My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Chapter 806: Chapter 807: Hollow Saint

It was a risky choice to move forward without any plans, but the entire battle with the Mother of Stillbirths had proven one thing. No plan was absolute. No one could see the future.

With each step he took, Damon pushed himself further into an uncertain fate. His breathing steadied, then sharpened as the cold air of the cavern brushed across his skin.

The path to the next trial was nothing but a silent wall. As they approached it, Damon lifted the key taken from the slain Mother of Stillbirths. The cavern trembled.

The stone cracked. The wall split open like a wounded beast revealing its ribs.

Damon stepped through first, shoulders squared, jaw tight. Lazarak followed in his small childlike form, shadowed eyes flicking over every corner.

Matia trailed behind them with slow, measured steps, her fingers resting near the hilt of her sword out of habit.

The moment they crossed the threshold, whispers curled through the air. Damon’s ear twitched. The voices sounded as if countless people had been imprisoned inside this place.

Each whisper carried a piece of a memory. Rage, happiness, sorrow. All of it braided together into something that felt like faith. The sound seeped out of the darkness itself.

The chamber was dark except for a single ray of pale light in the center. A lone figure knelt within it, hands clasped, body still as stone.

He prayed before a massive statue of the Goddess of Doom. Her veiled face remained hidden, yet the cold beauty carved into the white stone radiated divinity. Her presence seemed to freeze the air around her.

Damon’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the kneeling man. The garment was familiar. It was the attire worn by the Inquisition, the fanatical devotees of doom.

The temple branch that should not have existed until a few hundred thousand years in the future

He sneered. Of all places to encounter a temple fanatic, Eidolon’s ancient depths were not the one he expected. Then again, this prison had been built by lesser gods who worshiped doom long before any organized temple did. Perhaps the temple had copied them and not the other way around.

The man’s prayers were soft. Damon leaned slightly, trying to catch the words, but they dissolved into the air before reaching him.

Lazarak glanced at Damon. Damon lifted his chin in suspicion, eyes sharpening as he scanned the area. The single ray of light made the scene feel sacred, almost fragile. Speaking here felt like intruding on a ceremony not meant for mortals.

“Pray to the goddess. Kneel and beg for forgiveness.”

The voice drifted from the praying figure. Damon snorted. Pray. Kneel. What a joke. He was not an atheist. He knew the goddess existed. He simply refused to worship her.

He twisted his lip into a mocking grin.

“I am not faithful. I will pass. Let us skip the formalities and move to the part where we try to kill each other.”

The kneeling figure did not flinch. His back remained straight, hands locked together in unwavering devotion.

“I am not a fighter. I lack the skill to carry out violence and spread the glory of the goddess. Thus I kneel here, begging for forgiveness.”

Lazarak shifted, his small form leaning slightly forward. His eyes traced the figure with growing curiosity. In Eidolon, everyone was technically a prisoner, even the wardens trapped within their assigned roles. Could this kneeling man be the same?

“Can you not leave,” Lazarak asked, voice steady.

The man did not lift his head. His forehead nearly touched the ground.

“We cannot leave until our sins are forgiven by the goddess,” he said in a slow, hollow voice.

Damon turned to the surrounding darkness. His eyes narrowed. He could normally see through any shadow, especially after obtaining Darkness Dominate. Anything that was not Lazarak’s body had no hope of hiding from him. But this darkness was different. It was black but not true darkness. There was no depth to it, no texture. Just an empty void.

He crossed his arms.

“Who are you anyway?”

The man continued to pray.

“I am a saint. A human who has devoted his life to the goddess. Sadly, like all humans, I am weak and frail.”

Damon lifted one brow, almost amused.

Weak and Frail, Humans. What nonsense. Humans were one of the most violent races in existence. War was their language. Extinction was their craft.

“Whatever gave you that impression. Humans are not weak. If you are weak, that sounds like a skill issue.”

The man still did not move.

“Yes. It is as you say. I am weak. And I dared blame my weakness on a race created by the goddess. I have sinned again.”

Damon’s face twisted in disgust. Even so, curiosity flickered in his eyes.

“Who the hell are you? What’s your name.?”

The man lowered his head further. His voice grew even more somber.

“I am the Hollow Saint. A saint whose prayers have not yet been answered. An inferior saint.”

Damon exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms more tightly.

“Look here buddy, I am not interested in your sad story. Why are you praying to the goddess directly? Is the whole idea not that you pray to the lesser gods and they carry your message to her.”

His tone was mocking, but beneath it there was genuine interest.

The Hollow Saint responded with the same defeated calm.

“I am ashamed to admit the lesser gods want nothing to do with one such as I. Thus I pray here. Only the goddess can free me.”

Damon shook his head.

“What trial is this,” Lazarak asked, his gaze fixed on the saint.

The Hollow Saint did not turn.

“This is the Trial of Faith. We must show our faith and beg the goddess for forgiveness. When she answers, we will be free to leave the imaginary prison of Eidolon.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Lazarak with a frown. A trial where they were expected to bow and beg the very goddess responsible for their imprisonment. If she answered, they could leave. If not…

“And if we do not,” Lazarak asked softly.

The saint lifted a hand and gestured toward the empty dark.

“Then you are free to attempt to leave. But you will discover, as I have, how unforgiving the darkness truly is.”

Damon smirked at the kneeling saint, then stared into the false void. His eyes hardened.

He feared no darkness.

“I will take my chances with the darkness.”