My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

The throbbing in his head was like a massive hammer driving a nail into his brain.

At this point the feeling was already familiar. Even so, it did nothing to lessen the pain. Every pulse made his vision blur slightly as he lay there staring at the ceiling, his fingers curling against the bedsheets.

This was the greatest deterrent to creating a Shadow Clone, its destruction. Whenever one of his shadow clones was destroyed, his mind suffered a tremendous backlash that affected even his soul, leaving Damon weak for quite some time.

Every skill Damon had came with some cost, some more than others. The unknown god gave many gifts, but there was always a price.

Which made Damon wonder.

Which side of him had actually given those gifts? Was it the god... or the demon?

The one who had given Lilith her Stigmata was most likely the side of him that was a god. It came at no cost, and that thing was so mysterious that even Lilith didn’t want to tamper with it. More than that, Damon was sure that if Lilith ever called upon the unknown god, he would break everything just to answer her prayer.

Perhaps that was what it meant to be cared for by a god.

Damon did not doubt it.

Lilith was loved by the unknown god.

All she needed to do was ask.

Then what about the other unknown god? The one they had met that seemed far less inclined toward the destruction of all things. That unknown was still unknown... but different. He was himself.

Which one was the demon and which one was the god? Perhaps they both were.

But Damon was sure the one who had given him the System was, without a doubt, the demon side of the unknown.

After all, this System desired the flesh and souls of others. It desired to make Damon sacrifice in order to gain power.

The first thing he had to sacrifice was his sense of humanity. By cannibalizing others, Damon would never be the same after that.

It was the avenue that opened all things to him. Perhaps that was why years ago Back-to-Back had made sure Damon didn’t become a killer.

”Murder becomes a habit,” he muttered, his gaze lingering on the ceiling of what could only be his room.

Yes, it was so for Damon.

There was almost no problem he didn’t solve with murder.

The moment he killed Lark Bonaire, it opened all avenues. Every problem that arose afterward was solved by killing someone.

Why face your problems when you could kill them?

And he had killed so many.

So many.

”Is this really the time to contemplate peace?” Ashcroft’s voice echoed in his head.

Damon frowned, pressing a hand against his forehead as another throb of pain spread through his skull.

”You can hear my thoughts.”

”No. Your mind is just vulnerable and you aren’t hiding them. I live in your mental scape, remember? Your whole mind is screaming the same thing... it’s a little too late for regrets.”

Ashcroft laughed at him for even thinking about it.

”Did you forget what the unknown god said? Regret is a cruel storyteller. It convinces you with lies that you could change the outcome, when the truth is you couldn’t then and you can’t now... you can’t undo your mistakes, and that is something even the unknown god couldn’t do. Why do you think he wanders without a home?”

Damon was quiet, his eyes remaining fixed on the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if Ashcroft was trying to cheer him up or mock him.

”Even gods have regrets, huh... how very human...”

”The true gods, at their core, have the hearts of mortals, even if they are unknowable and all-powerful.”

”Though power isn’t your problem. It’s that bad habit of yours.”

Damon closed his eyes, taking a slow breath as he tried to ease the dizziness.

”What bad habit?” he asked. He had quite a few. He wondered which one Ashcroft meant.

”Your inability to forgive,” Ashcroft whispered.

”Oh... yeah. No. Forgiveness is for fools. I learned that from the streets. An eye for an eye. A dead enemy never hurt anyone...”

Ashcroft sighed, shaking his head inside Damon’s mental scape. It was a terrible habit, but it had also kept Damon alive. It had become a way of life for him. Damon could no longer imagine living in a world built on forgiveness.

”Truly, you are the son of the Goddess of Doom. The fires of war find eternal fuel in your spiteful heart.”

Damon was unsure how to respond to that.

”I’ve never heard of a pacifist who changed the world... or a forgiver. The saints in this world are saints of war... not kindness... don’t you forget that.”

”You are a product of your environment,” Ashcroft said.

”No.”

Damon slowly shook his head.

”I am a product of my choices.”

”Sounds like something the unknown god would say.”

”At least let me believe that I chose this.”

Damon whispered aloud as he slowly turned his head across the soft pillow. Only then did he notice the little girl sleeping beside him. Golden hair spilled over her face in loose strands like a waterfall of sunlight, rising and falling gently with each peaceful breath. She slept so soundly that Damon hadn’t even realized she was there when he woke up.

”I chose this.”

His hand slowly reached out, gently brushing the strands of hair away from her face before softly cupping her cheek. Maybe he hadn’t been sure before.

But he was now.

It didn’t matter whether the unknown god who chose him was a demon or a god.

Damon had made his own choice.

For the first time since Damon knew his loss was inevitable, his lips trembled. He bit down on them, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he spoke to Ashcroft.

”I... I don’t want to lose.”

He was always up against forces far more powerful than himself. Like a honey badger with nothing but rage in its tiny heart, he would charge forward, get thrown around, beaten, bloodied, and scared, only to lick his wounds and fight another day.

If he lost, it would be on his own terms.

He would lose fighting.

But right now...

Damon didn’t want to lose more than ever before.

He just wanted to win.

Let this one victory be enough.

He would be fine if he never won again.

”Ashcroft.”

He called softly.

”I know what I want.”

More than anything, he finally understood his goal.

”I... want to save my world.”

”I want peace.”

”You will fail,” Ashcroft said coldly.

”I won’t.”

Damon’s eyes, as dark as the abyss itself, carried an impossible light.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against the forehead of the sleeping girl, his hand still cradling her cheek.

”I will win.”