My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 880 - 881: Rules Of The Room

On the battlefield, notions of fairness or unfairness held no sway. Survival and death were the only truths that counted. That much was certain.

Damon's shadow hunger climbed to ninety percent, yet he avoided becoming ravenous.

A binding rule seemed to prevent him from turning ravenous.

Indeed, it did. His eyes flared wide in quiet shock while he dodged one of the High Prophet's chained blades.

Noticing Damon's face twist in surprise, the High Prophet grinned as Damon slipped behind a pillar.

Teeth clenched and a icy look hardening his features, Damon dismissed his Dealer’s Hand, allowing the shattered sword to hover before him. From his shadow storage, he drew the sword Broken Bonds, a weapon with the Disintegration ability that he had claimed as loot in Lysithara.

"Not going to call that a cheap ability," the High Prophet inquired in a voice that sent chills through the air.

Damon shook his head.

"No. Why would I? It's perfectly acceptable to use any method to secure victory, borrowed power included."

He eyed the clinking chains, realizing a direct clash was no longer wise.

Those words evidently struck a chord, for the High Prophet's features twisted in faint annoyance.

"The power you're wielding falls under Seraph Null’s domain, yet you're not drawing from it firsthand, are you? So tell me, how are you managing it?"

Damon merged into the shadows, retrieving his bow and arrow before drawing back to loose a shot at the High Prophet.

The arrow whizzed harmlessly by as the High Prophet charged at Damon, his blade carving through pillar and wall alike.

Yet Damon vanished in a teleport, reentering the shadows once more.

"Show yourself and fight like a man, you coward! Why keep fleeing?" he bellowed, fury ignited by Damon's slippery maneuvers.

Damon moved through the shadows with the wariness of a cornered rodent.

"I'm not fleeing. I'm standing right here."

"Very well. Lurk in the shadows if it pleases you."

He aimed his blades toward Damon's position.

"I hereby banish all shadows from this chamber."

At those words, every shadow shrank back and vanished, bathing the room in stark light, with Damon positioned between two pillars, bow at the ready.

His gaze shifted from the staring High Prophet to his own drawn bow.

"It's not what it seems."

Before Damon could complete his words, the High Prophet swung his swords. The blades hurtled forward, and though Damon leaped aside, the chain snagged him, binding his arms and hurling him against a pillar.

Grinding his teeth, he attempted to dissolve into shadow, only to find that forbidden too by the man's decree. No shadows lingered in the room.

Damon cast no shadow, nor did his foe. With all shadows outlawed, Damon found himself trapped.

The bulk of his powers relied on shadows. Only a handful stood apart.

His skull crashed against a wall, carrying the crisp outdoor gust, rain mingled with blood and conflict invading the tower.

'Hmm. Hold on. Don't I possess another attribute?'

Indeed, shadows were off-limits, but an akin force remained at his disposal.

'What of darkness domination?'

Darkness bred shadows wherever it dwelled.

Damon evaded the chained blades with a swift slide. These arms proved vexing. Meant for near combat, they could be hurled afar, the chains transforming them into ranged threats.

"Darkness dominate."

Damon invoked the command, tendrils of blackness erupting from his arms to engulf the entire chamber. Then he lifted his hand and lunged ahead.

"I hereby forbid darkness in this room."

The moment he uttered it, Damon shifted to his following attribute.

"Frost dominate."

Icy frost burst across the room, and the instant it spread, Damon clapped his arms shut.

[Magical Arsenal]

Swords forged from pure magical energy materialized in the air without warning. Once summoned, Damon lifted his hand, channeling every drop of his mana into them. With sharp whirring noises, they rained down upon the High Prophet.

The initial sword descended, met by a swipe from his blade, yet it detonated, compelling him to veer away. He scampered along the tower walls to escape as Damon's Magical Arsenal pummeled the corridors, shattering sections of the structure in a harrowing clash.

Already operating below peak strength with depleted mana, Damon had no intention of overpowering through brute might.

Before awareness dawned, the High Prophet declared.

"I hereby grant myself the power to teleport inside this room."

Damon's eyes bulged as the figure blinked into existence behind him. In that instant, shadows flooded back into view, stirring his ravenous hunger, but ere it could surge, a gash ripped from chest to gut, shredding his armor.

He crashed through multiple walls, coming to rest at the base of a pillar that had once concealed him, a crimson streak marking his path.

"You battled admirably, yet defeating me proves impossible. I've remained undefeated, tricks or no," the High Prophet declared, advancing on the gore-drenched Damon.

Damon let out a bloody laugh, crimson staining his mouth and teeth.

"I get it now. Within this room, you can deny or permit an element, but not both simultaneously."

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet the High Prophet's.

"This technique lets you wield your god’s authority here. Isn't that correct?"

The High Prophet smirked down at what he took for a corpse.

"What of it? You're finished, and I scarcely needed my domain."

Blood welled from Damon's chest. Weakness gripped his limbs, torpor weighed his frame, and exhaustion clouded his vision from the hemorrhage.

"Yes. I'd hoped you'd skip deploying a domain. I'd stand no chance. Though yours might be nascent, a domain's essence remains formidable, shaped by its wielder. Skills differ; life's unique paths ensure no two domains mirror exactly, however alike. A friend once shared that insight."

The High Prophet hoisted his blade.

"For one on death's door, you sure love to chat."

Damon grinned.

"Indeed. Ever heard of Dethrone?"

With those words, he triggered his third class skill, Dethrone, nullifying one enemy skill for a fleeting moment. In that brief interval, a form emerged from the pillar's shadow, gripping the sword Broken Bonds, and drove it deep into the High Prophet's chest.

The High Prophet's head jerked up as the disintegrating blade ravaged his soul.

Damon smiled.

"Thanks, Ghost."

Blood-soaked, he rose to his feet.

"Allow me to introduce Ghost, my shadow. And just so you know, fair play was never my plan."

Coughing gore, the High Prophet perished in bitter outrage.

"You scum."