beatriz was able to maintain pleasant conversations and even exchanged sincere smiles with her traveling companions.
The carriage continued along the dirt track until it finally approached the gates of a walled city. As it reached the entrance, the coachman reined in the carriage and stopped the vehicle. Everyone got out.
—Five silver coins per person as entrance fee. — announced the guard, without even looking directly at the travelers.
Without arguing, John took fifteen coins from his purse and handed them to the guard. Beatriz tried to refuse. She wanted to pay her own entrance fee, but John convinced her with calm, logical arguments—and a firm smile that left no room for insistence.
Londa .
The city was famous. Small, but pulsating with life. Its main source of income came from trade and taxes — a true center of transactions.
Unlike Novo Redondo, an imposing and well-organized city, Londa was more lawless, with lax laws. Here, daylight crimes were no surprise. It was a land of opportunities... and traps.
Founded by a group of mercenaries decades ago , it was also known as "the home of mercenaries".
As they passed through the gates, the three were swallowed up by the hubbub of the streets—vendors shouting their offerings, children running barefoot, the metallic clink of swords on the backs of bounty hunters.
"Let's find a place to spend the night," John suggested . The girls nodded, exhausted from the long journey.
— Sir , could you point us to an inn? — John asked a middle-aged man who was walking along the side of the street, wearing a simple but clean robe.
The man assessed the group with an experienced eye. He saw no danger in them. Only tiredness and good manners.
— Of course. Follow me, I'm going there too. — he said with a slight smile, turning to guide them through the alleys of Londa .
Author's comment:
Ah... the mercenaries lived — but only because Dark Shadow had decided they were worth more alive than dead. Now, with their pride torn apart and the coins ripped from their sweaty hands, they had become servants to a boy who could obliterate them with a yawn. Do you think this is the end of their humiliation? No. It's just the beginning.
John is on his way to Londa . The city breathes secrets and exudes power. The stage is set, and the pieces begin to move. A new chapter of the journey begins, and the darkness whispers promises to ambitious hearts.
Now tell me, reader... Where are you reading this story? From what city, from what corner of the world do you watch the darkness rise ? Comment below . Your place in this world shapes the way you see ours.
Vote. Comment. And thank you for your donations — you keep the darkness burning. Keep it going .