My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Matlock could hear the blood dripping from Sylvia’s eyes. When he turned his head, she was on the ground, collapsed. He didn’t understand what she had just done… why she had taken out Evangeline… why she had knocked out their strongest fighter when the enemy still had fight left in them.

She had said Matlock would die if they crossed the bridge. But wouldn’t he die anyway if he fought an angry war troll, even if it looked exhausted?

Matlock had said he wasn’t afraid, but now, left alone against the war troll, he felt his nerves tighten. The others were all unconscious behind him. He had to fight.

“No more running away… Matia.” Matlock muttered those soft words to himself as the war troll finished catching its breath.

“Hehehehe, all goddess race lose fight. Just you… tiny fairy…”

Matlock took a deep breath, his wings fluttering behind him.

“This isn’t Winter Haven anymore… I can…”

Matlock flew at the war troll, its massive fist raised to punch him. Its body was slower than before, likely from the toll of repeatedly regenerating after taking damage.

Matlock dipped low, weaving past the incoming fist. As he did, he unleashed a torrent of ice onto the troll’s chest. The beast staggered back, reaching for him, but like an agile dragonfly, he severed over its hands—so close he almost felt its fingers graze his body. He soared higher and unleashed another blast of ice. Shards shot toward the troll, shattering as they struck its thick skin.

The war troll frowned, annoyed, fresh blood mixing with melted ice on its arm.

“Me not die. Me heal… until me eat you.”

Matlock took another deep breath. He was tired. His wings ached. He was afraid. He was hungry, wet, bleeding—and worst of all, he smelled horrible. The last part was, oddly, the most unbearable.

He glanced at his torn combat uniform—unisex, practical, and now ruined.

He would have preferred to die in something else.

‘Am I going to die here…?’ His gaze flickered to his unconscious companions in the distance. They had done their part.

“But how do I kill something that can regenerate…?”

His mind steadied. The war troll reached down, grabbing massive rocks and hurling them at him. Matlock danced through the air, drifting like a snowflake as he evaded the incoming projectiles.

Then, something changed.

A sinister glint shone in the war troll’s eyes. It wasn’t just reacting to him—it was moving away.

A cold realization settled over Matlock.

He had been trying to lure the troll away from his unconscious party members. But the creature had only been pretending to focus on him. It wanted to get to them.

Matlock gritted his teeth. No hesitation.

He charged down, aiming straight for the war troll, who was now barreling toward the motionless Sylvia.

Matlock roared in his faint androgynous voice, shooting toward the war troll with his body weight firm in the sky. The war troll smiled coldly, turning around to grab Matlock, who had given up safety to protect the others. It reached out.

“I catch you, fairy.”

The war troll’s massive hands stretched forward, grasping at Matlock. He tried to drift away, but it was too late—the troll’s thick fingers brushed against his wings, yanking him downward and slamming him toward a boulder far at the cliff’s edge.

The troll had tricked him, forcing him to face it or lose a friend. Matlock felt the crack of his delicate wings, the sharp snap of bones, and the warm rush of blood covering his head.

‘Hehe… Sylvia… you placed your faith in the wrong person… Now… we’ll all die because of me…’

Tears streamed down Matlock’s face. He did not understand why Sylvia did what she did, but it had been an act of trust. He leaned his head against the cold, jagged boulder, his tears mixing with blood as the wind from the deep chasm below howled through the mountains.

The war troll walked toward him, its slow, dark grin widening with malicious delight.

‘I tried to fight… for the first time in my life, I tried to do something other than be afraid… but all I can ever do is obey…’

He coughed, blood flecking his lips. “All I can do is dance tragically to someone’s tune…”

With the last of his strength, he raised his trembling hand toward the sky, blood dripping from his fingertips as he attempted to summon his magic.

“That’s fine by me… I don’t mind being stuck as someone’s shadow… Whether it’s my home, my father, or my twin brother… I’ve lived in their shadow my whole life, afraid…”

Matlock clenched his fist, forming a single icicle, bitter and full of spite. “Just once, I want to be me. Let me be myself, even if I am only a shadow. Even as a shadow that only knows how to follow and obey… I want to be me… even if I become nothing but a snowflake—beautiful but short-lived.”

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand. The ice vibrated, jagged and lethal, his magic twisting into a deadly final act. The war troll’s eyes widened, sensing danger, as Matlock unleashed the ice toward its chest. The troll, seeing the attack coming, raised its massive fist to shield itself.

The expected pain never came.

Confused, the troll glanced down, but Matlock was gone. Only bloodstains remained where he had been. The next instant, a sharp pain tore through its legs. It groaned as its tendons were severed, and as it attempted to turn, its own weight betrayed it. It collapsed at the edge of the cliff, its balance lost.

Its eyes widened in shock.

“How…?”

The ground crumbled beneath it. The troll plummeted into the abyss, its scream echoing through the mountains. The last thing it saw was Matlock’s cold, bloodstained eyes and his broken wings as it disappeared into the darkness.

Matlock fell to his knees, his torn clothes fluttering in the wind, his breath ragged and heavy. Then, a gentle, ancient voice echoed in his mind.

[Snowflakes are born in the heavens, dancing gracefully in the wind as they drift toward their graves on earth. They melt upon arrival, leaving the world in awe of their fleeting beauty…]

[You have awakened the unique class: Dancing Fairy.]

[Class: Dancing Fairy]

[Oh, little fairy, dance upon the strings. Sway to the whims of your master, a fleeting waltz between beauty and death… Your demise is at hand. What form will you take in death?]

[Skill – Lethal Grace]

[Your movements are fluid and deadly, turning every attack into a flawless dance of death.]

[Your Fable has begun.]

These were the last words Matlock heard as he lay beside the cliff, the cold wind brushing against his delicate skin.

“I want to be… me… Not Matlock… I will be me…”

He closed his eyes.

“No longer Matlock… no longer afraid… Just me.”