My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

The place was dark. Wet. The ground was uneven. Then again, this wasn’t exactly ground—just a massive pile of wreckage that had fused together over time to form a drifting island.

For that reason, everything on it was tightly packed, pressed together so snugly it gave off the illusion of stability. But Damon knew better.

It was all a lie.

Moving one piece—shifting anything that wasn’t meant to be moved—could send the entire island crumbling down into the monster-infested waters below.

He saw many things that had once belonged to a vibrant, thriving city. Wood, metal, stone… random debris. Road signs, wheels, shattered swords, splintered shields, rusted armor—all jumbled into one chaotic ruin.

Too many wrecks. Too many memories drowned and broken.

His shadow perception picked up too much. Shapes. Movement. Echoes. And deep pools of water, snaking through the wreckage like hidden veins—leading to the abyss.

A place far too dangerous to navigate.

One misstep and they’d fall in.

No more air. No more light.

Damon wouldn’t suffocate, not with [Water Celebration]. He could breathe underwater just fine. But the rest of the party? Dead in minutes.

Hell, he’d die too if the ruins buried him. One wrong move and it’d all be over.

He chuckled softly at the absurdity of it all. He’d been the one who forced them to dive into the cursed green waters to escape the Keeper of False Truths.

Ironically, the same monstrous sentinels meant to keep them out of this forsaken place had tried to flee from him.

Now here they were.

He stood on the highest point of the wreckage, staring up at the ceiling high above. It was faintly illuminated by old, forgotten runes and crumbling murals etched into ancient stone.

Even using Xander’s gravity magic hadn’t helped them float out. His omnidirectional gear couldn’t latch onto the walls—too strong, too slick, too damn old.

“These folks in Lysithara’s past really deserve a bloody pat on the back for building such a durable city,” he muttered.

He wasn’t even frustrated anymore.

Escape was still the goal. He hadn’t given up. Not yet.

His fingers brushed against his mother’s locket resting around his neck, beside the pendant he got from Back-to-Back.

“Luna… I promise,” he whispered, voice low, steady, “I will live… long enough to save you…”

His sister still needed him. And no matter how exhausted he was—no matter how much he hated life—he would suffer more for her sake.

There had to be a way to cure Magic Circuit Cancer.

If no modern method existed, then maybe… just maybe, the ancients of Lysithara had a way.

He closed his eyes.

And if not… a world dungeon would have to do. Flora had mentioned an elixir—hidden within a world dungeon—that could save her.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “I’m not done yet…”

He leapt down from where he stood.

The area below was bathed in golden light—Evangeline’s magic, spreading in all directions. She glanced at him as he landed beside her, her expression weary. Her illumination held back the dark.

“What should we be looking for anyway?” she asked, voice quiet.

Damon didn’t know. Not really. He only knew they had to find something—anything—that could be used.

“Anything that looks useful,” he said. “Most importantly, wood.”

Matia, the third member of their scavenger group—named so by Damon himself—glanced over. The others were still back there, hacking at monsters, harvesting anything they could for food.

“Are you planning to build a raft?” she asked.

Damon turned toward her. He’d debated between bringing her or Leona. But Matia was too versatile to leave behind. Her arsenal was vast—she could create nearly any weapon she wished. Ice constructs, too.

In the end, Matia had insisted on coming.

“A raft’ll fall apart too easily in this place,” he replied.

Evangeline nodded, pushing aside her damp, golden hair.

“The monsters will tear it apart before we even get far… or worse, let us get far, then rip it apart.”

Damon nodded again. He’d thought of that too. Even now, he could feel the eyes on them—monsters lurking in the water, waiting for the right moment.

Matia’s braid swayed as she stepped forward, peering into the black surface of the water. The place was suffocating—claustrophobic—even more so for a fairy like her, used to flying free through open skies.

“How do you plan to get us out, then?” she asked. “And what’s the wood for, anyway?”

Damon smiled, giving a nonchalant shrug.

“Isn’t it obvious? To build a raft.”

They both blinked at him.

“…Didn’t you just say a raft wouldn’t work?”

Damon nodded.

“A raft won’t help us escape.”

Evangeline sighed, exchanging a tired look with Matia.

“You don’t have a plan at all, do you?”

Damon picked up a soaked piece of wood. He had no idea what it had once been—part of a house, a carriage, maybe a building —but even after thousands of years, it remained in decent condition.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Evangeline didn’t answer. Her hand clenched into a fist. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then stayed silent.

Matia turned, walking deeper into the wreckage, carefully pulling apart anything that looked like usable wood or metal.

Damon moved in another direction, eyes scanning the debris for anything helpful.

Evangeline sighed again, watching her magic shimmer in the dark. She glanced back at the boy. Damon… he was still moving forward.

He never broke.

She envied that strength. She was starting to understand why he always seemed so bleak. She’d overheard what he told Matia in the cathedral. Out there, in the world—people who had suffered more than her still kept walking.

She remembered what he’d once said to her, back in the academy.

“The weak ask for justice. The strong create it.”

She bit her lip.

‘I want to be strong… I want more power… I want all of us to survive…’

Finally, she opened her mouth. Her voice was soft. Stuttering. Scared.

“Y…yo…you can lean on me. I…I will support you…”

Damon paused, one hand gripping a large shield half-buried in the wreckage. He looked at her with a tired smile.

“Why are you telling me this now? Haven’t you been acting like the vice party leader this whole time?”

Evangeline gave a small smile.

“Didn’t that role originally belong to Sylvia…?”

Damon grinned faintly.

“Shut up and get to work, human torch. I didn’t just bring you here to be a nightlight—put those huge muscles to use.”

Evangeline smiled—until the end of that sentence registered.

Her smile faded. “Huge… muscles…?”

She blinked, looking down at her arms.

They weren’t huge.

She barely had any.

“…The bastard.”