My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

The city had once been paved and beautiful… or at least, it must have been. Now, the streets were cracked and uneven, worn down by time and ruin. Towering houses lined the road, their shattered windows casting glints of broken glass across the dusty pavement.

The sun hung high over the outskirts of the bleak city, casting long shadows over Lysithara’s forgotten remains.

Damon could hear the distant shuffling of monsters moving through the streets, just out of sight—watching. Low-level beasts, no different than his own party in rank… scavengers, clinging to survival in the ruins of a once-great city.

These creatures weren’t attacking yet. That was good—for them. Because had they tried, they’d already be dead.

Damon’s party had faced far worse than stragglers like these. To them monsters like these, weren’t the hunters. They were prey.

Still, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t attack. For now, they chose to observe. Waiting. Watching.

Leona, her hand resting on her sword’s hilt, glanced at the cracked remains of a window.

“Should we just kill them?” she asked, her tone calm but cold.

Damon shook his head, rubbing his shoulder with an irritated expression.

“No… it’s not worth wasting our strength.”

Sylvia walked ahead, bow in hand, her expression tired but collected.

“At this point, we should be used to being watched by monsters. At least here we have the power to kill them if we want to.”

Matia nodded in agreement.

“The monsters we dealt with before were way worse… the kind that could kill you just by being seen.”

Evangeline didn’t want to remember the things they’d encountered in the Whispering Forest.

“Or drive you insane… just by being near them,” she muttered, glancing at Damon as he scratched absently at his shoulder.

“I’m not even sure we’re still sane,” she added. “Why else would we be looking for a mansion in a ruined city?”

Xander sighed, hoisting his spear over his shoulder.

“That was my point exactly. But we’re already here—might as well get that mansion.”

Damon flinched slightly as a small sting pricked at his shoulder.

“It matters now, doesn’t it?” he muttered under his breath.

Silence followed. Not because there was nothing left to say—but because the city seemed to demand it. Every step felt like it echoed too loudly. They didn’t want to draw attention.

“What do you think actually caused this city to fall?” Sylvia finally asked, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.

Damon looked up at the ruins around them.

“Who knows. Hubris, maybe… Lysithara was the heart of the ancient world. Civilization’s center. It was where knowledge converged. Even now—who knows how many thousands of years later—it’s still mentioned in books.”

The group fell quiet. The light-hearted tone they’d started with had long since faded. The weight of history—of death—pressed down on them.

“Do you think we’ll make it back home… I mean…” Leona’s voice was soft, almost afraid to ask. It was the question they’d all avoided since stepping foot in the final stretch of their journey.

Damon nodded. He wanted to tell them he didn’t know. That he didn’t have all the answers. That he was just like them—just another student caught in something far beyond his depth. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t afford to show weakness—not here, not now.

“Yes, we will. We’ll find a waypoint and teleport out—or maybe even a gate. This city’s massive. It has to have one.”

Evangeline clenched her fist.

“And if we don’t?”

“Then we cross to the other side of the city,” Damon replied without hesitation, eyes sharp. “Kill everything in our way and get out. Home’s just one wall away.”

He gave them a small smile, tired but resolute.

“We made it this far, didn’t we? We’ll be fine.”

A rasping voice echoed out from the shadows, just past the broken stone archway up ahead.

“Ahhh… don’t be so sure about that, boy.”

Damon froze when he heard the strange voice. He instantly drew his weapon, and the party shifted into a battle-ready formation, eyes scanning their surroundings with quiet tension.

His gaze swept across the area. They were on the outskirts of the city—old, crumbling houses with shattered windows stood like gravestones around them. Withered trees reached skeletal branches into the sky, a broken fountain sat dry in the center, surrounded by collapsed market stalls. It was a wreckage of what once might’ve been a thriving place.

“Over here…” the voice called again, strained with pain. “I’m right here…”

Damon turned in the direction of the sound but saw only a tree. His danger sense was active—sharp and instinctual—but oddly enough, there was no warning, no pulse of incoming threat… at least not from that direction.

He tilted his head slightly—and what he saw made his stomach twist.

There was someone, or at least something that once resembled a person—its body half-fused with the thick roots of the tree. It hung grotesquely from the bark, flesh torn and half-eaten, skin decayed and sloughing away. Bones jutted from open wounds, organs hung loosely, tangled like ropes. The limbs were stretched and unnatural, grotesque in shape.

“Turn back… turn back…” the creature rasped. “He is here… he will find you… turn back… but please—kill me… free me from this torment…”

Damon raised his sword, voice steady.

“Who are you… what are you?”

The voice that came back was hollow, like wind through a tomb.

“W…who… am I…? I don’t… remember…”

Evangeline narrowed her eyes. She’d noticed something tucked within the bark-infused fabric of the creature’s chest—an emblem, partially swallowed by the tree.

“You’re… part of the Imperial Knights… are you from Valtheron?”

The man groaned, trying to lift his head. As he did, skin tore from bark with a sickening rip. A tear fell from one lifeless eye.

“Valtheron… I… I am from Valtheron… ahh… please… kill me… kill me… make it stop… please…”

The rest of the party stood in uneasy silence.

He was from Valtheron. Just like them.

And yet he had ended up like this—a cursed existence, suspended between death and life, pain without end.

Damon looked at the roots coiled beneath the tree. They pulsed faintly, feeding the poor soul. Keeping him alive. Just enough to keep suffering.

Sylvia took a step forward, but Damon quickly grabbed her wrist, pulling her back with a firm grip.

“Careful. We can’t trust anything here… remember the Beldam?”

She nodded silently, then opened her skill. She wanted to confirm if the man spoke the truth—she was sure Damon had more questions, and he’d want answers.

“I’ll free you from this torment,” Damon said, lowering his blade slightly. “But first… a few questions.”

The man began to silently weep.

“T-Thank you… thank you…”

Damon’s voice remained calm, steady.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“You’re from Valtheron… so that means you must’ve been part of the expedition unit—sent here under a clandestine mission…”

The man’s eyes trembled, pain flickering in the dull glow of his half-rotted sockets.

“I… I don’t remember… I…”

Damon’s expression darkened.

“Who did this to you?”

The man shivered violently. Even in his twisted state, fear bloomed in his chest. Damon could feel it—it wasn’t just terror… it was dread. The kind that settled into your soul. The kind that made men go mad.

He took in a deep, raspy breath. For a moment, the world fell into a deep, deathly quiet.

Then, in a whisper as frail as cracked glass—

“The Keeper of False Truths…”