My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

The tree line was silent—no rustle of forest critters, no flapping wings, not even the wind. Only the distant howls of horror echoing from beyond the shattered city gates broke the stillness.

The gates had once stood proud, towering more than sixty meters high and just as wide. Silver, etched with countless ancient runes, they had been marvels of craftsmanship. Now, they lay in ruin, shattered into fragmented greatness—as if kicked down by a mighty titan. Their remnants littered the ground like fallen relics of a forgotten age.

The sky overhead was bright, but bleak… a pallid gray that seemed almost too vivid compared to the eternal gloom of the Whispering Forest. Here, ruins of broken man-made constructs sprawled in every direction, silent reminders of a civilization long lost. Despite the epochs and the brutal passage of time, shrines still stood nestled along the inner wall—moss-covered and cracked, but enduring.

The stone walls surrounding the ruin had not collapsed. Carved with symbols, they remained strong, untouched by whatever horror had ravaged the gate.

The air was thick with the scent of dust and death. Damon could feel it—rot, dread, and something older, buried deep within the bones of this place.

All around them lay corpses. Some were so ancient even Damon could not fathom when they’d fallen—nothing left but brittle bones, gnawed clean by scavengers or worse.

Among the skeletal remains were behemoths, their twisted forms broken and scattered.

The more recent dead were easier to identify—their weapons and armor still partially intact, their bones fresh.

“Redcap goblins… a few war trolls… and more than that—lesser demons…” Damon muttered under his breath.

Xander stood beside him, encased in the silver-gray armor of the Bound Colossus.

His heavy spear rested in hand, his massive presence like that of a titan trapped in human flesh. Just standing near him made the air feel heavier, as if gravity itself bowed to his weight.

“No surprise. If they were sent to scout a death zone, the demon army would’ve deployed more than a single regiment. They must’ve sent many.”

Evangeline nodded. Her duskglass armor shimmered in its Ascendant Form—a perfectly balanced blend of mobility and defense. Golden inlays glowed softly along its surface, casting warm light against the grim backdrop.

“Which is good for us,” she said quietly. “Imagine if we had to deal with more of those things. We would’ve all died…”

Leona, encased in heavy storms forged plate, held her helm in one hand, her sword sparking with tendrils of lightning.

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, a faint smirk tugging her lips. “With our current strength, we can wipe out all of them.”

The others didn’t argue. Power-wise, they were already at the peak of their First-Class advancements. They’d slain countless horrors without rest. Monster after monster. Beast after beast.

They say those who fight monsters become monsters themselves… and Damon’s party had long since crossed that line.

A dreadful force… yet in this place, there were things far more dreadful still.

Matia remained quiet, encased in her Shattered Ice armor. Its Sovereign Mantle form looked lighter than Xander’s, but she radiated a suffocating, silent cold. Her very presence was enough to freeze breath in one’s lungs.

Damon said nothing. His danger sense was flaring. Every instinct screamed not to cross the broken gates of Lysithara.

But they had to.

Lysithara held a teleportation gate—or perhaps a waypoint. If it still functioned, they could use it to return to safety. Even if it didn’t, the far end of the city past its walls was known to be less dangerous. If they could cross, they could reach the outskirts and make it back to Brightwater. The Dukedom was just beyond.

“What do you think killed them?” Leona asked, her voice low.

“I don’t know, Leona… but from the look of it, most of them died to weapons. This one here—he has a sword wound…”

“A single strike, too,” Sylvia added softly.

She was relieved they could speak each other’s names again—but even so, the words felt heavy on her tongue, as if the city itself was listening.

Damon stared at the fallen corpses. Only one remained untouched by scavengers—leaning against the wall, sword at his side, armor still whole though battered.

“We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we…”

The moment the words left his mouth, the knight stirred.

With a groan of rust and a grinding hiss, the figure stood. His armor was dented and broken, his sword clutched in hand. Red light glowed beneath the visor of his helm. The blade he raised was rusted, etched with runes so ancient and vile that Damon’s blood ran cold.

Mist began to rise around the knight—thick, unnatural… deathless.

He spoke, voice low like a distant hiss carried on the wind:

“You shall not pass…”

Damon pulled out the Wyvern’s Fang and willed his Ascendant Armor into its second form, regal plates curling up along his limbs, with the ashen crown hovering on his head like a broken halo.

The party readied themselves, silent, focused. The air was thick with dread.

His eyes remained fixed on the knight—the lone sentinel—its ruined helm lifted high

“Sylvia, what’s its rank?” Damon asked, voice low.

She smiled faintly.

“Bit late to ask now, but since you did… it’s a Rank Two Mist Knight. Heavily injured. Likely the captain of a gate squad… stationed here to guard the ruins until he ran into the demon army regiment.”

Leona’s face was hidden beneath her helm, but the disbelief in her voice was sharp.

“You’re telling me one knight squad wiped them out?”

Sylvia shook her head. “Not a squad—just this knight. The rest were Mist Soldiers. This one nearly wiped out the entire regiment on his own….several actually.”

Xander shifted, the earth groaning underfoot as gravity warped around his armor-clad form. His spear gleamed with quiet menace.

“So he’s at least as strong as we are… maybe stronger. And it’s just one knight.”

Leona cracked her metal-clad knuckles, her gauntlets sparking with lightning.

“These are the ones that shift into mist during attacks, right?”

Sylvia nodded grimly. “Exactly. But this one’s different. It’s carrying a cursed item. Forged from cursed ore, laced with runes older than our current knowledge. A clean hit might not kill you instantly, but it’ll rot you slow… start with your soul.”

Evangeline raised her rapier, duskglass armor faintly shimmering in the light. Her eyes were cold.

“My purge skill can counter the curse.”

Sylvia nodded but added, “It could—but only if you’re skilled enough to touch the soul directly. You aren’t there yet, not yet.”

Damon gave a low chuckle, dark amusement flashing in his eyes.

“So we can kill it, but one hit from that sword and we’re screwed. Makes you wonder what the hell they were trying to hide in Lysithara.”

He raised the Wyvern’s Fang, the jagged blade pulsing with his mana, and pointed it straight at the Mist Knight.

“Allow me to put you out of your misery.”

Without another word, he charged. The impact of their weapons colliding echoed like thunder across the ruined field, sending shockwaves through the mist.

This was it.

Their last obstacle to Lysithara.