My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

The sounds of heavy, labored breaths filled the air as a group of exhausted youths lay sprawled beneath the dense canopy of an ancient tree, gasping for air. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, their damp hair clinging to their skin. Every muscle in their bodies burned from hours of relentless running, evading both the monsters in their path and the goblins and war trolls that pursued them.

Sylvia coughed, choking on the water she was drinking. Damon, sitting beside her, reached out and gently rubbed her back.

“Slowly… take it easy. We still have some time.”

She nodded weakly, tilting her head back to rest against the cool ground, her gaze drifting toward the shifting shadows of the towering trees. Around her, the entire group radiated exhaustion and tension. None of them spoke, but their expressions revealed the weight of their situation—this chase had no end in sight.

Xander, leaning against his supply bag, finally broke the silence.

“How long do we have to rest?”

Damon took a slow sip from his water pouch, his throat parched, his side aching. His body was screaming at him—his muscles felt like they were on fire.

“Not long.” He exhaled.

“We could stay longer, but if we do, we’ll run into the goblin scouts near the sand crawlers. That would mean fighting on the treetops. One mistake, and we fall straight into quicksand—and get devoured.”

He leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes, trying to catch even a moment of rest.

“Running isn’t a solution either,” he admitted. “We’ll burn out before we reach the mountains.”

Leona clenched her fist, her broad sword resting beside her. Her beastkin blood burned with frustration.

“Then let’s risk it. Let’s kill them.”

Damon opened one eye, watching her carefully. She was tired of running—so tired that she had momentarily forgotten how outmatched they were.

“Yes,” he agreed. “We fight. At least enough to get rid of the scouts.”

But before they could even strategize, the ground trembled. A deep, rolling quake spread through the forest, sending dry leaves and dust cascading down from the trees. Then came the roar.

A deafening, guttural bellow tore through the air, freezing every last one of them in place. The sheer force of the sound rattled their bones, sending a primal fear slithering down their spines.

Damon lifted his gaze toward the sky, silent for a long moment.

“…Guess we’re getting close to Ashergon’s nest,” he muttered. “Rest while you can. We leave in an hour. Sleep if possible.”

Evangeline, her combat uniform fluttering in the wind, turned to him, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“What are our odds against the trolls?” she asked, voice quiet.

Damon shrugged, completely unbothered.

“Five percent. And that’s if they couldn’t regenerate.”

The others paled.

“With half of us dead,” he continued, “the rest of us would be too injured to escape. Our survival odds would drop even lower.”

A heavy silence settled over them.

Damon closed his eyes. “Don’t think too much about it. Just rest.”

He leaned against the tree and let himself drift off, while his shadow stood guard. The distant sounds of the forest—chirping insects, rustling leaves—felt almost like a lullaby.

Sylvia sat down beside him, using her bag as a makeshift pillow.

“You seem used to this,” she whispered.

Damon nodded, his voice quieter than before.

“Yeah… been running my whole life.”

He let his eyes slip shut, allowing exhaustion to take over for now. The sun was still high, and in the distance, the low, guttural echoes of a dragon’s roar rumbled through the trees.

Long gone was the little boy who could only run and hide with his sister.

He bit his lip, suppressing the memory clawing its way to the surface. His expression turned cold.

‘I’m going to kill them.’

Rest was brief—or at least it felt that way to Damon’s party. The urge to collapse onto the hard forest floor and sleep a little longer was strong, but not as strong as the knowledge that doing so could mean being slaughtered in their sleep by the monsters lurking in the shadows.

So, despite their aching limbs and exhaustion, they were back on the move.

This time, however, they didn’t run. Instead, they walked, the afternoon sun filtering through the thick canopy above. The deeper they traveled, the more humid the air became, and soon, strange noises could be heard beneath their feet. The once solid earth was turning into thick mud, their boots sinking slightly with each step.

Damon’s sharp gaze flickered forward.

“We’ve reached the sand crawlers’ territory,” he announced. “From here on, walking on the ground isn’t an option. We need to climb the trees.”

He turned to glance at his companions. They were visibly worn, some already collapsing onto the damp earth, stretching their limbs in an attempt to ease their burning muscles. He sighed.

“Our pace is better than I expected,” he admitted. “If we keep this up, we’ll reach the Duhu Mountains by tomorrow morning. We can rest there and set out again at noon.”

A collective sigh of relief passed through the group. Finally, a chance to rest.

Damon, however, wasn’t as optimistic. His gaze remained fixed on the distant peaks of the Duhu Mountains. He wasn’t letting them rest there out of kindness—it was simply a necessity. The mountains were far more dangerous than the forest, and he needed time to explain the rules of survival before they went any further.

Sylvia was watching him. He could feel her sharp gaze lingering on him—she had already figured it out.

But rest was fleeting. Before long, Damon signaled for them to start climbing.

They had to be silent. The sand crawlers were burrowed beneath them, lurking beneath the quicksand. One misstep, one loud noise, and something would rise from the depths to drag them under.

Damon grabbed a sturdy branch, pulling himself up with practiced ease. He reached down to help Evangeline until she was secure, then continued climbing. One by one, the rest followed. Their mud-caked boots made it harder, but they pushed through.

As they climbed higher, they broke past the thick canopy, emerging above the treeline. Damon paused, scanning the next tree over. They couldn’t risk making a mistake now.

Turning to the others, he raised a single finger to his lips.

“Shush.”

They nodded in silent understanding.

Without hesitation, Damon leaped to the next tree, securing a rope from his supply bag. He waved for them to follow. One by one, they swung across, their movements swift but controlled. Each crossing was a risk—but compared to fighting in the quicksand, it was the safer choice.

Once they reached solid ground again, the group barely had time to catch their breath before Damon spoke.

“Let’s go—”

Then he stopped. His cold smile deepened as he shook his head.

“No… they’re coming this way.” His eyes gleamed. “We can pick them off with magic and ranged weapons. It’s time to show them that we aren’t powerless prey. We can fight back.”

The others exchanged glances. There was no hesitation—only a deep, burning desire in their eyes.

They had long since stopped doubting Damon.

This wasn’t just survival anymore.

This was payback.