My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 843 - 844: Alone

The armor she wore was a legacy from Valarie Sunwarden, the final Ascendant of Lysithara. It stood as a testament to endurance—a spirit that refused to be crushed by corruption or the relentless march of years.

To Damon, Valarie represented the pinnacle of what a hero ought to be: a beacon of brilliance and a sagacious mentor. He had never discarded her memory, nor the lessons she had imparted to him in the distant past.

Her philosophy regarding existence and suffering was akin to the sun; even when it sinks below the horizon, its return is certain.

’Life is a storm-tossed sea containing tiny oases of happiness. Discovering them is the essence of being alive.’

Watching Evangeline stand tall in that plate, bearing the weight of such noble convictions, Damon bit his lip.

Valarie would have been filled with pride. He was certain of it.

However—

"Is she a complete fool..."

The situation was a transparent snare, a trap from which she was never intended to emerge breathing.

Damon’s hand balled into a fist, loosened, and then tightened once more. For the first time in an age, his mana reserves were dangerously depleted.

His current mana pool was merely double that of an average human. Furthermore, he was devoid of mana cores or crystals, having left his remaining resources with Lazarak to sustain Maw.

The moment she materialized, the spectators erupted in a deafening roar.

Petals were tossed into the air. Her name was screamed by the masses. People shouted until their throats were raw, even as the brands etched into their flesh seared them, a physical penalty for their insubordination.

Damon’s gaze flickered with surprise as he witnessed the crowd cheering through their agony. The fairy beside him rose, wings vibrating with agitation as he yelled his encouragement.

For a fleeting second, Damon felt a tremor of emotion.

This was the quintessence of a hero.

The masses adored heroes. They shouted for them and placed their faith in them.

That was a trail Damon had never traversed.

Since the moment he consumed Ashcroft the Dominator, Damon had abandoned the hero’s path. Actually, it started even earlier; from the time he seized the Crown of Lysithara from Vathren, his footsteps had been those of a sovereign.

Evangeline had carved out her own destiny. She had embraced the role of the hero.

Perhaps it was always meant to be that she would walk this agonizing road.

And heroes are perpetually destined to confront great shadows.

She stood before such a shadow now.

This ambush wasn't designed merely to end her life.

It was engineered to extinguish the very concept she represented.

Thus, Damon did the only thing available to him.

He leaned back slightly, observing the scene.

"She had better have a way out of this..."

Slowly, he reached into his shadow storage. A staff slid into his grip, while a fractured sword ascended into the air at his side, drifting in silent suspension.

In the heart of the coliseum, bathed in a gentle glow, Evangeline turned her attention toward the fettered Knights.

Her blade flared with a dazzling, holy light.

"Yield to the dominion of the exalted god Seraph Null," a resonant voice commanded from a knight draped in third-class black plate, "and your end shall be a swift mercy."

Evangeline’s expression remained concealed by her visor. Her armor had transitioned into its sovereign mantle state, causing light to dance across its surface.

"The Goddess of Doom is the only deity I recognize," she answered with calm resolve. "I do not kneel to inferior gods."

"Yessssss!"

The audience exploded once more, their voices lifted in adulation.

In that instant, Damon felt like a ghost, a spectator viewing a reality he didn't inhabit.

He alone in this place knew her as a person.

To the crowd, she was an icon.

To him, she was simply Eva.

The same Eva he had bickered with constantly. The Eva he delighted in provoking. The same—

Her blade descended.

Streaks of brilliant light sliced through the atmosphere as she engaged the knight. Blinding bursts of radiance filled the arena as her weapon pierced him, the light deconstructing his form from the inside out.

Damon folded his arms, his brow knitting together.

’You’re wasting mana, Eva.’

She surged forward again, light erupting in every direction. Her swordlight tore through defenses, and in a flash of brilliance, she penetrated the inner sanctum. Magical wards crumbled under her assault, and with a single heavy swing, she split the skull of an obese man in a toga who still trailed a chain from his wrist.

She stood over the fallen body, her chest heaving, as the stadium thundered with approval.

She had arrived.

She had executed one of the branded inner circle.

"I am here," she declared frostily. "As I promised. I have the courage."

Her tone was so frigid it gave Damon a painful reminder of his own voice.

Standing under the scorching desert sun, her duskglass armor mirrored both flame and gold.

Evangeline hoisted her sword high.

"Combatants of Aetherus," she cried out, "you who have entered this hell with me."

Her voice rang out with strength, yet Damon could detect the underlying desperation.

"I summon you. These enemies are but men. They bleed as mortals do. They perish as mortals do. Stand with me. In liberty... or in the grave."

The masses cheered.

But not a single soul stirred.

Applauding was simple; rebellion was not. Even if the desire to fight was there, their brands suppressed them. The very air seemed to stifle any thought of mutiny.

The rhythmic thud of marching boots signaled the arrival of Chained Knights from every entrance.

Lethal formations were triggered. Arrays warped the surrounding air. A shimmering barrier snapped shut, encasing the arena.

At the highest point, a man dressed in light robes stepped out. His aura was profound, heavy, and unmistakable.

A fourth-class advancement.

He moved with a parasol in hand, appearing relaxed and unbothered. As he approached, the stadium went deathly quiet, his mere presence causing the spectators to shudder.

Damon scowled, remaining motionless.

"Now this is getting messy..."

Evangeline gripped her hilt tighter as the weight of the arrays bore down on her, stack after stack of debuffs affecting her frame. Her natural resistance held firm, though she was clearly struggling.

She was isolated.

And now, a fourth-class titan stood in her path.

She looked up, seeing the sky above completely obstructed by the seal.

The gathered warriors merely watched.

She bit her lip, her determination refusing to break.

The man offered a small smile.

"Did you honestly think these cowards would rise up?" he asked softly. "It is not their limbs that are shackled, but their spirits. These people lack the courage to resist. Submission is their only fate."

His aura intensified, pressing down with even greater force.

"Give up and I will grant you a quick death," he added. "Die with the honor of a hero."

He adjusted his parasol slightly.

"Your story will serve as a grim warning."

Evangeline took a sharp breath, the fire in her gaze remaining undimmed.

Then, from within the throng of people, a figure in dark plate armor casually raised a hand.

"Pardon me," he called out, his voice cutting through the silence effortlessly. "The show here is fantastic. Is there any chance I could get a snack?"

Evangeline’s eyes snapped wide.

She recognized that tone.

Her head whipped toward the source in the crowd.

A man stood there, clad in dark armor, with a halo-like crown floating above his helmet as he looked back at her.

"Hmm. No food?" he mused aloud. "That’s a shame. I suppose I’ll just have to kill everyone instead."

A smile touched her lips beneath her visor.

"Damon," she whispered.