My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1010 - 1012: Wendy

Impenetrable by the impure was Wendy's fate.

Such was the condition of her very being.

Yet, Morticai transcended that definition.

He was the embodiment of a phoenix.

Purity itself, made manifest.

The bulwark that had shielded her perpetually now became the instrument of her demise.

Damon grasped this cruel irony.

It was the reason for his experimental use of potions.

"Why... why didn't you simply flee?" he questioned, his voice raw, his grip on her hand tightening.

A fragile smile graced Wendy's lips as blood seeped through her garments, the feather-like impalement dissolving into ephemeral sparks.

"I... I do not know..." she breathed out, her voice barely a whisper.

Damon pressed his palm against her chest, a futile attempt to staunch the flow, as if sheer will could tether her spirit.

"It is alright. Do not be afraid. You will recover. You will be fine."

Wendy offered a gentle nod, a gesture of solace for him.

But the truth, stark and undeniable, loomed between them.

Her soul was fraying.

Gradually.

Agonizingly.

Morticai had intended for her suffering to precede her end.

"Ahhh..." she gasped, her pallor deepening, her skin growing colder.

"Hey..." she murmured faintly.

Damon's head was already bowed against her chest, his hands slick with her lifeblood as he waged a desperate war against the inevitable.

"Do... you recall our first meeting..."

"I am sorry..." Damon choked out, his apology thick with despair.

Wendy weakly shook her head.

"Do not be... Meeting you felt like the true commencement of my life. Before then... nothing seemed to hold significance..."

Her eyelids fluttered, struggling to remain open.

"Should I depart... how long will my memory linger within you? Will you recall the cadence of my voice... my gait... the span of my antlers... the fragrance of my being..."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"I possess naught of my own... thus, little will remain. Only my name."

Her trembling fingers found his.

"Will you recall the name you bestowed upon me... and the existence I embraced? I cherished the name Wendy... it lent me a sense of humanity. Thank you... for granting me my name."

Her voice dwindled, becoming ethereal.

"Damon... will you endure to remember me..."

Damon did not lift his head.

He focused solely on the diminishing flutter of her heartbeat.

Faint.

Fading.

Then—

Silence.

A solitary, resonant beat.

Her final aspiration was for his continued existence.

When Damon finally raised his head, her eyes remained fixed, unseeing. Her blood painted his hands.

He shook his head with profound sorrow.

"I will not... I cannot forget... I shall... I shall..."

The departed were too often relegated to oblivion.

Damon vowed this would not be Wendy's fate.

Just as Lazarak's name had defied the grave, Wendy's would too.

If Morticai harbored animosity towards beings like her, Damon would forge something beyond his capacity to erase.

With hands that trembled from the weight of his grief, he retrieved a small vial from his shadow storage, filling it with Wendy's precious blood.

Then, with a guttural cry, he bit into his own wrist, severing a vein. Rage and sorrow mingled as his crimson lifeblood joined hers within the capsule.

A faint luminescence emanated from the vial.

He returned it to his shadow without a second glance.

Wendy's form grew still in his embrace. His chest felt as though it would shatter.

"I will ensure you are not forgotten," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I will remember the sound of your voice, the way you walked, the length of your antlers, the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body. The name I gave you... I shall never let it fade."

Her lifeless body slowly receded into the depths of his shadow storage.

Damon's gaze ascended to the heavens, where Morticai clashed with Seras and Kadelas amidst a cataclysm of fire and light.

"You stand no chance against such might. This battle is already lost."

Ashcroft’s voice resonated within his mind.

A pronouncement of inevitable doom.

"Remember this: If you perish now, that which you have cultivated will never see the light of day. And your solemn promise to the young woman will be extinguished."

Damon's teeth ground together in fierce resolve.

His entire existence had been a yearning for oblivion.

Now, for the first time, unburdened by the curse that compelled his breath...

He desired to live.

To enact vengeance upon Morticai.

"I will put an end to that creature," he declared, his voice dripping with venom.

Ashcroft's tone shifted, becoming sharp and urgent.

"Then survival must be your immediate priority. You are leagues away from possessing the strength to confront Morticai. Or any of the Outsiders."

Damon's eyes remained fixed on the celestial arena where fire and light ravaged the very firmament.

"As you can observe, they are strategically buying time for reinforcements to return. This signifies that the Outsiders will soon withdraw. This conflict was rendered unwinnable before it even commenced."

"In this world, no truth is more profound than absolute power. And no failing is more grievous than weakness."

Ashcroft's words echoed in Damon's consciousness, calm yet weighty, as if he were a distant observer of a tempest. He could sense the inferno of rage consuming Damon. His inner landscape churned like a sea caught in a maelstrom, every thought tainted by the insatiable thirst for retribution.

"That axiom remains constant across all realms. I have borne witness to two. Those endowed with power dictate the definition of righteousness. Distinct rules govern the mighty and the feeble. The sole contemplation is, which path do you intend to tread?"

"If one possesses sufficient ruthlessness and power, they shall gain the upper hand even against the most virtuous saint."

Damon clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. His teeth grated against each other, as if he were attempting to pulverize the very words spoken.

"And what is the price for that?" he choked out the question. "I am plenty ruthless. But what is the cost associated with it? Must I abandon all noble principles? Should I slaughter innocent women and children? Must I shatter families?"

His voice quivered, not with apprehension, but with an emotion originating from a much deeper place.

"Why is wickedness incessantly labeled as necessary? Is there no such thing as a necessary good? What about Wendy? Her presence here is a direct result of my wicked deeds. And even now, she suffers because of me."

His eyes surveyed the desolate battlefield.

The temple, once an architectural marvel, was now reduced to rubble. Decimated pillars, fractured stone, and crimson blood permeated every crevice. Priestesses, whose smiles were once beacons of gentleness, now gazed blankly towards the heavens. A knight from the expedition lay crushed beneath debris, his once gleaming armor grotesquely mangled.