My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Sleep was a luxury—one granted only to the blessed and the lucky.

Damon's party was neither.

They wanted to sleep. They needed to sleep. But they did not dare to. Their exhaustion was so absolute that their eyelids felt like lead, yet the horrors of the night ensured they remained awake.

Most of the night had passed before the strange creature attacked, but even after the battle, sitting inside their tent, waiting for dawn, felt like an eternity.

Damon sat by the tent's zipper, holding Evangeline in his arms. His grip on her was firm, protective. He had to ensure the zipper remained closed, that no thing from the darkness opened it.

And they had tried.

More than just the one before—others had come, scratching, whispering, clawing at their tent, trying to drag them away. Each evil spirit that passed by left them with a promise. A promise of something far worse.

Like frightened children, they huddled together, praying for dawn.

Evangeline's body recovered slowly, her light working tirelessly to cleanse the dark patches that had marred her skin. Damon watched as the corruption faded under her glow.

Yes. This was it.

Her First-Class skill was taking shape. And if it was this powerful already, how strong would it be when fully awakened?

Damon exhaled shakily, fingers brushing against his dagger. The weapon was cold, but the hunger in his shadow was burning.

A gnawing desire rose within him—a violent need to leave the tent, to step into the darkness, and slaughter whatever creatures lurked out there.

Even if it meant dying.

His head pounded, a high-pitched ringing filling his ears. His aura was shifting, changing.

'This is my First-Class awakening…'

It was close. So close he could taste the power creeping into his bones.

Then, finally—

Dawn came.

Even then, they waited. They remained inside the tent until the sun was high in the sky, until its light was bright and unforgiving.

Only then did they step outside.

They scanned the area, their movements wary, tense. But there was nothing. No trace of the creatures from the night before. They had vanished.

But none of them dared to look into the treeline. None of them broke the unwritten rule.

They stayed on the path.

Damon exhaled sharply. They survived.

"Put out the campfire," he ordered, glancing at the others. "Pack everything. Leave nothing behind—who knows what might follow if we do."

As the others rushed to break camp, Damon took a few steps away—

A shadow flickered from above.

It latched onto him, merging seamlessly with his body.

Damon let out a breath of relief. "You're back early."

He had sent his shadow to keep an eye on the war trolls chasing them. But something was wrong.

The shadow twisted, pulsing erratically.

Damon crouched down, his brows furrowing.

"Shit."

The news couldn't be worse.

The war trolls had gone insane.

They had risked traveling through the night—provoking horrors—all to close the distance on Damon's party.

Damon clenched his jaw. His shadow estimated the trolls were about three kilometers away. And they were gaining fast.

Their hunger for flesh was insatiable.

"Hurry," Damon barked. "We need to move. Now."

The others were already rushing. He didn't need to tell them twice. They grabbed their bags, their hands trembling as the forest around them rustled.

Something else was watching.

Some thing.

They didn't stop. Didn't look.

They had grown used to the grotesque creatures that watched them from the dark.

So long as they pretended not to see them, they could keep moving.

Damon unrolled the map, his eyes narrowing.

They had two paths—

The less dangerous route: a winding mountain trail that would take two days to cross.

The risky route: a nightmare of a path, treacherous and deadly—but if they took it, they could be gone in half a day.

Damon's grip tightened. The decision was already being forced on them.

If they stayed on the path—they would die.

If they took the shortcut—they would die.

"Death if we stay… death if we leave…"

As they hiked and jogged through the mountain, eating rations on the way, Damon approached Sylvia and explained his thoughts to her.

She listened, but her lips pressed into a thin line. She understood what he was saying, but…

"I don't know everything," she admitted, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I can't be of much help. I can't see the future… I can only give counsel."

She bit her lip, frustration burning in her chest. If her mother were here, she could have used divination, some kind of oracle power to reveal the safest path forward. Her mother had always supported her father that way, guiding him with knowledge beyond the present.

And yet she—Sylvia—was useless.

She couldn't help Damon. She couldn't help their party in any way the others hadn't already covered.

'If only I could see through time… If only I had all the knowledge at my fingertips…'

Damon didn't blame her. It was just a hunch, after all.

His stomach growled in protest, and his frustration only grew. All this running… He could feel his shadow's hunger gnawing at him, urging him to give in.

Half of him wanted to.

If he let the hunger consume him, if he became a ravenous shadow, he could slaughter the war trolls. Tear them apart. Rip them to shreds.

But there was a problem.

His shadow had a preference—it preferred humans to trolls.

If he let it take over… it wouldn't just hunt them.

It would hunt his friends.

He gritted his teeth, shoving the thought down as he ran.

Yet no matter how much he tried to focus, the bloodlust remained.

I want to kill them.

I want to kill them all.

The war trolls.

The ones who had wronged him.

He was tired of running. Tired of nursing grudges.

It was payback time.

But reason pulled him back from the edge, and so he ran.

Then—

The ground shook.

A deep, guttural roar thundered through the mountains.

The war trolls had caught up.

These creatures were fast—faster than their size should have allowed. And they were cruel.

They didn't just want to kill.

They wanted revenge.

From behind, a booming voice thundered—

"Run, hu-man, run! We catch goddess races, we kill!"

A second troll, even more crazed, charged forward, snarling—

"Kill all men—play with women—eat! Eat them!"

Damon's expression twisted in fury. His fists clenched, his teeth grinding together as he looked down the mountain path.

And then—

He saw it.

One of the trolls.

A hulking beast of muscle and filth, holding a massive axe in its hands.

It grinned—a sinister, cruel smile.

"Found you, dirty human."

Damon didn't need to tell the others to run faster.

They were already running for their lives.

The war trolls were here for blood.