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Their memories, their skills – all bound to the darkness. We don\'t need stinking corpses, these are soldiers of pure shadow. Which after a successful summon follow the will of there summoners."

Verona dodged another swipe, her movements blurring as she effortlessly outmaneuvered Neveah\'s relentless assault. "And here\'s the best part – these shadows share the same experiences as their originals. It\'s like summoning a warrior from a parallel mirror world from ours, one built from purest darkness. We don\'t even touch the soul or get involved in the realm of death, just the shadow.

Makes the whole \'necromancy\' label a bit of a misnomer, wouldn\'t you say?"

Verona lunged forward, dark energy swirling around her hand. Neveah barely had time to parry the blow, the clash sending sparks flying.

A grimace contorted Neveah\'s face as Verona\'s kick sent him sprawling. Blood trickled down his chin, staining the icy floor of the cavern. "Conditions, limitations..." he sighed, pushing himself back up. "Always a catch with these perfect and precious shadow soldiers, isn\'t there?"

Verona dusted herself off, her movements fluid and effortless compared to Neveah\'s struggle. "Think of it as safeguards," she said, her voice cool and collected. "Not everyone can handle the power of shadows. The conditions are strict, yes, but necessary."

She held up a finger, ticking off the points on an invisible list. "One: the owner of the shadow needs to be deceased. Two: the summoner must be at least two realms above the deceased in power. Three: the summoner needs an iron will to resist the corruption and mental attacks of the shadow realm. Those hungry things will try to turn you inside out, make you a puppet for their own twisted purposes.

Four, and this is crucial: your command of darkness magic has to be top-notch. Grandmaster level, at least. That\'s why I focused on ice first. It provided more immediate benefits."

Two years of grueling training had honed his ice magic to a master level, and his body pulsed with the power of a five-star mage. Yet, frustration gnawed at him. Darkness, Verona\'s true domain, remained a frustratingly closed book. Gravity, she had declared off-limits, a skill he had to learn on his own.

"Darkness," Verona announced, her voice a low rumble, "requires a taste of the abyss itself. We\'ll be raising your resistance to curses and mental attacks, but the true test lies within."

Neveah frowned. "True darkness? Sounds ominous."

Verona\'s smile held a hint of cruelty. "Oh, it is, my dear. Nothing I say or do will prepare you. It\'s a descent into the deepest corners of your own mind, where fear festers and doubt whispers lies. Be ready for a torrent of curses, from illness and agony to madness and despair.

Prepare for weakness, for negativity to claw at your very essence,doubts and insecurities, hate, anger and despair you\'ll experience it all."

Neveah scoffed. "Shouldn\'t the surprise element be part of the test? Isn\'t telling me counterproductive?"

Verona\'s smile vanished. "There\'s no preparing for true darkness, Neveah. It\'s a test of your core self. I can only offer this – resist. Don\'t let it consume you."

With a flourish of her hand, Verona cast a spell. The air shimmered, and Neveah vanished from sight. Silence descended, thick and heavy. Verona stood alone, a flicker of worry clouding her usual confident demeanor.

"Come back, Neveah," she murmured, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. "Find your path, even if it\'s shrouded in darkness."

Her words hung heavy in the air, laced with an unexpected sincerity. Then, with a flick of her wrist, Verona cast a spell. The world around Neveah dissolved into an inky blackness, absolute and suffocating.

"What path will you choose, Neveah?" Verona continued, her voice regaining its usual cool demeanor. "Destruction, redemption, or something else entirely? Whichever it is, know this: I will stand by you."

Time warped and stretched, each passing moment an eternity. Curses, as Verona had warned, bloomed into a nightmarish bouquet. A searing pain, a white-hot poker plunged into his shoulder, morphed into a bone-chilling cold that gnawed at his very core.

Visions flickered in the void – his greatest failures, bitter betrayals,loved one lost, his deepest insecurities twisted and amplified into monstrousities. Strength seeped from him, replaced by a suffocating despair that threatened to swallow him whole.

He was weak, undeniably so. Fear, a primal seprent, coiled around his heart, squeezing the life from him. The pain, the relentless torment, mirrored the suffering he\'d endured all his lives( as Rei and as Raven). Maybe this was it, the end. Maybe giving in, succumbing to the darkness, offered a twisted kind of peace.

Then, a memory flickered, a lifeline thrown across the abyss. He saw Verona, not as the fearsome instructor, but as a companion. Cooking, training, the taste of her blood on his tongue - moments of care amidst the storm. He wasn\'t alone. He had someone who cared for him, even if it wasn\'t love ( which was highly unlikely). At least, not yet.

But she was a home, a reason to fight for a future beyond this suffocating darkness. He craved more - to understand her past, to spend quiet evenings by her side, a partner not a pupil. Yet, achieving that dream required strength. Strength to earn her respect, to become the confidante she needed, not the child she protected.

The path ahead was long, the goal a distant horizon. But time was a luxury they, as immortal beings, possessed in abundance. The world outside simmered with chaos - racial tensions, demonic invasion. He envisioned the protagonist, consumed by vengeance, manipulated into a pawn of powerful figures.

This hero, destined to save the world, would become a skirt-chasing braggart, mistaking youthful victories for true strength. No, Neveah wouldn\'t let that happen.He won\'t place his life in the hands of such a person who will be controlled like a puppet by the very skirts he chased. He won\'t gamble, he will take everything in his own hands.

He would become the anchor in the storm, the puppeteer of chaos. He\'d orchestrate events from a distance, ensuring his haven with Verona remained untouched. After the world burned, he will rebuild it, molding each race into his vision. He wouldn\'t be a victim anymore. Control, absolute and unwavering, that would be his salvation.

With newfound resolve, Neveah pushed back against the curses. His path was clear - not damnation and destruction, not redemption, but control.

As the illusions sputtered and died, his eyes snapped open. Verona stood before him, a familiar smile playing on her lips.

"You know," he rasped, his voice hoarse but firm, "you\'re everything to me. I… I love you."

Verona\'s smile widened, and she pulled him into a tight hug. "I know," she whispered, her voice filled with a warmth that pierced the lingering chills of the darkness.

Neveah had emerged from the abyss, not broken, but irrevocably changed. His path was set, a path paved with ambition and a fierce devotion to the enigmatic woman who had shown him a sliver of light in the endless dark. The world might burn, but in the ashes, a new order would rise, and Neveah, the master of shadows, would be its architect.