Just before the last vestige of the setting sun drowned in the sea of fiery clouds, Sunny took a deep breath and looked at Slayer.
Surrounded by wisps of ghostly smoke, she was cleaning the blade of her sword. His Shadow seemed… tattered, a little. One of her arms was still mangled and hanging limply, her armor was shredded, and even her veil was torn.
Behind the veil was a face that Sunny knew all too well now — the beautiful face of the woman he had seen in the visions... or rather, a version of it seemingly carved from flawlessly black obsidian.
She was the relentless huntress whose fate it had been to slay the Demon of Fate. Her shadow, at least.
...Granted, even after learning the unbelievable truth of Slayer's past, Sunny had his doubts about its veracity. Weaver was the master of deceit, after all. Was it beyond that nebulous scoundrel to sneak a lie into the game their brother designed to reveal only the truth?
He did not know.
Not that it mattered...
