Blood soaked the decks. It was the color of dark rubies, and black night. It was the blood of Cabal... and of Clipse.

Silence reigned the decks. Except for two small noises; the suppressed sobs of Rull, the Valus-Bane, and the ragged last breaths of his second as he cradled her in his arms.

Rage was born on the decks. He would see Valus Nohr and Emperor Calus dead at his feet before the end. With his final breath, he would avenge his brothers, his sisters, and the countless warriors of his people that had been slaughtered... for this sick creature's own enjoyment!

Sorrow was the only name for this ship. Even with Nohr dead, another Shadow would come, and even if they all were killed... the Leviathan would merely eat Kaga.

The death of Emperor Calus was the only solution. And so they had gathered, the greatest warriors of their people... lined up for glorious battle, a battle that would turn out only to be a slaughter. With a steadying breath, Rull lay his second on the floor gently. May your spirit guide my aim, Lukra of Gallisain. He stood, hefting his battle spear, and staggered. He moved one hand over the massive gash running from his hip and down the side of his right leg. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle since he'd earned it, he had Lukra and her remaining squad to thank for the fact he was still alive at all; they'd insisted he hang back during the last fight, at least until the bleeding stopped.

He'd come when the sounds of battle had stopped, to find them all dead and Lukra dying. This was a red day, this ship a paradise of battle... but now he knew something he had not known or considered when he first boarded this ship; war and bloodlust were atrocities, and the only reason they were waged was for survival. So... what was Calus trying to survive by making war on the Clipse? What reason could he have for having the Valus raze their capital city, Trista-Na?

Perhaps, he was simply cruel.

Where once fighting had once been a sweet flavor on Rull's tongue, it now tasted like ash as he limped through the great halls and doors. He looked with despair on the sloping purple crystal floor that lead to a the grand chamber. There was no way he could make it up that... not with his leg. But he was the only one left; he had to try, no matter how much the chill of blood loss demanded it's toll from him.

He limped up the uneven crystal waves, occasionally losing his balance. My spear may as well be a walking stick, and I a sick elder! When he reached the door, he collapsed against it, heaving for breath. He pressed his head against the metal, pleasantly cool, and tried to think of a plan of attack. No doubt the Emperor would hear the door opening. He gave the crystal on the floor a forceful, experimental stab. It was easily breakable. Well, there was one thing in his favor.

He could use the harpoon feature of his spear, grapple to another end of the room the moment the doors open. He touched the pistol on his bandolier; only three bullets left in that one. His rifle had been cut in half two battles ago, in that... bathhouse. He hoped the water was never clean of Cabal blood again. He took the pistol out of it's holster. This was the gun his father had given him, and his father before that, and his before that. He pressed the barrel against his lips in a moment of preparation. Lignum Nigrum, for nearly five generations you have never jammed, missed, or been lost in battle. Please... do not give to age now.

He jammed the end of his spear into the door several times. It was like he knocked, and the Emperor answered. In one instant, the Clipse took in the throne room, and exacted his plan. He hefted his spear, and activated the harpoon. Soon, he was flying, and his eyes picked out Calus, robed and fat, and he took aim. He fired once as he was still traveling, once again when he reached his destination, and a final time after that. All three bullets entered where the Emperor's heart should have been...

And his body gave in as said Emperor remained alive. Lignum had failed him, for the very first time. And the last, as he fell to his knees, and his spear clattered to the ground. What kind of armor... the question was lost in the haze. Calus chuckled as he staggered to his feet again, and threw his empty gun at the unkillable monstrosity that had taken so many lives.

"Rull of the Clipse!" he boomed. "It is Rull, is it not? The very Rull who removed the arm of Nohr? She was very unhappy about that."

"It lives?" he asked weakly, momentarily stunned by the news. He had faced her, at the battle for Trista-Na, and had emerged victorious, though narrowly, by ripping off the Valus' arm. Hence how he'd earned his title.

"Yes, yes, of course; the walls of my ship are gold, so why should my doctors not also be so?" he leaned in his throne a little. "Why, they could have you healthy and fine in a matter of days, and look at your wounds!"

"I will not surrender to live." he would bleed to death on this floor, unyielding.

"Then perhaps you will not surrender, but join me!" the fat Cabal spread his arms wide and jubilantly. "Become one of my Shadows, oh great soldier of the Clipse! And in return, I shall grant your people all they have ever dreamed of! In return, I offer you not death in this dreary fashion, but the chance to perish in a Warrior's Paradise!"

"I will join you... when the... Dim World is good..." Rull managed to gasp before the haze and pain consumed all, and everything went black.

It was a hand on his neck that made him come to. The instinct of 'someone is going to choke you, defend yourself'.

"He still lives." a nervous voice was saying in a strange voice. Rull jerked, trying to find their throat so he could kill them first; an alien face hovered over his, and he wound up not strangling them, but clutching their armor like a lifeline.

"Ah, good Jarus." Calus' voice was like the drums of the devil pounding in his head. "You see, Rull, Jarus flys the finest ship in all the galaxy; a shining bloom, it is. He was once like you. Look at him now!"

"I am sorry." 'Jarus' whispered. His face and eyes were alien, but Rull recognized the scent of fear on him, could see the pain in his gaze. Their eyes met, and it was like staring into a mirror; that pain was his own. For Jarus, it was an old pain, a scar. For Rull, it was fresh. Never before had he felt kinship with an enemy, but three simple words and he felt like he'd known this individual all his life as a brother. And he understood the discrete warning; if you accept, you will live to regret it. If you accept, there is no going back.

If you accept, you would not be the same.

"Never." he croaked, glaring at Calus.

"Jarus, dear lad, would you leave us for a moment?" he felt the pilot give his shoulder a squeeze before leaving his side and walking out the door beneath Calus' throne. Of course, even with doors, his 'Shadows' are beneath him... lessers.

For a long while, there was only silence. Silence, and Rull's ragged breaths through a parched mouth as he waited impatiently for the end.

It was funny, how so simple a thing wound up his undoing. How a secret longing, one for just a little water, wound up being the petty reason he cave to this monster.

"You look thirsty."

At that moment, the Devil grinned.

Personally, I've always found the stories of the Shadows to be fascinating. I also found Rull's own story to be... well, lackluster, to say the least. So, I decided to re-write the lore bit where he joins Calus, because after going through what he supposedly went through to reach the throne room, and just to give in so easily, felt a bit unrealistic.

So here we are. Might be warming up for a massive crossover involving Rull, might not be. Depends on how Losing Time, Taking My Own Way Down is received in the end, and also on how long my writers block with Out of Tricks lasts.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this, and there may be more Shadow one-shots in the future!

Fare Thee Well!