My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Damon had long since stopped contemplating what they had seen and heard… he had chosen to ignore it.

Focusing on their current problems was far more important than trying to make sense of something as far and distant as gods. He already had enough mortal problems—he didn't need to add divine ones to the list.

He walked, the giant axe slung casually in his hand. Two days had passed. Two days without rest.

Though honestly, it had been six since they left the Beldam's residence. So close to a week with no real sleep. They had come across horror after horror, fought battle after battle… yet they were still alive.

There were a few reasons for that.

The first was their strength—each of them possessed a unique class. The second was Sylvia's skill. The third would be the Beldam's map.

But the most important one… was luck.

That was all it was. They were still alive simply because they were lucky.

Other than that, Sylvia's skill had changed somehow. Damon could feel it.

It was subtle—but it was like the elf girl could now use it more freely.

Almost as if she no longer had to pay a price for the knowledge she gleamed from it.

He narrowed his eyes, frowning faintly.

'Did she pay in advance… when she was possessed…?'

Damon couldn't tell. The nature of Sylvia's skill was still a mystery.

He sighed.

Things were still fine. There was no need to go digging for more trouble.

He continued on, walking at the center of the formation.

Speaking of skills… he had gained a few of his own.

He'd sent his shadow to devour the nameless, faceless corpses of the dead knights. It had returned with some shadow energy—but it was negligible, almost insignificant.

'They've been dead for too long… that's why I didn't get much…'

He'd also gained some stat points—but the numbers were pitiful. Sometimes, he got none at all.

However, it hadn't been a fruitless endeavor.

He had gained two new skills.

[Skill: Faceless]

[Description:]

The face is a lie. The name is a leash. The soul is a chain. Those who wore none could not be bound—neither by fate, nor memory, nor death.

The Face Stealers did not kill to feed. They devoured to erase. And now, that curse has become part of you.

Your presence is like mist in the wind—felt, but never grasped.

You are no one.

You are everyone.

You are forgotten before you are even seen.

They will look… and forget.

They will hunt… and find nothing.

[Effect:]

Distorts the world's perception of the user—erasing sight, magic, voice, and presence. Even unique abilities leave no trace.

But the longer it remains active, the more it distorts the user's own sense of self.

[Type:] Active

[Cooldown:] 0 seconds

It was an active skill. Its power would grant Damon the ability to distort his appearance—not in the physical sense, but in perception.

In his own eyes, he would remain unchanged. But to others… he would become like mist.

They could look at him, but they wouldn't be able to connect what they saw.

Like trying to grasp fog with your hands—close, yet so far away.

However, the skill was dire. Honest. Dangerous.

Damon wasn't sure he wanted to pay its price.

If he used it for extended periods, he risked losing memories—perhaps even forgetting himself entirely.

'I don't need this right now… but when we eventually go up against the Temple… it'll be invaluable.

A perfect skill to keep my identity hidden while letting me use all my signature skills and abilities without reservations…'

He walked on, silent, deep in thought as his shadow stretched behind him.

The entire party was vigilant. Watchful. Tense.

The next skill… the next one had been part of the luck that kept them alive.

It was truly a godsend.

[Skill: Danger Sense]

[Description:]

Bound by honor and duty the knights swore secrecy. As they began this mighty undertaking, they swore to find traces of Ashcroft's return and perhaps that which the visitors had shared with the Lysithara...

Once again the children of Aetherus lust after its promise of power... though they will never reach it... forever they remain oblivious to the dangers.

[Effect:]

Grants the user a heightened awareness of immediate threats. Hostile intent within close range triggers a subtle instinctive reaction... too much can be overwhelming. The dangers everywhere are sensed although just as fickle as the word of the visitors... do not put too much faith in this skill. Some dangers are beyond you.

[Type:]

Passive/Active

[Cooldown:] 0 sec

The skill was incredible… but in the Whispering Forest, it was both a gift and a curse.

A gift—because it allowed him to sense danger.

A curse—because danger was everywhere.

The moment he entered this wretched forest, the skill had become a screaming buzz in the back of his skull—warning him of threats from every direction.

And there were so many directions.

Too many.

Some dangers whispered softly. Others howled. But the worst were the ones that buzzed like an angry hornet behind his eyes.

Fortunately, though it was a passive ability, it could be deactivated.

So Damon used it sparingly—only when he needed to tell if a place was safe, less dangerous, or a complete death trap.

He had forced himself to get used to the noise.

He'd endured it.

Endured the shrieking warnings that pressed against his senses like a thousand invisible daggers.

And honestly, it was that decision—that luck—that had kept them alive.

He thought about the skill's description again…

It mentioned why the knights came to this death zone.

'They came here searching for traces of Ashcroft's return…'

Damon's eyes narrowed slightly.

'So that means… the Demon Lord of Domination is actually real?'

"Of course he was. The monolith was proof enough…"

But it didn't end there.

They were also searching for what the visitors had given Lysithara.

Whatever it was… Damon had a gnawing feeling it was that very thing that had twisted the once-great city.

That had flooded it with rot and corruption.

It wasn't just monsters or decay.

It was design.

Intent.

He could feel it—whatever it was, it had fed their lust for power. Spreading to the rest of the world

It was why the ancient cities of Aetherus now lay in ruins…

Damon was lost in thought—until he felt a buzz.

His danger sense flared.

Mild… yet intense.

A soft vibration just beneath the surface of his skull—like static brushing against bone.

"Curses…"

The voice didn't come from Damon.

It came from Xander—who stood frozen ahead, staring up into the trees.

Damon rushed forward, his boots thudding against the moss-covered ground.

"Damn it! Don't look at her—!"

But it was too late.

Xander had already looked.

So far, they had avoided this vile species of monster.

So far, they'd survived by doing so.

But now… it was too late.

She hung from the tree, suspended by threads that looked like woven flesh.

Her limbs dangled like broken branches, her head tilted to the side at an unnatural angle, hair like dried grass clinging to her face.

This was one of them.

The Hanging Mother.

Slowly she fell… towards the forest floor.