Two Bodies, One Shadow

He wasn’t the one who moved.

The torn body barely breathing moments ago began crawling toward the light. The trembling arms, the legs weighed down by wounds, the back split open with torn skin… all moved without his will. His eyes were half-closed, his pulse heavy, yet somehow the body found its way.

The black cat that had been standing on his chest moments earlier wasn’t merely whispering to him it was taking his place.

From the moment it placed its claw on his neck, something changed. His body trembled, then went still.
He made no sound, no resistance, as if something else had seized the strings inside him.

He climbed the stone wall in silence, through its rotting cracks, pulling himself upward with precise, unnatural movements as though pain no longer existed. His wounded eye didn’t blink; the gash in his thigh no longer mattered. He was following a plan… one he didn’t know.

He reached the hole in the ceiling a space barely large enough for a fragile body.
He pushed himself through… and emerged.

The cat followed nimbly, but something about it had changed.
His breathing became steady all of a sudden, despite the fractures.

The rooftop was empty, but his movements weren’t random.
He crept between beams, crawled beside the chimneys, stood at the right corner without hesitation then jumped.

He landed on a heap of hay behind the wall… without a groan.

Instantly, he stood up and headed for the alley.

The window, the gate, the narrow paths, the sharp turns all were part of a memorized route, as if the cat had walked it before.
No as if it had been waiting for this very moment.

With each step, he heard her whisper in his head:
“Don’t think. Just let me move you.”
And he obeyed unconsciously, without resistance as though something heavy wrapped around his mind, keeping him from returning to reality.

A few meters away, patrol guards passed slowly, scanning for any sign of movement. Their sharp eyes swept the alleys, hands gripping swords or heavy clubs. Yet the shadow slipping between the buildings remained hidden beneath the night’s shroud.

At last, he entered the abandoned building.

He climbed the stairs slowly, opened the door, then closed it behind him without a sound.
He stopped in the center of the empty, cracked-walled room and sank to his knees.

He took one deep breath.

Then… the body stopped moving.

For a few moments, it seemed as though everything had ended.

Then, the cat moved.

It approached the motionless body, gazed at his face, then licked the blood trickling from his neck.

Lifting its head, it said:
“I did what you couldn’t.”

It stepped forward, stood upon his chest, gently placed its claw on his forehead, and closed its eyes.

Then he stirred slowly sitting up, heavy with pain, his body groaning from every wound, his eyes barely opening.
The black cat sat beside him, staring with luminous eyes that seemed to read the confusion and torment inside him.

Calmly, it said:
“I’ll teach you how to make the wounds return as they were.”

He raised his head with effort, staring at her with weary eyes, unable to form words.

The cat continued, her voice quiet yet commanding:
“Breathe deeply. Feel what surrounds you. Feel the darkness that wraps around you…”

He closed his eyes and tried to obey.

Again, she whispered:
“Feel every pain you’ve endured, every moment they tortured you, every strike, every wound…”

His body trembled, yet he exhaled slowly.

“Gather all that pain, all that injustice, into the center of your energy there, deep inside you.”

He hesitated for a moment, then began allowing the feeling to gather within.

The cat’s tone grew confident:
“That darkness within you… it’s your weapon. It’s what will restore your strength.”

“How?” he murmured faintly.

The cat smiled, but her smile was cruel:
“By letting the pain burn inside you not by running from it.”

Her words were heavy, yet they carried a promise.

He slowly lifted his head, and some faint light returned to his eyes.

Finally, she said:
“Begin now. Don’t stop.”

As he drew a slow, deep breath, something strange began to happen.

White smoke rose from his wounds, and the skin started to heal, little by little.

The black cat watched him, her eyes glimmering with mystery, and said sharply:
“Now… devour the darkness.”

He hesitated, his voice hoarse, confused:
“What do you mean?”

The cat gave a cryptic smile and replied:
“The darkness around you that pitch-black night is your energy.”

He wondered silently, his eyes widening:
“Why…?”

The cat interrupted before he could speak, as if reading his thoughts:
“Have you never wondered why your mother named you ‘Yamibõ’?”

His gaze sharpened, a storm of questions echoing in his mind.
How could she know this?

With unshakable certainty, the cat said:
“Yamibõ means darkness. When your mother saw the deep black of your hair, she named you after it.”

She smiled challengingly:
“And yes, I know you’re wondering how I know about her but I won’t answer that now. You’ll learn more soon.”

She looked into his eyes, her tone firm:
“Now, devour the darkness around you reclaim your energy.”

He closed his eyes slowly, focusing.
Inside, there was a vast emptiness filled with pain and weakness
but now, he had to summon his energy, that dark, mysterious core the cat spoke of.

His energy wasn’t physical strength or ordinary power it was his inner essence,
a blend of suppressed pain, endured injustice, and the darkness that surrounded him.

This world a world ruled by magic
not the kind of magic told in ancient tales,
but a force built upon four fundamental elements: fire, water, air, and earth.

Each element has its own laws and traits,
but none can be used without mana
a hidden spiritual energy drifting in the air, invisible yet ever-present.

Few possess the ability to wield magic;
most rely on physical strength, weapons, or combat skills.

Even among elite swordsmen,
those who wield blades with special powers
like the captain of this city’s guards
don’t rely on magic alone, but on a fusion of power and relentless training.

Some might wonder: what is this “darkness” the cat spoke of?
In truth, no one knows exactly.
Darkness is often linked with the pitch-black night,
with the fears lurking in unseen corners,
with things that can’t be seen only felt.

His energy, then, wasn’t mere outer shadow
it was darkness born from the depths of his own soul,
a part of himself he had to learn to master…
or at least to wield.

He focused inward again,
gathering all the pain, injustice, and darkness.
He recalled every memory, every moment of agony or betrayal.

Slowly, he felt something within him begin to pulse with new strength
as though his energy was forming, tightening, demanding release.
The power was coalescing deep inside him
a dense, black mass swelling in his chest,
growing heavier, thicker, until it pressed against his very soul.

As it gathered, he felt his veins changing
one by one turning a dark, shadowy black,
as if his blood itself had become living darkness.

His body was no longer fully under his control,
but the energy surging from within brought him back to life,
granting him new strength… at a price.

He knew this darkness wasn’t just power
it was a warning of what might come.
The black essence spread through his veins, filling his body with both might and cold.

He stayed still, drawing what remained of his strength until distant footsteps reached his ears.

Many footsteps. Rhythmic. The echo of soldiers cutting through the silence.

He rose slowly, his face pale, and walked toward the small window of the abandoned building where he hid.

Through that narrow opening, he saw a chilling sight.

Dozens of slaves, bound in heavy chains their bodies exhausted, hands tied behind their backs.

Soldiers pushed them, whipped them mercilessly, forcing them toward the dense forest.

The forest loomed dark and haunting, its shadows stretching as if waiting for them.

The chained men were dragged forward, their screams blending with their moans.

He couldn’t speak his lips refused to move
but his eyes, heavy with sorrow and rage, stayed fixed on them.

Yamibõ fell silent for a moment as his body began to tremble slightly. His brows furrowed, his face drained of color as though a memory had pierced his mind. He placed a hand on his head, wincing in pain, then stepped back, leaning against the cold stone wall.

The cruel memory returned RAY’s death, and the soldier who tore out his throat with his teeth.
He snapped back to the present at the sound of shouting and commotion coming from the cave’s direction.

He turned toward the cat. The cat said gravely:
“They’ve arrived.”

Yamibõ replied coldly:
“Who?”

The cat smiled faintly, her tone elusive:
“You’ll find out soon.”