"So we walk through the forest," Satou said, understanding the situation.

"Exactly," Loki confirmed. He turned to the mysterious cloaked figure. "Shadow, perhaps you could introduce yourself more thoroughly? Explain your stake in this mission?"

Shadow stepped forward, and when they spoke, their voice was completely unrecognizable—magically altered to the point where Satou couldn't determine age, gender, or even species. The voice seemed to echo with otherworldly resonance, as if multiple people were speaking in perfect unison, each word carrying harmonics that made it impossible to pin down any identifying characteristics.

"Call me Shadow," the figure said, their tone carefully neutral despite the obvious magical alteration. "I've spent most of my life studying the Illusion Forest's patterns and mechanics. I know how to read the signs that distinguish reality from magical phantoms. I know the safe paths, the dangerous zones, the places where the magic is weakest and strongest."

"That still doesn't explain why you're helping us," Satou pressed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Unknown variables were dangerous in any operation, but especially in something this critical. "What's your personal stake? Why risk your life to guide us through that forest to kill Merc Assault?"

Shadow was silent for a long moment, and even through the magical voice alteration and complete physical concealment, Satou could sense the weight of emotion building. When Shadow finally spoke again, their voice carried barely controlled grief and rage.

"Because I have the exact same goal as you, Lord Satou. Merc Assault took something precious from me. Someone I loved more than anything in this world. Someone I swore to protect with my life." The magically altered voice cracked slightly. "And I failed."

As Shadow spoke those words, an overwhelming wave of bloodlust emanated from the cloaked figure. It was cold, controlled, refined over years of hatred—but absolutely murderous. The air itself seemed to grow colder, and even some of Loki's experienced demon guards shifted uncomfortably.

The killing intent was eerily similar to what Satou himself had been feeling—that ice-cold fury that demanded vengeance, that couldn't be satisfied with anything less than watching their enemy die slowly and painfully.

"Merc Assault was hired to assassinate someone I cared about four years ago," Shadow continued, their voice thick with barely controlled emotion. "The target was a political figure who'd made enemies in the demon realm. The contract was simple—kill them quietly, make it look natural, collect payment."

Shadow's hands clenched inside their robes, the fabric tightening. "But Merc Assault didn't make it quick. He never does, not when he has time to work. He trapped them in the nightmare realm for three days. Three days of torture, of experiencing every possible horror their mind could conjure, of dying over and over again in increasingly creative ways."

The bloodlust intensified, and Satou saw frost forming on the nearby windows. "When their physical body finally died, when their heart gave out from the psychological trauma, Merc Assault reported mission complete and collected his payment. Another successful contract. Another victim who died 'naturally' from heart failure, with no evidence of foul play."

"But you knew the truth," Satou said quietly, understanding completely. He'd experienced a fraction of what Shadow was describing— hours in the nightmare realm compared to three days. The psychological damage, the trauma, the way it fundamentally changed you.

"I knew," Shadow confirmed, their voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. "I was there when they died. Held them as their heart failed, watched the light leave their eyes while they screamed about things I couldn't see. The healers said there was nothing physically wrong—no poison, no curse, no disease. Just... terror. Pure, concentrated terror that literally scared them to death."

Shadow's shoulders shook slightly, grief and rage warring for dominance. "I've been hunting Merc Assault ever since. Tracking his movements, studying his patterns, learning everything I could about nightmare demons and how they operate. I've attacked him seven times over three years. Seven attempts to kill him, to make him pay for what he did."

"And all seven failed," Loki said quietly, his expression sympathetic despite his usual cold pragmatism.

"All seven failed," Shadow repeated bitterly. "Merc Assault is too powerful, too skilled, too experienced. Every time I got close, he either escaped or forced me to retreat. I couldn't land a killing blow. Couldn't even seriously wound him. He treated my attacks like minor annoyances, barely worth his attention."

Shadow's hood turned directly toward Satou, and despite not being able to see their face, Satou could feel the intensity of their gaze. "But then you fought him. You survived what kills most people. You didn't just endure the nightmare torture—you fought back. You killed him in the dream realm and consumed half his power, leaving him broken and diminished."

The cloaked figure took a step closer. "For the first time in all of my attempts, Merc Assault is currently vulnerable. Weakened. Hiding. Recovering. And if I can guide you through the Illusion Forest, if I can help you reach his fortress, then I can finally have my revenge. I can make him understand what it feels like to lose everything. To die knowing you failed, knowing your enemy survived and came back stronger."

The raw honesty in Shadow's magically altered voice was compelling. This wasn't some political scheme or hidden agenda—this was pure, concentrated grief that had festered into vengeance. Satou understood that feeling intimately. He'd felt the same cold rage burning in his own chest since waking from the nightmare torture.

"Then we have common cause," Satou said simply, extending his hand toward Shadow. "Let's end it together. You get your revenge for the person he killed. I get mine for what he did to me but the final blow that ends his life must be done by me . And Loki sends a message to Chronus about hiring assassins to attack his people."

Shadow stared at the extended hand for a moment, then reached out and clasped it firmly. Despite the robes, Satou could feel the strength in that grip—this was someone who'd trained for years, someone who'd dedicated themselves completely to a single purpose.

"Together, I don't care who deals the final blow, so long as I can watch him take his final breath before he dies," Shadow agreed, their voice carrying grim determination.

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