My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Chapter 791: Chapter 792: Mother Of Stillbirths

”Awww...” Damon let out a soft yawn as he stretched across the bed. He stood, snapped his fingers lightly, then waited.

Nothing.

He frowned and snapped again.

Still nothing.

He glanced at the side of his bed. No morning tea. For a moment he simply stared, then sighed. All that talk with Lazarak about wanting to be rich had really infected his thoughts. He was rich now. So why was there no tea.

He pushed himself up.

Beside the bed sat a pile of books with human organs pressed into their covers. They glistened faintly in the library’s pale light. Once, they had been people. Now they were light reading. Damon had been indulging in it lately. Relaxing, really.

”A nourished mind is the key to a nourished body.”

He muttered the phrase as he rose fully, lifting his gaze toward the vast halls of the library. Towering shelves stretched into the dim distance. Every book was a prisoner. Every prisoner was a story.

It had been a few days since the trial of sin ended. Lazarak obtained the key to the next trial, but he insisted Damon rest while he investigated what came next.

Damon had told him his long term plan, should he fail in dying. It felt strange to even say it out loud. But if nothing interfered, he believed he would succeed eventually.

The trial of sin had been brutal. Designed to break him. Yet he had walked away with something real.

He had faced himself, truly faced himself, and survived.

He had broken free from the cage of guilt he had welded around his own heart. Surviving was not wrong. And even if someone believed it was, the world was far too eager to punish him on its own. He did not need to help it.

His long term plan sounded frivolous and self-centered on the surface. But the truth underneath was simple...

Damon wanted security. Something he never had. Riches gave that.

He wanted control. Power gave that.

He wanted a life where he was not crawling through every day like a starving animal.

He had worked hard. Harder than anyone deserved to. But hard work meant nothing. If effort alone created success, then the donkey would own the farm and the oxen would run the enterprise.

Reality was cruel. He knew it better than most.

He hid all of this behind casual jokes, but this was his truth.

He walked between the shelves, returning the books to their places. Each one moaned or begged softly as he slid it back. They had all been alive once. Some evil, some not. What they shared was guilt.

They knew what they had done. And that guilt had eaten them alive when they were trapped in Eidolon.

’This was the trial of sin. And for those who felt no guilt and rejected it, they probably faced the mirror seraph in the trial of truth, where they had to acknowledge their truths.’

Damon let the thought drift through his mind as he surveyed the prison around him.

”Imaginary prison is a fitting name. This place messes with your mind.”

He shoved the last book into place. The woman trapped inside begged him to destroy her soul, but after reading her history, Damon felt not even a flicker of sympathy.

He walked on and scanned the shelves for another book. The endings were often the same, but he did not mind. Every life was still a story.

Each trial had a key. This one opened the next. Only two more stood between them and freedom.

Lazarak was a good god. Oddly enough, Damon had been surprised to admit that. The little schemer never told the full truth, only enough to avoid suspicion. It was intentional. Transparent even. But Damon could tell the trickster did not harbor ill will.

That was why Damon shared his long term plan. He had expected disdain, maybe mockery. Instead, Lazarak accepted it without blinking.

’I have not had anyone accept me like this since Lilith Astranova.’

The thought tightened his chest. He wondered where she was. Alive or dead.

He shook his head.

No. She was alive. And if she was dead, he wanted to see her corpse.

”Lilith has to be outside this prison...” he whispered. Or perhaps he should not hope too much.

Either way, he would enjoy the downtime here. A little vacation among sentient books.

He felt a pang of guilt for making his shadow Ghost haul a massive bed from the deepest level up to this one. But comfort was comfort.

Damon cleared his throat and made his way to the place where he had faced the Archivist. He sat in a chair he had also forced Ghost to bring up from the deepest level.

He opened a fresh book as Matia approached, placing a cup of steaming tea beside him. The flames used to boil it came from burning one of the books that had once been a person.

”Ahem. Thank you.” He felt a little bad treating her like a maid. She was his knight, after all.

”Where is Renata when you need her...” he muttered. If she were here, she would serve as maid, secretary, assistant, and a dozen other things. The woman was a multitasking monster.

He sipped his tea.

One of the shelves suddenly groaned open. A battered Lazarak tumbled out and landed face-first on the floor. His tiny form was covered in dust, soot, and a translucent slime that dripped from his face.

Damon raised his cup and stared.

”You look like shit. And you smell even worse.”

Lazarak wobbled upright and smoothed his hair with a dignified expression that absolutely did not match his state.

”You have no idea what I have been through.”

Damon pinched his nose, leaning back as if the smell physically shoved him.

”I would say tell me about it, but I think you need a bath first, little guy.”

Lazarak gritted his teeth, marched closer, and rubbed his slime-covered face directly against Damon’s cheek.

Damon jerked back.

”What... what did you rub on me...”

Lazarak crossed his arms proudly.

”I do not know. Probably birth fluid. You know, the stuff that comes out when a pregnant woman gives birth. The sticky thing on babies.”

Damon closed his eyes. His fingers twitched. He resisted the violent urge to punt the small god across the library.

”And where did you get that?”

Lazarak pointed casually toward the shelf behind him.

”From the mother of stillbirths.”