My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Damon was already exhausted from the day, but this was par for the course with his party.

After all, they had spent a whole week fighting their way out of the Whispering Forest.

Why would they expect Lysithara to be any different? They had long since grown past the point of being weak, frightened teenagers in a world that obviously wanted them dead.

They had been given an option: adapt, or be removed. And they had adapted. They had grown—though partially in a direction of madness, weighed down by invisible scars that magic couldn’t heal.

Each of them carried this trauma.

Damon didn’t believe in therapy, but he knew that after what they had experienced, the mental health quartermaster would certainly have a handful.

At this point, they were comparable to actual war veterans—just without the military discipline.

That said, Damon was sure his other party members hadn’t seen it all. He’d never been on an actual battlefield, but he had seen the remains of one years ago—and it was hell.

Damon didn’t even bother praying to avoid ending up on one. He was certain that if he lived long enough, he would see one… fight on one.

This was Soltheon, the war continent. This was the world of Aetherus—a world that worshiped the Goddess of Doom, the Lady of Unending War.

And by the glory of her domain, Aetherus would never know peace.

As for who the enemy would be, Damon didn’t know. Maybe demons. Maybe other goddess races. Maybe the temple. Perhaps even visitors from another world.

Most likely… all of them.

He wasn’t being bleak. It was just how life was. It was perpetual war. Life was hell. A struggle from the moment you are born.

You must breathe to live—is that not a struggle?

You must eat or starve—is that not a struggle?

You must suffer joy, just so you can learn pain.

Is that not a struggle?

Life had always been hell. It was the same for all.

And on top of that cruel cosmic design, you had to deal with human cruelty.

He chuckled bitterly amid the last rays of sunlight, the buildings casting long shadows over them.

“What do you find so funny, boy…”

The pair of human lips on his shoulder asked with a degree of curiosity.

Damon shook his head at Valarie’s question.

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking about life…”

Valarie’s lips pursed, then curled into a small smile.

“Ahh, I see. My student is contemplating the meaning of life. Well, you see—”

“I have that answer. It’s meaningless.” Damon cut her off.

Valarie went quiet for a moment, her voice suddenly becoming serious.

“That is a very bleak outlook on life… A philosophy one so young shouldn’t have to adopt. Life is difficult, yes—but you should look on the bright side. Take me for example—I can still smile, even though I am only a pair of lips… and had suffered untold years sealed away with rot.”

Damon sighed. He wasn’t trying to get into a philosophical argument. He was just answering her question.

“I know my life is good,” he paused, glancing at his surroundings. He was in a ruined, ancient city—a death zone with many horrors. Could he even say that anymore?

“Well, my life was getting better…” he corrected himself, “but as you can see, I’m still struggling. Isn’t that the meaning of life? To struggle… even when you want to end it all… to keep your bleak possibilities alive because you fear the unknown finality that is death.”

Damon looked up, over the tall spires casting their shadows across the city.

“Death is peace, but we all fear it. Life is war, but we can’t let it go… what a contradiction.”

Valarie sighed.

She had listened to this young boy, who had barely lived at all—only sixteen years—but was already weary and tired of it. Had he not learned the joys of life?

While they may be fleeting, they were the small lights that allowed one to withstand years of misery.

“Life is just a turbulent ocean with small islands of joy. Finding those islands… that is what we call life.”

Damon glanced at her. She continued in a softer whisper.

“Mindset and philosophy shape the class a person awakens to. You have a very bleak philosophy… one that sees death as a form of release. You glorify it… you seek it. You defy and reject life because you see it as misery. But still, you anchor yourself to it…”

Damon remained quiet.

“Your first class must be related to death. It’s something that shaped you. Did you lose something? Someone? Death must have been the beginning of why you despise life.”

He didn’t react, but she was somewhat right. Death was the beginning of why he despised life. His parents’ death had changed his view of the world. He wanted to commit suicide—but didn’t go through with it after seeing that epitaph.

His own death had taught him to accept suffering—and defy it.

Valarie pressed her lips together.

“If I may… can I know what your class is?”

She couldn’t help herself. She had only known him for a day—it felt longer, but still, a day. By her nature as someone from Lysithara, she desired knowledge.

She simply wanted to know.

Damon paused for a moment. His hesitation came from his paranoid nature, but he accepted.

“My class is Death Dealer.”

“A merchant in blood… and a dealer in death.”

Valarie’s lips twitched slightly before parting again.

“A shift in mindset or philosophy will affect your second class. You aren’t far from getting there… all of you…”

She paused, as if recalling something horrible.

“It’s here in this world… hidden from us… affecting all of us with this desire for war. Conflict Pillar. We will never know peace… as…”

Damon’s eyes widened, as if she had just given a clue to some great secret.

“What… what did you say?”

Valarie’s lips paused, as if confused.

“I… I… what was I talking about…?”