My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 898 - 899: Holy Child

The pool seemed to be assessing if he posed as an enemy or stood as an ally.

Upon encountering the Seed of Depravity, a ferocious wave of murderous intent surged toward Damon. Vast, timeless, and unyielding, it loomed over him. Yet before it could build any further, the pool detected the Divine Spark.

Everything fell into absolute stillness.

A hush descended, one that dragged on like eternity, though Damon realized it lasted just a fleeting instant.

This Divine Spark originated from Lazarak. Strangely, it ranked among the few elements that had followed Damon back from that horrific ordeal.

The Divine Spark once held by Lazarak, the God of Darkness.

Damon remained ignorant of its true function. He only understood that probing it triggered the Seed of Depravity to lash out aggressively. In those instances, excruciating torment gripped him as the seed stripped the spark's enigmatic essence.

At this juncture, though, the pool's sacred energy started nourishing the spark.

What had been a minuscule, almost undetectable glimmer now ballooned and intensified. Damon sensed its expansion within him.

Simultaneously, he let out a sharp gasp.

A torrent of searing agony ripped across his form, lacerating his body, his essence, and his very core. His magical pathways bloated, turning more potent and polished. His tissues toughened and fortified, his presence broadened, and his ashen complexion gained a subtle pinkish tint, as though he were being forged toward ideal flawlessness.

Nearer to the essence of an impeccable entity.

Damon lost track of the elapsed time. He only registered the colossal suffering and its escalating ferocity.

The Divine Spark had enlarged, now invading the domains in his core dominated by the Seed of Depravity.

The instant these powers clashed, crimson liquid burst from Damon's lips as the torment wrenched a scream from deep within.

Nevertheless, this marked merely the start.

These opposing energies utterly repelled each other. They refused to share the same existence. One must be obliterated, or Damon faced certain death.

No compromise existed.

One embodied the demonic route.

The other signified godhood.

Such supreme powers rejected any harmony.

Light versus shadow.

Through the torment, Damon experienced an odd sharpness of thought. Maybe his psyche sought escape from the anguish. Within that tenuous awareness, a query emerged.

How did the Unknown God harbor both?

Did he suffer this torment too? Or had he uncovered a method to merge such polar mights?

He was indeed Unknown.

A lone entity.

The Demon God.

Damon realized he must intervene swiftly, lest he perish.

By now, the pool mended him at its utmost speed, yet his frame kept fracturing and disintegrating. Blood seeped into the waters, only to be compelled back into his veins. He remained ensnared in a relentless loop of creation and ruin unfolding at once.

Should that cease, he would burst apart and perish.

Lazarak had bestowed this Divine Spark upon him, but the reason eluded Damon.

As for the pool's acknowledgment of him, Damon harbored a hypothesis.

Maybe because Lazarak stemmed from the goddess's own creation. Despite his uprising, he stayed a deity born of her essence.

The High Templar's gaze bulged in astonishment. In all his lifetime, he had never beheld such a spectacle. Though he grasped little of the scene, as the pool's holy force roiled and the subtle radiance in Damon's torso blazed brighter, he dropped to his knees in zealous worship.

"He... he... he is chosen..." he murmured.

He was not.

Far from it.

The goddess would never select Damon. In reality, he found himself in a dire predicament, and if the wretched elder had extracted him sooner, Damon might have endured this trial with less strife. Regrettably, a routine ceremony had devolved into a brutal fight for survival.

Damon perceived the Seed of Depravity yielding beneath the pool's overwhelming might. Though merely a fragment of the goddess's sacred force, that fragment held the power to crumple the cosmos like parchment. It wasn't boundless, yet it neared that dreadfully.

The Divine Spark pressed onward relentlessly.

But Damon hadn't cultivated the spark on his own.

Unlike the Seed of Depravity, forged from bitterness, carnage, and myriad spirits slain by his deeds or on his account.

He had already embarked on his demonic evolution. The seed had advanced deeply, perilously so, teetering on complete awakening.

And this spark now unraveled it all.

In the most domineering manner possible.

All that raced through Damon's mind was,

"Damn it... I’m going to die."

Three hours elapsed. Or so he estimated.

His form shattered and reformed in a savage rhythm. Skeleton pulverized and recast. Vital organs burst and mended. Still, the Seed of Depravity clung tenaciously.

How could rebellion vanish so simply?

How could a demon yield to godliness?

Demons arose from opposition. Rebellion defined them. Even the mightiest Demon Kings had rebelled, fueling their demonic rise.

As the swirling liquid hauled him to the pool's brink, Damon resolved his course. Upon hitting the edge, he mustered his last reserves for a desperate lunge.

He aimed to escape.

Then the High Templar's eyes gleamed.

"Do not let the current ruin the ritual. Push the chosen one back in."

Damon almost swore.

He would have, had he the strength.

Instead, he got thrust back into the depths. Agony flared anew, and the spark intensified.

'Damn it... I need to do something. Anything.'

Over the prior three hours, he had attempted to quell the spark. It yielded scant results.

One ultimate choice remained.

One he had shunned.

Yet to pursue it, he required utter mental focus.

Damon inhaled raggedly and unsteadily. This held peril. To proceed, he must cease restraining the Divine Spark and redirect his will elsewhere.

For even one heartbeat, his core might shatter utterly.

And then true death would claim him.

Was he ready to stake it all?

"No risk, no reward."

He released his hold.

His core burst. He sensed oblivion nearing.

And in that precise flash, he summoned his shadow essence and wedged it between the Seed of Depravity and the Divine Spark.

A coldness diffused.

Then, abruptly, the clashing powers halted.

A barrier of shadows divided them.

Damon at last eased.

He allowed his frame to slacken and drifted in the pool as it gradually restored him. Once the torment ebbed, he rose and stepped forth.

That had been the most protracted instant of his existence.

Raising his gaze, he discovered himself encircled by the temple's supreme clerics. Each donned the order's loftiest robes, features veiled, auras commanding.

Nine in total.

He recognized their legend.

The Nine Elders of Conflict.

"When did they get here...?" Damon grumbled.

"Twenty-seven hours..." the High Templar breathed.

"You lasted twenty-seven hours..."

Damon squinted suspiciously. That seemed impossible. He had figured mere hours at best.

Then he scowled.

Had awareness flickered in and out?

His physique felt featherweight, impossibly so. Transformation had occurred. His mana stood fully purified. That had posed a formidable barrier before. Despite extra mana cores, he anticipated years for such refinement, barring a domain's revelation.

Yet now, he teetered at his level's pinnacle.

Domain unformed.

"So... did I get the Hero title or what?"

"Hero..." one Elder intoned softly.

"No. You are a Holy Child. A Holy Child blessed by the goddess. You will be the light that ends the evils of this era."

Damon stood speechless as the figure pressed on.

"You will stand at the forefront of our war against the demons. The vanguard of our actions. The one who brings war. All hail the Child of War."

Damon felt his scalpel quiver.

He disliked that intensely.

It rang like an ornate scheme to ensure his demise.

He rubbed the nape of his neck.

"So... can I get my Hero title, my holy relic, and be on my way?"

Their visages stayed concealed, but their voices betrayed zeal to hurl him into calamity.

Child of War.

It echoed the mantle Seras Blade had earned, just prior to her dispatch to the Demon Wars' most lethal battlegrounds.

'Great. I’m about to become a poster boy for war crimes.'

They hastily ushered Damon off to ready him for his proclamation as the Holy Child.

Far inside the Holy City, within a forbidden temple vault accessible solely to the High Templar and Nine Elders, a golden-haired man stirred from a coffin.

"I sensed my brother’s presence..."

He shut his eyes once more.

That defied possibility.

For Lazarak lay dead.

He had ensured it.