My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

As soon as Nemoriel uttered those final words, his body began to crack.

Veins of light tore through the corrupted flesh of the ancient librarian. His form, towering and grotesque, started to disintegrate before their eyes. He opened his mouth, and a desperate gasp escaped.

“Huh… my task… it’s… is this my final task? Am I finally free… to die…?”

Tears streamed down his rotten, patchworked face. Even as his body turned to radiant fragments, Nemoriel did not vanish just yet.

He had more to say—and the more he spoke, the faster the end would come.

“It is here… in this world… hidden by the goddess… the Ninth Pillar. The Pillar of Conflict. Bellum… It is the first of many. The Unknown God has traversed countless worlds to find them. He will obtain them. He will reveal the lie of the True Gods… and the True Demon Kings…”

He cast a final glance at the ancient murals on the walls, their faded symbols now beginning to glow.

“My time has come… There isn’t much time…”

“What lie?” Sylvia asked, her voice taut with urgency.

“The lie of perfection… when Discordia exists… The lie of perfection… when the One True Unknown God exists… He is both…” Nemoriel’s voice cracked with reverence and horror. “They all signed the No Absolutes Accord after the war… but he is… the Arbiter…”

His body gave way further, collapsing into motes of soft, dying light.

“The… the Snake Temple… You must find the place where the God of the Abyss blessed his priestess…”

Damon stood frozen as the chains binding the librarian began to fade, vanishing like morning mist.

Nemoriel raised his gaze one last time, staring at the murals—at memories too old for words.

“Years ago, someone named Ashcroft came here. I told him all I could… and he left… swearing to spread the truths he’d learned… He sealed me here… forced me to finish my task, even as my mind deteriorated…”

He turned his gaze to them, the glimmer of purpose lighting up what remained of his expression.

“You must seek the truth of the Zero Epoch… Wake the lesser gods… The drums of war will soon beat once more…”

Then, faintly, a smile—gentle, sad—settled on his disfigured face as he looked to Valarie.

“Goodbye… Lady Valarie… I hope the times had been kinder to you…”

His body shrank into a glowing mass of light. Sparks scattered in every direction. The oppressive power in his domain began to fade, just like the Beldam after she died.

Damon had so many questions. Was this truly Nemoriel’s final task—to tell him all this? Then why did it only raise more?

More than that… Ashcroft had been here.

The one who always left behind clues. The one whose footsteps echoed in every shadow they uncovered.

And Nemoriel mentioned the place where the God of the Abyss blessed his priestess…

‘Lilith…’ Damon thought of her—his senior, the woman with the burning emerald eyes and the haunting grace.

She was the priestess of the Unknown God…

If they found where she had received her stigmata… they would have another piece of this tangled puzzle.

But even now, Damon could feel it—the Unknown God had all the pieces in his hand. And somewhere, out there, Doom would make her move. She had kept him at bay this long.

As the final glimmers of Nemoriel’s soul faded into silence…

Valarie’s disembodied lips floated quietly in the air, suspended above broken chains and cracked stone.

Then—

A figure appeared in the mist, standing where Nemoriel had vanished.

He gave off no aura. No warmth. No hostility.

And yet, every instinct in Damon screamed.

A dreadful chill sunk into the marrow of their bones.

He stood there, silent—like a ghost, born of sorrow and ashes. The mist clung to him, refusing to part.

Then he spoke. A single, husky whisper carried by the air.

“…Nemo…”

Damon shuddered.

He remembered that presence—the weight of it. The oppressive dread. The nameless terror.

This was him.

The former City Lord of Lysithara.

The one creature they had never wanted to encounter.

The Keeper of False Truths.

Valarie felt the dread grip the hearts of Damon and the others, but she knew—Vathren had not come for them.

He had come to say farewell to his fallen disciple.

Somewhere deep within her heart… a memory stirred. A child, covered in mud, had once clung to the robe of a tall man cloaked in mist—begging to become his apprentice.

Vathren had refused.

But Nemoriel had persisted.

He had become a student to a reluctant teacher. In time… Vathren had come to love him like a son.

Even corrupted, the city lord must have felt the moment Nemoriel died. And he must have celebrated, too—for the long-awaited liberation of the one who had suffered most.

Where a corpse should have remained, there was only a book.

A final remnant of a student who had endured many millennia of corruption.

The same as the rest of his city.

“Nemoriel never doubted you, did he?” Valarie’s voice echoed in the stillness.

“Always believed… even when everyone else gave up hope. Is that why you were so desperate for the Ascendant Armors?”

Vathren—no, the Keeper of False Truths—lowered his head.

A single white teardrop slipped from the mist. It struck the floor with a quiet plop.

“I… I wanted to save him, too… Mugu lied again. He didn’t pay any price. Because he was the one who let the Unknown God in…”

The Keeper’s voice was heavy. Hollow.

“He was his prophet… Still, I chose to hope. Because… while He is a Unknown…”

His words trembled.

“…He is also a god….”

Damon’s eyes widened.

His heart raced.

He heard the word—Unknown. But the Keeper hadn’t meant it in title—he meant it literally.

Why not an unknown, but he said a unknown.

And that was impossible.

The word was forbidden. The goddess herself had made it so.

Damon made a single, terrible conjecture.

‘He’s a True Demon King… and a True God… at the same time…’

But how could that be?

How could one being be both the peak of divinity … and the pinnacle of depravity?

The One True Demon God.

That was the true meaning behind “Unknown God.”

If that were the case, then he was also… their lie.

It was so obvious… the imperfection… was….

It was senseless—madness—but the moment Damon had that thought—

A warm sensation spread across his lips.

He looked down.

Blood.

Blood was pooling beneath him, soaking through his clothes. His legs trembled. Then collapsed.

“Ahhh… wha—?”

His body hit the stone floor with a dull thud.

Before his confusion could register—before a single breath could escape—

A system chime echoed in his ears.

[You have died.]

That was it.

Damon died.