My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Damon wasn’t sure what to expect when he opened the door—maybe some sealed chamber, a hidden crypt, or a forgotten shrine.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

The room was filled with countless chains, each one etched with runes that glimmered faintly in the dim light. They hung from the ceiling and snaked toward the center of the room, like tendrils drawn to a heart. As Damon stepped forward, ghostly lights flickered to life—an eerie glow that painted the room in hues of cold blue and green. The walls were carved with symbols, patterns that spiraled like ancient veins, pulsing with dormant magic.

It all led to the center.

There, a grotesque magic circle had been formed—its lines drawn with precision and malice, surrounding a malformed corpse impaled by thick, thorned roots. Damon felt his skin crawl at the sight. The body twitched, twisted, and pulsed unnaturally. Its shape—abominable. A husk of something once human, now mutated beyond recognition. It reminded him of the rotfolk… or worse, something torn from the nightmares of Lysithara’s ancient past.

He winced, turning his gaze away in disgust. That’s when his eyes landed on a dusty table near the wall—littered with old tools and books, the covers frayed and pages curled from time’s decay.

Sylvia approached silently, her eyes locked onto the chains.

Evangeline took a step forward, switching places with Xander and raising her sword slightly—ready to use her magic or purge skill at a moment’s notice. Matia slipped in behind them, her steps careful and silent.

“What is that…” Leona muttered, recoiling in disgust.

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “What are those?”

She pointed toward strange scribbles that lined the walls—jagged, overlapping the runes, scrawled in erratic spirals and lines. Some looked as though they’d been carved using bone or nails, others daubed in dried blood and… flesh. Long since dried, they looked no different from ink. In other places, the walls were blackened—burned, as if seared by something unbearably hot.

Damon stepped closer, squinting. His voice came low. “It says… Akasha. Akasha. Akasha…”

Sylvia reached out slowly, brushing her fingers against one of the markings. “Who is Akasha… or what is Akasha?”

Before anyone could answer, a soft voice responded—clear and gentle, yet strangely empty.

“That’s a good question…”

All of them spun toward the direction of the voice—blades and spells at the ready. Damon instinctively glanced at the exit. His eyes narrowed as they returned to the root-bound corpse at the center.

Silence.

Then the voice spoke again, distant yet disturbingly calm.

“Armor of Pale Crown… Shattered Ice… Dawnglass… Stormwake… Bound Colossus… and Crescent Seer. This takes me back. So that’s why I woke up…”

Damon hesitated. He wasn’t sure whether to respond. For all he knew, acknowledging it might give the horror power over them. So he turned to Sylvia.

She gave him a small nod.

Damon exhaled, stepping forward with quiet tension in his chest.

“Who are you…?”

The voice paused. “Who am I…? Hmmm. That’s an interesting question. People used to recognize me just by hearing my voice. Lysithara… has really fallen. We used to believe we were the greatest. A city of wonder. A hub of learning that would never die.”

Sylvia’s voice was low. “Are you… someone from the First Epoch?”

Quiet.

“…First Epoch. Is that what we are now? History. Dust. I suppose… that’s fitting.”

She paused, as if trying to recall something lost to time.

“My name… I had forgotten it. But seeing Dawnglass… brought it back.”

The voice turned melancholic. Tired. Laced with something almost human.

“I am Valarie. Sunwarden of Lysithara… or at least, I was. You children… you wear the Ascendant Armors. Hmmm. I can’t remember… what was I…? Ahh, forget it.”

Evangeline’s eyes narrowed. “You were one of the six… the champions.”

Silence again, longer this time. Then the voice returned.

“I was one of the fools who believed Mugu… made the mistakes that led to our downfall.”

Damon tensed at the name. Mugu again. The system had mentioned that name—twice. Then the lady in the mist. This… Mugu had to be important.

Xander gripped his spear tightly. “If you were one of the six, then why are you here? Why is the city like this… if it was so great?”

But Damon shook his head. That wasn’t the most important question.

No. The real question was—

“How do we leave this city?”

His words grounded them. The silence that followed was heavier.

Valarie didn’t move. Her corpse remained impaled, still twitching slightly with each breath.

“By walking through the gates. Isn’t that obvious?”

“We can’t.” Leona’s voice cracked slightly.

Valarie responded quickly.

“Why not? The gates of Lysithara are open to all… our city is paradise.”

Damon finally saw it—despite her clarity, she wasn’t entirely there. Maybe she had retained some of her mind… but much of it was long gone.

“Lysithara is destroyed. We came through the Whispering Forest. We can’t go back.”

“Whispering Forest? Hmm… Ah. The white gate… it was destroyed by Ittorath… and Ythar…”

She didn’t seem familiar with the name but seemed to have connected the dots.

Damon gritted his teeth. Her words jumped from one idea to the next. Names, places, histories he didn’t recognize.

“I don’t know who those are. We just want to know if there’s a waypoint—somewhere we can use to leave.”

The others were silent, watching.

“Oh! You should have said so. Silly me, rambling about visitors… If you don’t want to take a gate, just use a waypoint or a teleportation gate. They’re scattered all over Lysithara—you couldn’t miss them.”

Damon sighed in relief.

“Where?” Leona asked, stepping forward.

Valarie paused again. “Hmm… I don’t live in this district. But… there should be one nearby. Just a few blocks away. It’s next to a fountain.”

That was it. Progress. Damon nodded to the others. They were almost free. Just one last answer.

But then Valarie spoke again.

“If you want… I can show you the way. I know Lysithara quite well, you see…”

Another pause.

“All you have to do… is free me from this.”