My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Whatever lingering fear had existed began to fade… they had been dealing with an incomprehensible entity—but if it was something they could understand, something they could grasp, then the fear was no longer unimaginable.

Fear was an ancient emotion, and the oldest kind of fear… was the fear of the unknown. But if it was known… then that fear lost its edge.

Damon had eased that fear. Even as he carried the horror in his own heart—a silent burden only he would carry.

He felt as if the ashen crown on his head grew heavier.

Truly… heavy was the head that wore the crown. Those responsible for the lives of others… were bound to the heaviest of burdens.

That was, of course, assuming they cared enough… about those they led.

He knew the truth—most of the nobility in his world… to put it in lighter words—were scum.

'To think a mere street urchin like me has the noble duty of leading blue bloods.'

Nevertheless… he soon found himself standing before the monolith. The words were written with Sylvia's blood. She was uninjured. Unhurt. Her fear had come slowly, gradually—only settling in after the others explained what had happened.

Four hours had passed since then.

He didn't look at her, even though she stood beside him—staring at the strange inscription, written in a language they could all read, yet none of them could write.

This language didn't just speak to the mind… it touched the soul. Damon could understand it… but he knew, somehow, he could never write it.

"Weeping Star…" she muttered, her voice low. "What do you think this is about…? It gives me a feeling of tragedy… and the inevitability of fate…"

Damon looked again at the words… written in her blood, yet this was not her handwriting. It was too perfect. Too beautiful. Not something a mortal could have written.

He turned the question back to her. "What do you think it means…?"

Sylvia paused. "I think… it's a poem. It's sad too. I don't understand all of it though…"

He nodded, trying to make sense of it himself.

"Tell me what you think."

She nodded slowly, shaking her head as if uncertain. "I can try…"

"…The Weeping Star came first, and the god who gives names devoured its light. All names that followed were lies."

"…The Weeping Star came first, and the god with no name devoured its light. All names that followed were lies."

She paused again. Her grey eyes met his darker ones.

"It must be tragic… being the Weeping Star. It was devoured by the god who gave names…"

Damon nodded. "I actually think… the god who gave names is the Weeping Star. I mean… if the Weeping Star came first, then who gave it that name? Wouldn't it make more sense if the god who gave names was first… and named himself?"

Sylvia held her chin thoughtfully. "Then… why would he devour his own light? Maybe… the Weeping Star wasn't even an entity. Maybe it was a phenomenon…"

Damon shrugged. Nothing really made sense when it came to gods…

His eyes moved to the next line.

"…To speak his name is to invite him in."

Damon didn't need to guess who it was—he and Sylvia had the same thought. The god whose name was now gone.

"This line is probably talking about the unknown god, isn't it…?"

Damon nodded. "I don't think the Weeping Star and the god who gave names are different. They're probably just titles for the same being… the unknown god."

She continued reading in a small whisper, voice barely above breath.

"…So the goddess took it, carved it from the hearts of men and cast it into the void."

"…In oblivion, she bound them. In silence, she damned herself."

"…He called her Bride, but the veil she wore was never white—it was woven of false fates."

Damon narrowed his eyes. The goddess took it…

He knew—she was the one who had taken away the freedom to use all magic. She had bound every soul to only one attribute.

'Was that… because of the unknown god?'

Sylvia didn't know what he was thinking. She spoke slowly, her eyes low.

"The other monolith called the goddess a bride… but never finished the thought. But here, the unknown god calls her bride… and says her veil was never white. It was… woven from false fates."

He narrowed his gaze.

"So… what are you saying? The goddess defied him? Refused her fate as his bride…?"

Sylvia nodded. He lowered his voice, a whisper.

"You trying to tell me the unknown god is throwing a temper tantrum because he got rejected?"

Sylvia shook her head. "I… I don't know. But… he hated his name."

She read the next line.

The god who blessed names hated his own…

"If he hated his name," she muttered, "then maybe he let doom take it. Made himself an unknown god…"

Damon narrowed his eyes. "That would make sense… I was almost under the impression the goddess was stronger…"

Sylvia shook her head. "I find that doubtful. I think… when you reach their level, the concept of strength becomes irrelevant. Just another idea they've already surpassed…"

Then came the final line. The one that confirmed the most important speculation:

Ohh, tragic tale of the abyss and his bride…

"If the goddess defied him, then why is she called the Goddess of the Abyss? Why is their tale tragic?"

Damon shook his head slowly. "I don't know… but I do know this: when the Temple of Doom finds out what we've seen, said, or even thought here… we'll be victims of a tragic story too."

Sylvia bit her lip. She knew it. She knew the name of the unknown god—not just his title, but his actual name…

She bit her lip harder.

"To know his name is to let him in… What happens if someone in our world actually knows his name?"

Damon shook his head. "I don't know… they'd probably let him in."

He didn't say anything more. He only hoped Sylvia didn't actually have the name of a god living in her head.

The only name permitted was that of the Goddess of Doom—and even that was only spoken aloud by High Clerics during the largest of ceremonies.

He turned around, holding her hand. Ignoring anymore dangerous thoughts. His silence was leadership, not ignorance.

He did not wish to end up like Ashcroft.

"All our speculations are wrong. We saw nothing. We were never here."

He said it loud enough for the others to hear.

"Let's get out of here. This shrine gives me the creeps…"

They left silently… almost eager to.

But Damon's shadow remained behind. Slowly, it began to devour the corpses—one after another—until every faceless corpse was swallowed into it.

It stopped in front of the monolith… for an instant, as if it hesitated. As if it… resigned itself.

Then it slithered after Damon, leaving the shrine's territory.

Moments later, the sound of leaves being crushed underfoot echoed faintly.

From one side of the shrine… a creature stepped out.

White-skinned. Bipedal. Its body smooth, surface unmarred. Fingers long and pale. Its face—or lack of one—was blank. No eyes. No features.

It approached the monolith with fear. With reverence. It bowed slightly, then bent forward—fingers gliding toward Sylvia's spilled blood still clinging to the cold stone.

It brought the blood to its face, touching it to where lips should have been…

And slowly… the blood formed lips. Delicate. Feminine. Lips similar to Sylvia's.

It smiled.

Then the blood faded. The lips vanished.

It stood, looking in the direction Damon and his party had gone.

And followed.

Slowly… it followed.