My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 825 - 826: Sixteen Percent

Damon stood atop a sand dune with his arms crossed, awkwardly clutching a bow and arrow in both hands as he observed them.

He wasn’t feeling particularly concerned; he simply preferred to keep his weapon at the ready.

The sight of him crossing his arms while simultaneously gripping his gear was peculiar. It gave him an almost... restless appearance.

Lazarak let out a soft chuckle while lounging comfortably on the scorching sand.

"You’re more worried than I thought."

Damon exhaled a long sigh, shaking his head in response.

"What class do you think they’ll awaken to?"

It was clear to Lazarak that Damon was deflecting, trying to hide the depth of his concern.

He was reluctant to confess that he had grown fond of the two children, despite the brief time they had spent together.

"A class is heavily dependent on one’s life philosophy and identity," Lazarak explained in a steady voice. "In the ancient era, classes didn't exist. There were only nine mortal ranks. However, the world shifted after my rebellion."

Damon’s eyes narrowed as he glanced toward Lazarak. He reminded himself not to underestimate this god who resembled a toddler; the being was, without a doubt, the real deal.

"Hm."

Lazarak continued speaking with an air of indifference, as if he were merely recounting boring history.

"Ranks were named differently back then. Obviously, that has changed. There is no telling what else my creator decided to alter."

Damon winced at how casually Lazarak spoke about being the catalyst for a permanent shift in the fabric of reality and its fundamental laws.

’Just how extensive was his understanding of the magic system?’

"What did you do?"

Lazarak gazed toward the horizon, his features clouding with a somber look.

"I suppose you could say I made my creator notice me. I wonder how much she took in return... certainly more than just attributes."

Damon sighed. He had no desire to poke at old wounds, so he let the matter drop.

"They’re approaching the sand spitter."

Thanks to his appraisal skill, he knew the creature's name. Even from their distance, the view was crystal clear.

Indeed, Lyn and Sithara were drawing near the sand spitter.

They had spent only a moment observing the beast before deciding to commit to an engagement.

"This must be Lyn’s decision," Lazarak whispered. "He must’ve realized wasting time would do no good. Still... Sithara’s idea was safer."

Lazarak tracked the children as they crept toward the monster, which remained motionless, feigning sleep to lure them in.

"It’s intelligent," Damon remarked. "These creatures often are. Though I disagree with you. Sithara’s plan only appears safer. It drains resources, and we can’t predict how circumstances might change when they’re already on the clock."

Damon’s grip on his bow tightened, his focus locked on the distant struggle.

"Acting fast or waiting doesn’t reduce the monster’s strength," he muttered. "Only theirs."

Lazarak let out a sigh at Damon's perspective.

"You’re a god," Damon added. "You have the privilege of patience. We’re human. We only have moments. Our lives are too short not to take risks."

Lazarak went silent for a moment before looking at Damon.

"If your lives are so short... then maybe you should try living yours."

Damon sneered just as the sand spitter lunged at the children, signaling the start of the conflict.

"This isn’t about me."

A massive plume of sand erupted when the beast lashed out with its humanoid limbs. Lyn felt the heat of a scorching wind whip past his skin.

That was far too close.

He retreated instantly, utilizing spatial magic to warp the distance between them.

"Sithara, now!"

At his shout, his sister lifted her hand, manifesting a spatial barrier between him and the beast. Her manipulation was both intricate and exact.

Perspiration dripped down her forehead.

For a brief second, the defense held.

Then, the sand spitter unhinged its jaw.

Its fur stood on end violently as a concentrated stream of sand blasted out like a high-pressure jet.

It moved too fast.

The force of the attack shattered the spatial barrier as if it were mere glass.

Sithara watched with wide eyes as time seemed to crawl, death hurtling toward her.

The power gap was too wide. Retreating would have been the most logical choice against a first-class monster.

But at the final second, the earth beneath her feet folded inward as Lyn warped the space once more.

She reacted immediately, slamming her hand toward the ground. Sand stripped away from the dunes, rising into a myriad of grains as she used space to indirectly command the dust.

A thick cloud of dust swallowed the sand spitter.

The beast glared at her with icy disdain, appearing insulted by the tactic.

"It’s fur," Lyn realized. "The fur protects it from sand, not heat."

Even so, it wasn't enough.

He could sense it. If they could slay this creature, they would finally step over the threshold into the first class.

"It’s not enough," he murmured. "We need wind."

But he had to be careful with the intensity.

The area was wide open. While closing the space would increase the power, it would also trap them inside. Their only safety net was Lazarak’s darkness armor, capable of nullifying a single fatal strike.

Sithara continued to pelt the area with sand and dust, but the more she threw, the harder it became to track the beast’s path.

Lyn ducked low as another jet of sand tore through the air, vaporizing a dune behind him.

Warm blood began to trickle down his side.

The attack hadn't even landed directly—it had merely grazed him—yet the injury was already deep.

He coughed, his lungs burning from the dust, as he readied his final incantation.

He looked up to signal his sister—

But the sand spitter pounced.

It collided with Sithara while she was in midair.

The darkness armor was obliterated instantly; it was undoubtedly a killing blow.

She slammed into the sand, spitting up blood, her face and mouth stained a deep crimson.

"Sithara!" Lyn screamed through the haze.

Their strategy had crumbled.

She struggled to lift her head, trembling as she met his eyes.

"You have to finish this," she said, a bloody smile touching her lips. "I trust you."

The sand spitter walked forward with slow, arrogant steps, certain that the fight was won.

Lyn moved.

He sealed the surrounding space, slowing the air and freezing the dust in a state of suspended animation.

Teleporting to his sister’s side, he pulled her into his arms.

He took a hard breath.

"The probability of survival is minimal," he said softly. "But if we advance... we can theoretically withstand it. Estimated success rate, sixteen point five percent."

His mana reserves were nearly empty.

She gave a weak smile as he held her close.

"Let’s risk it," she whispered. "Together."

She snapped her fingers.

A tiny spark caught the suspended dust—

And the desert erupted in a massive explosion.