My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Chapter 530: Chapter 532: I’m Not Asking

It was dark here…

Deep and oppressive darkness, so thick it filled your lungs and broke your spirit. The ground was corrupted, and countless abominable horrors clashed in a chaotic symphony of pain and suffering.

Yet, despite the vileness of this place, there was a red glow. It flickered wildly from within — the light of wild, unrelenting flame. And within those flames, a man burned… laughing. Laughing crazily into the void.

The more he burned, the greater his resistance to the fire became. He didn’t burn because someone had set him ablaze. He burned because he wanted to.

The pain meant nothing to him. And as the flames scorched his flesh and licked at his soul…

His mastery grew.

Damon walked out of the pyre the villagers had built to kill him. Did they truly believe he would burn from such mundane fire? Wood and oil? When he had once set himself ablaze in the dark depths of Lysithara with magical fire, enduring torment so potent it shattered weaker minds?

He had used the flames of Ashborn every chance he got, even knowing he’d feel tenfold the agony of burning alive.

Fire? What fire?

The flames crawling over him now were lukewarm, a mere ember’s kiss compared to what he had survived.

These people had acted like animals. And even then — even then, he had offered them mercy.

But this was not Damon’s way. Not anymore. Giving someone a second chance was like turning your back and asking them to stab you again because they failed the first time.

His body, wreathed in flame, moved with slow, steady grace. No fear. No pain. No screams. Only his dark eyes, calm and absolute peering out from the inferno.

The village head froze, eyes wide with disbelief, his face ashen. His jaw trembled as Damon emerged, walking through the fire unscathed.

“By the goddess…” he whispered, his lips quivering with dread.

“The gag burned to ash and the crown upon Damon’s head gleamed in the firelight.”

The village head, consumed by panic, raised his hand toward the adventurers.

“Demon…! Demon! It’s a demon attack! We have to strike now… now!”

The words snapped the crowd from their stupor. The adventurers reached to draw their weapons.

But Damon turned toward them — and with that single motion, a wave of horror surged through every soul present.

Hands shook. Legs wobbled. A crushing, intangible dread weighed down on their hearts.

Then, Damon unleashed his second class aura, pulsing with immense mana. It forced them to their knees, blood dribbling from the corners of their mouths as their lungs refused to draw breath.

“A-ah… ah…”

An adventurer tried to scream, but only the pounding of his heart registered in his mind. He couldn’t even breathe.

Damon’s gaze drifted away from them. They weren’t worth his attention.

He turned to the villagers.

Each step he took crackled with fire, though the flames began to die away — revealing a figure clad in light black armor, a crown resting perfectly atop his head. He moved with sovereign poise.

Regal and Untouchable, with terrifying grace….

He looked like a noble dark king who had, for some cursed reason, graced this pitiful village with his presence.

The villagers should have fallen to their knees in gratitude — but instead, they had provoked the wrath of such an entity.

The village head trembled, his stomach churning with regret.

Why did I listen to Neil…?

If only he had just ignored Damon. But now… now they had summoned a calamity upon themselves.

He staggered, searching desperately for help.

Spotting a group of powerful-looking adventurers

Singularity’s group!

Yes — there was hope. Damon wouldn’t go too far. He wouldn’t kill them with so many witnesses. Yes…

He swallowed hard, raised a trembling hand, and croaked out a plea:

“Help… help us! He — he wants to kill us all…! Please! We have children in the village!”

Damon narrowed his eyes.

So the old man was cunning after all. But did he really think that would save them?

Other villagers caught on quickly, echoing the plea. Pride abandoned, they knelt and sobbed, begging toward anyone who might be their savior.

“Kill me but spare my child.”

“My wife is pregnant, she won’t survive without me..”

The village head crumbled beneath Damon’s stare, falling to the ground and rolling in the dirt. He stopped at Twilight’s feet, staring up at the young man with an arrogant posture, desperation leaking from every pore.

“Help us, brave adventurers… save us… save our children…”

Damon was disgusted.

How could anyone be so small?

’Pathetic.’

Twilight sighed, exchanging glances with his party before looking at Damon.

“What do you wanna do with them?”

The village head turned pale.

What?!

Damon was… with them?

Of course. They were his traveling companions.

Damon stepped forward.

He grabbed the old man by the neck and lifted him off the ground, raising him above eye level with one arm.

The villagers tried to flee, but Damon unleashed Omen of Dread once more. Fear paralyzed them instantly, like being pinned in a nightmare with their eyes wide open.

“Whoever moves without my permission dies.”

The air grew heavy again. The old man trembled in Damon’s grip.

“P-please… spare this old man… I beg you…”

Damon sneered.

“I really hate when a leader only cares about himself and not his people. A true leader would gladly die for them.”

That was true for Vathren, the Lord of Lysithara — a real leader. A king in all but title.

This old man? He wasn’t even worthy of his dirt.

“Are you willing to die for them?” Damon’s voice dropped into a whisper laced with menace.

“If I kill you with a thousand cuts and let the others live, would you agree?”

The village head was sobbing now. A stench of urine spread from him as it dripped down his leg.

“Please… spare me… I beg you… please…my child, I watched you grow, remember…please.. I’m old ”

Damon sighed.

What had he expected? His rage twisted like a knife in his chest. His grip tightened.

The old man gagged, his carotid arteries compressed by Damon’s iron grasp. The crowd watched, paralyzed — their fear fueling Damon’s Terror Engine.

And then…

He dropped him.

The old man fell to the ground, gasping, sucking in air with ragged desperation.

“You won’t die today,” Damon said coldly.

“Like I said before… I need you to perform my father’s last rites.”

He leaned in, so close the man could feel the heat of his breath.

“This time, I’m not asking.”