My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Chapter 777: Chapter 778: The Murder-That-Wasn’t

Damon stood up. He had not even realized he had sat down to read the life of Tobias the Bias. Damon understood what the Trial of Sin was, it was the latest of the Prison Eidolon, where prisoners were imprisoned in a record of their own sins.

Tobias was his own book, trapped within it forever, and so were the others.

The Mirror Seraph in the Trial of Truth forced people to face their truths, and when you failed, you became trapped as a soulless husk in the world of mirrors.

In the deeper fifth level was the Trial of Self, which was a challenge of the self and kept you in a beautiful dream, one you didn’t want to ever leave.

Each trial had a way to pass. However, Lazarak wasn’t clear on how to pass this one. Damon was not bothered.

Lazarak was a god, and while he was weak, he had his mysteries.

Damon was about to go further into the library when he stopped and grabbed a book.

He smiled softly.

“I’ll take one for the road… knowledge is power after all.”

Damon glanced at the title. It was quite eye-catching.

It read:

Marcellus the Merciless.

Just from the title, Damon knew this person was truly a great sinner. The book even had a few blood chains tied around it, as if he were one of the greatest of sinners.

Damon began reading his impressive record, and the more he read, the more he began to understand that he, Damon Grey, was actually a good person.

Truly sick people had existed in the past. Take Marcellus, for example.

For one, he flayed the skin of his own soldiers so he could make matching banners. When the skin dried up, he replaced it with the skin of new soldiers.

The impressive list continued. He used to tax people for laughing and smiling. Even crying was a reason to be taxed. When newborns were born crying, he taxed them, and if the parents couldn’t pay, he whipped the whole family, newborn included.

Midwives picked up a culture of muffling babies so they would not hear their cries.

He made your closest relative or friend carry out your punishment, regardless of the severity.

Damon had to admit: this book was disturbing. He closed it halfway as he walked through the shelves.

“Some names really write themselves.”

He glanced at the large library. So many people with sins… he wondered if he would have a name fitting his own.

There was a small shudder as he spat to the side, warding off such evil thoughts.

’I’m too handsome to be a fleshy book.’

Damon had just said that when he felt a presence behind him. He froze. With this body, if there were something behind him, he would have sensed it before it got close.

Even if he didn’t, he would have been able to see himself through the reflection in its eyes.

That was assuming its eyes could reflect anything.

Damon’s eyes didn’t reflect light. Neither did Lazarak’s. Matia’s eyes were the same, and so was her Shadow Ghost.

It was too late to evade. Damon had not sensed it in time, and from the whistling wind, he knew he was about to be hit…

There was a sensation as something smashed into his body until the glittering sound of glass shattering echoed as his glass body cracked, and he was sent flying into a shelf made of flesh books.

Damon crashed to the ground, standing up just in time to evade another attack.

He didn’t get a good look, but whatever attacked him was not remotely human-shaped or maybe it was an unfamiliar shape he would not recognize… maybe. Except for one thing.

“Hands…”

Yes. Hands. It was made of hands.

It was quite a grotesque mosaic to look at. Perhaps a deranged artist had decided to create it. This was not something that should even be moving, yet it was.

This was an entity made solely of severed hands of different shapes and kinds.

The hands of men, large and chiseled, clean and scarred. The smaller hands of women, from rich to poor. The limbs of children.

All kinds of hands formed together to create this creature.

It charged straight toward Damon. He jumped as his hands formed a sharp, translucent blade and slipped down, cutting into the arms.

They spun, and some grabbed the transparent mirror blade, which was an extension of his body and began to pull it down.

Damon saw the arms begin to rise and try to climb onto his body. Seeing this, he raised his other hand and punched the mirror blade until it shattered, taking his right arm with it.

But he didn’t mind. It was better than being pulled down by this strange entity, whose powers and abilities he did not know.

Besides, this wasn’t his body. He didn’t lose anything.

Reaching for his back, he pulled out one of the glass wings and placed it in place of his arm. It became an arm just like the other.

This was one of the Mirror Seraph’s skills, which allowed it to regenerate through mirrors.

Damon stepped back as he watched. His eyes narrowed. With a soft crunch, the broken arm was consumed, and soon it began to twitch as it became part of the arms that made up this entity and its grotesque form.

“Sinner… sinner… sinner…” The arms ground together. As this whisper came from it, Damon felt something jolt his soul. He was forced to accept the label of sinner.

“Murder… murder… murder…”

It called out as Damon was forced to accept that he was, in fact, a murderer.

“What is this thing…”

The entity didn’t need to answer Damon, but it answered his question as if to say it didn’t matter. Even if he knew, he would still be punished.

“Punishment… punishment… punishment…”

“We are the…” There was a long pause as it waited to call out what it was.

“The Murder-That-Wasn’t.”