My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Their journey continued through the forest, formation tight and disciplined. With Sylvia’s skills guiding them, they avoided most of the powerful monsters and charted out a path… one that was relatively safe—well, it would be more accurate to say “relatively dangerous.”

The beldam’s map had been built around her routines. The hideous witch had marked out the areas with monsters she considered a threat… and those she didn’t.

Which was helpful—except the beldam was a rank four monster. So what she considered “non-threatening” could very well be the death of them.

Damon had used his shadow to devour the corpses of fallen monsters, quietly stealing attribute points. He did so in secret, none the wiser.

They encountered a few monsters of the first rank, but made short work of them, collecting their mana cores. There were moments they had to hide—from lurking horrors that prowled through the thick mist—but those moments were rare.

Although the constant skirmishes were beginning to wear down even their armor, surprisingly… the armor could mend itself.

Their day in the Whispering Forest was drawing to a close. The sun was setting—well, not that they could actually see it. The forest had no sky, just a high canopy of gnarled limbs and creeping mist. But judging by how dim it had become, the mist thickening at their feet… light would soon die out completely.

And with it would come the moonless night—along with whatever horrors lurked in the dark.

There would be no rest tonight.

Which was fine. Damon wasn’t about to make them stop anyway. What would be the point? Camping would only leave them vulnerable—to monsters… or worse.

He turned to the others.

“Keep moving. Switch formation. Number Four, you’re behind me. Number Two, support position.”

Xander—called Four—nodded, his massive form shifting back in heavy Ascendant armor, metal plates groaning softly.

Damon stepped to the front, leading the formation. He could see in the dark. That was why he was in front. Evangeline stayed close behind, her presence marked by her soft glow and the ever-reliable purge skill.

They moved with discipline. Silent steps. Controlled breaths.

The whispers of the forest grew louder.

The deeper they went, the more alive the forest seemed to become. The mist began to rise slowly from the ground, curling around their boots like skeletal fingers. Damon felt a wrongness crawling along his spine. He couldn’t even point out where the feeling came from—it was everywhere. All around them.

He drew the wyvern’s fang, fingers tightening on the makeshift hilt.

The others stopped. They felt it too. Of course they did. After all they’d seen, it was impossible not to.

One by one, they quietly reached for their weapons.

The mist drifted in thick sheets now, the forest whispering so intensely Damon’s ears began to buzz.

He didn’t dare spread his shadow perception—not now. Not when the air itself carried faint, prickling traces of killing intent.

Then it struck.

From the mist, a pale, semi-formed claw shot out and wrapped around Damon’s neck, lifting him into the air.

His feet dangled, throat squeezed tightly.

He struggled to breathe, clawing at the limb. His hand flashed as he swung the wyvern’s fang in a sharp arc, but the blade passed through it—it was mist, intangible and impossible to strike.

He clenched his teeth, growling.

Magic surged into the weapon. A second swing.

This time, it connected—he felt resistance.

He hit the ground hard, rolling through the cold, damp fog. Coughing. Eyes scanning.

A blast of light tore through the mist from behind him—Evangeline.

Her magic hissed through the air, striking the vague shape in the fog. The mist recoiled.

Then it began to form.

Shape condensed from nothing—sluggish, unnatural. A shapeless mass with glowing red eyes flickering within.

Then it scattered—breaking apart into dozens of fragments.

No… not fragments.

Beasts.

The mist had birthed creatures, each small and hunched with jagged limbs and long, curved fangs. Misshapen, almost feral.

They were about the size of dire wolves.

Damon blinked.

And then realized how insane he must’ve gone—because something the size of a dire wolf wasn’t “small” by any normal standard.

For what it was worth… each of these mist-born things carried the aura of a first-class monster—same rank as them.

And they were everywhere.

Damon raised his hand, considering the use of a magic bullet—but in the Whispering Forest, even a whisper was too loud. He had theorized a faster, quieter variant of the spell… but this wasn’t the place for experiments. Not yet. So, up close and personal it was.

“Number Three, what are these?” he asked, eyes narrowing as mist slithered around them like living fog.

Sylvia nodded, her eyes glossing over as the invisible Journey Book revealed its truths to her alone.

“Mist beasts… beasts turned to mist, their forms lost,” she whispered. “They’re intangible… only harmed by magic. The light of day repels them… They’re the lowest of the mist dwellers. Their origin is—”

He slashed at one. “Just tell me a weakness.”

Sylvia bit her lip, guarded in the center of the formation by the others. “Light… they’re afraid of light.”

He looked to Evangeline. “Let there be light.”

She gave a nod, rapier in hand. The golden inlays on her duskglass armor pulsed to life, radiating waves of golden brilliance that illuminated the darkness.

The mist beasts—once formless and gliding—shuddered violently as the light hit them. Their bodies cracked like glass, splitting into wisps of fog that faded into the air.

The ones further from the light disintegrated at the edge, but soon reformed in the darkness beyond the reach of her glow—hiding behind trees, lingering just out of sight.

Damon narrowed his eyes, his expression twisting in annoyance.

“Where’s the damn mana cores?”

Sylvia sighed. “That’s what I was trying to tell you before you rudely interrupted. These are the lowest of the mist. They’re not alive. They don’t have cores. They don’t even have a will… just phantoms of the forest itself.”

He clicked his tongue. “So we’re wasting our energy on fog…”

Evangeline looked at him, wary. “But won’t they keep following us?”

“They will,” Damon nodded. “But don’t worry. We have our very own walking torch.”

He smiled at her with a glint in his eyes. “You’ve been munching on mana cores like candy… Time to earn your keep, freeloader.”

Evangeline’s lips twitched. “Wait… you’re not seriously going to make me keep this up all night, are you?”

Damon placed a hand over his armored chest, feigning scandal. “I’m aggrieved that you would think so little of me.”

She smiled, visibly relieved—only for him to continue. Right he was a jerk not heartless.

“You’ll be doing this every night.”

All the others turned toward her slowly.

Their eyes glowed with deep, solemn pity.