Son of Shadows (The Shadow Wars #2)

Prologue

In the deep, dark cavern that should have been his tomb, Orochi, “the World Eater,” stirred from his centuries of silent torment.

Terribly hard-to-kill demons like him could be shot with arrows, stabbed with swords and daggers, burned to a blackened lump of coal, and bludgeoned for days on end, and still survive.

They’d suffer, cry out in pain, and bleed all over a nice floor, of course.

But dying took far more effort than that.

Still, death would have been a relief.

Instead, Orochi’s enemy had imprisoned him in this desolate corner of the shadow realm to wallow in agony forever. Without human entrails to feast on, his powers had waned from starvation. His body so weak, he could barely move.

Orochi spent his remaining energy remembering a time when his name had made others tremble in fear.

Before, he was a formidable dragon, so vicious and cunning no other demon would dare challenge him.

Now he was a cautionary tale—an example of what can happen when you let your guard down.

Orochi was condemned to this impenetrable part of the shadow realm for eternity.

Ages ago, he believed he would find a way to escape and avenge himself.

Yet, as he slithered across the cold, dark stone floor of his dismal cell, Orochi held little hope of ever being free.

His dragon scales, which had once been a glorious blinding gold, had turned into a dingy orange. His shiny black antlers were cracked and gray; his razor-sharp fangs were brittle and decayed.

His eight tails were once deadly weapons, but now they were limp and lifeless. His eight fearsome heads were also no longer a threat. Orochi could only open the bloodred eyes of one of them—the head named Venom.

One by one, the rest had fallen into a deep sleep over the centuries.

First, Earth had slumbered. Then Light, Wind, Water, and Fire followed suit. Lightning held out for decades longer than the others.

Darkness was the last to succumb. He had kept Orochi company until yesterday. When Orochi awoke, he nudged Darkness’s spiny head, lying still on the ground beside him. Darkness had been his best friend. Orochi was utterly heartbroken.

He spat at the ground, cursing the enemy who tricked, captured, and exiled him here.

Ryukage.

“Soon, my brothers. We will have our revenge,” he said, although no one could hear him.

He wanted to believe it was true.

He was a demon, both in body and spirit. At the first taste of human blood, he would rise again, destroy Ryukage, and reign in terror.

All he needed was a window of opportunity. A twist of fate.

He just had to wait patiently for his luck to turn.

But whatever miracle was on the horizon needed to come quickly. His breath was becoming shallow. He could feel himself slipping away.

If Orochi lived to see tomorrow, Ryukage, and whoever stood by him, would pay for this humiliation and torture.