My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 921 - 922: Break The Rules

His frame weighed heavily upon him. Regeneration had commenced on his tongue, yet as he sensed it within his mouth, an unsettling wrongness hit him. No tongue ought to feel quite like this.

Damon thrust his tongue outward from his lips, eager for a proper glimpse at it—or at least what remained. He braced himself to behold blood and mending tissue.

The sight that met his eyes filled him with both awe and horror.

His tongue had stretched out.

Not merely stretched.

It had become extraordinarily lengthy. So much so that it protruded a bit beyond the reach of a hound's tongue.

As he peered downward, Damon barely stifled the primal scream rising in his throat at the horror below.

What had once been his tongue now resembled a ghostly pale maggot, bearing a human-like visage and a savage maw crammed with jagged fangs. A tiny tongue twisted within it, while minuscule black specks served as eyes.

Damon sensed its presence.

His nerves commanded it still.

Undeniably, this abomination was his tongue.

Suddenly, the tongue jerked with a repulsive crunch.

It uttered words in a tone he despised.

Silky. Serene.

The very timbre of Damon Grey.

Imitators of human speech ranked among the most loathsome beings. He loathed them utterly, along with their psychological torments.

"You’re still alive... that’s too bad. Here I thought you wanted to die. Can’t believe you let a measly little curse stop you."

Damon offered no response.

He dismissed it entirely and shifted his attention to Seras.

Her tongue had sprouted its own grotesque form, though distinct from his. Composed of crimson blood, it emitted faint sparks of flame while twisting through the air.

He scrunched his face against the foul odor wafting from his own maw.

'Does that imply every individual's tongue takes a unique shape..'

"Ha ha ha how smart..." the foul tongue chuckled, its repulsive odor intensifying as it hoisted itself nearer to his features.

"Smell it yes smell it this is the vile stench of your mouth.."

The tongue ascended further, nearly grazing his nostrils.

"A mouth of a liar and a deceiver... this is the mouth of someone who hurts and—"

With a swift, precise slash of his sword, Damon severed the revolting appendage.

It plummeted to the earth, spasming wildly.

This phenomenon was no novelty, and he had zero desire to endure a sermon from his own tongue.

He compelled his gaze downward and pressed onward, grinding foliage underfoot with his boots.

The surrounding vegetation loomed massively, transforming the area into a tangled maze of foliage.

Even worse, gazing skyward was forbidden.

At every stride they made, the presence lurking in the branches beckoned them upward, tempting them to lift their eyes.

Damon grappled with uncertainty over how to respond or strike back.

Seras bore the torment silently, much like the others, yet mere endurance failed to resolve the peril.

He cast a quick look her way.

She gave a faint shake of her head, signaling him to avoid confrontation.

Damon clenched his jaw and forged ahead, his expression icy with bottled fury.

They pressed on until the sun dipped below the horizon.

Once daylight vanished, a subtle luminescence emanated from the treetops.

Through that hazy radiance, Damon discerned indistinct outlines of entities amid the branches.

Forms that appeared utterly inhuman.

Shapes that defied all logic.

The longer Damon fixated on its blurry contour, the more tangible it seemed to grow.

As its reality sharpened, his intrigue about its essence deepened.

The harder he strained to decipher its form.

In that effort, a dull haze crept into his vision.

Fine white threads encircled his ebony pupils.

Additional pale lines emerged.

Damon’s spirit gradually ebbed.

His complexion drained of color.

Gradually, the tender call of his mother inviting him for supper resonated in his ears.

It felt soothing.

Tender.

Kind.

It evoked the warmth of her hug enveloping him, her form plush and reassuring, affirming his cherished place in her heart.

His eyes whitened more profoundly.

The silhouette among the boughs solidified as it murmured.

"Look up."

Damon lifted his head languidly toward the ethereal glow overhead.

Right as his stare neared the source, his shadow convulsed fiercely and surged, draping over his visage like a shroud.

Pallor seized his face in a flash of comprehension.

He jerked his head low, severing the visual link.

He spun about and noted several expedition members were absent.

Vanished.

In an instant.

Damon couldn’t pinpoint the moment of their loss during the trek.

Only that they were no more.

A chilling terror surged through him, honing his mind while dread constricted his ribs.

Lana halted her steps, her features ashen upon catching Damon’s look.

She pivoted slowly and discovered a knight had vanished.

She recalled his affiliation with the Sunflower Division, separate from her own squad. They’d shared camaraderie for years in the same battalion.

Now, he was lost.

Though cords bound her lips, a stifled cry of anguish escaped her.

Her outburst roused the group.

A shroud of panic enveloped the expedition team.

They adopted a guarded stance as the beast culled them sequentially.

And to twist the knife deeper, rubbing salt in their agony—

Crimson droplets cascaded from the overhead branches.

Accompanying them were innards.

Dismembered appendages.

Then a flap of human flesh landed atop Lana’s crown, slithering into her locks and matting them with gore.

As she lifted a hand to extract it, she identified it as a palm.

A modest silver band gleamed upon one finger.

She knew that ring well.

It was his.

He’d boast endlessly of his trio of offspring and lovely spouse awaiting his return.

In the Demon Wars, his deepest dread was perishing without securing their future.

He abhorred the notion of never reuniting with them.

Though he masked it masterfully.

Now, he was erased.

Claimed by the treetops.

She caught derisive chuckles in his inflection.

"Adelaide is the prettiest girl in my town... I was so lucky to have married her... in fact I beat up every man who tried to woo her until I was the only one left... her hair... you should hear about her hair and her eyes..."

Lana quivered.

That timbre was unmistakably his.

Giggling.

Boasting.

Yet the Listening Canopy now ridiculed them, echoing phrases he’d uttered countless times.

She’d once despised his incessant bragging.

But she cherished the joy in his tone when discussing his kin.

Lana trudged onward despite the fresh deluge of blood upon them.

The gruesome cracks of mortal bones splintering under immense force reverberated around.

Amid the canopy, the soft ethereal gleam threw stark shadows over the soil.

Its nebulous form clutched yet another victim in its grasp.

It compressed.

The form burst like overripe fruit.

Gore cascaded earthward.

The nauseating reek of terror and bodily refuse blended with blood’s iron tang.

Lana yearned to wheel about.

She longed to flee.

Fear gripped her.

True fear.

So profound that fury slipped from her grasp entirely.

This bore no resemblance to battling demons.

Demons at least made sense to her psyche.

This defied reason.

She dared not behold it.

She couldn’t even perceive it.

"I want to go home... I’m scared..."

Her gaze bulged.

Her own words resounded from the branches.

Tears welled as horror squeezed her lungs.

Her knees wobbled and clashed.

"I want to run... where should I run... I’m scared... I don’t want to die..."

Her timbre rang out once more.

But not solely hers.

The knights’ voices joined.

The whole expedition’s chorus.

"If I die who will take care of my aging mother..."

"I’m going to die like this here in this forest without any honor without any glory..."

"A nobody that’s all I am that’s all I will ever be no one will remember the name Silas Arcborn because I don’t matter my father was right I am nothing my ideals are nothing even if I save a thousand people I will never amount to anything..."

The echoes persisted.

Until Damon’s inflection emanated from above.

"So what if I die... it doesn’t even matter the most significant thing in life is death... even so... whoever wants to kill me should prepare to join me in hell."

Lana froze briefly.

Amid the cacophony, only his voice pierced through.

In the torrent of inner terrors and frantic pleas for life, his stood apart in indifference.

That bleak, haughty tone shone like a lighthouse in this glowing inferno.

She found herself captivated.

She ached to glance upward and catch his countenance in that moment.

But Damon Grey wasn’t perched there.

He strode ahead of her.

His demeanor remained frigid.

Mastered.

Finally, the dreaded sound arrived.

Seras’s voice.

Steady.

Monotone.

"Its all the same it doesn’t change... the war never ends the battlefield just changes from one cloud of dust to another sea of blood is there a purpose to this war why am I fighting for something so tedious so hideous... death why do you accompany war...and leave me in solitude."

Damon advanced to her side and clasped her shoulder with resolve.

He shook his head briefly.

Then he delved into his jacket and quaffed a vial of potion.

This time, his tongue reformed correctly.

Fresh tissue weaving seamlessly.

He drew a deep breath.

"Let's kill this son of a bitch," he declared in his true voice, willfully defying the Listening Canopy's edicts.