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

On the battlefield, ideas of fairness or unfairness simply didn't exist. The only thing that counted was survival or death. That truth stood firm.

Damon's shadow hunger surged up to ninety percent, yet he managed to stay far from ravenous.

It felt like some unbreakable rule kept him from turning ravenous.

And indeed, that rule held strong. His eyes widened in quiet shock as he dodged aside from one of the High Prophet's chained blades.

A smile crept across the High Prophet's face when he noticed Damon's look of surprise while slipping behind a pillar.

Damon clenched his jaw, his features set in icy resolve. He dismissed his Dealer’s Hand, allowing the shattered sword to hover before him. From his shadow storage, he drew forth the sword Broken Bonds, a weapon with the power of Disintegration that he had claimed as a trophy in Lysithara.

"Not going to call that a cheap trick," the High Prophet inquired with a voice like icy wind.

Damon shook his head.

"No. Why should I? Victory demands every tool available, even if it's power on loan."

He cast a quick look at the clanking chains, realizing a direct clash wouldn't serve him well now.

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

"That power you're wielding falls under Seraph Null’s domain, yet you're not tapping it straight from the source, are you? So tell me, how do you pull it off?"

Damon merged into the shadows and retrieved his bow and arrow, drawing back the string to fire a shot at the High Prophet.

The arrow whizzed by harmlessly as the man charged forward, his blade carving through the pillar and walls in one motion.

Still, Damon vanished via teleportation, slipping back into the shadows once more.

"Show yourself and fight like a man, you coward! Why keep fleeing?" he bellowed, fury boiling over from Damon's slippery moves.

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 suits you."

He aimed his blades toward Damon's position.

"I now ban all shadows within this chamber."

With those words spoken, every shadow shrank back and vanished entirely, flooding the room with blinding light and leaving Damon exposed between two pillars, bow at the ready.

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

"It’s not what you think."

Before Damon could complete his words, the man swung his swords wide. The blades hurtled toward Damon, who leaped aside but got snared by the chain anyway, his arms bound tight as he crashed into a pillar.

He ground his teeth and attempted to dissolve into shadow form, only to find that option sealed off by the man's decree. No shadows permitted in the room.

Damon cast no shadow, nor did his foe. Every shadow had been outlawed, trapping Damon in a tough spot.

His arsenal relied heavily on shadows. Only a handful of alternatives remained.

His skull smacked against a wall amid a rush of outdoor air, where rain mingled with blood and the chaos of war seeped into the tower.

’Hmm. Hold on. Haven’t I got another element at my command?’

Indeed, shadows were off-limits, but a close kin lingered.

’What of darkness domination?’

Darkness bred shadows wherever it spread.

Damon evaded the path of the chained blades with a slide. Those weapons proved a real nuisance. Meant for close combat, they could extend via chains for ranged strikes.

"Darkness dominate."

Damon invoked the command as dark tendrils erupted from his arms, blanketing the entire room in blackness. Then he lifted his hand and lunged ahead.

"I hereby ban all darkness in this chamber."

The instant those words escaped, Damon shifted to his following element.

"Frost dominate."

Ice crystals burst across the room, and the moment they did, Damon clapped his arms shut.

[Magical Arsenal]

Swords forged from pure magical energy materialized in the air all at once. Damon lifted his hand and funneled every drop of his mana into them. With sharp whistles, they rained down upon the High Prophet.

The first sword descended, met by a swipe of his blade, but it burst apart, compelling him to weave away. He scampered along the tower walls to escape as Damon's Magical Arsenal hammered the corridors, shattering sections of the structure in a frenzy of destruction.

His strength already lagged below peak, and his mana reserves dipped lower than normal. Yet Damon had no intention of overpowering through brute force alone.

Before the realization could dawn, the High Prophet uttered his next command.

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

Damon's eyes bulged as the figure blinked into existence right at his back. In that instant, shadows flooded back into view, stirring his ravenous urge, but before it could grip him, a slash ripped from chest to gut, shredding his armor.

He tumbled through multiple walls, coming to rest at the base of a pillar where he'd once concealed himself. A thick smear of blood marked his path.

"You put up a good fight, but overcoming me proves impossible. I've never tasted defeat, not even against your sly maneuvers," the High Prophet declared while advancing on the bloodied Damon.

Damon let out a weak laugh, blood staining his mouth and teeth.

"I get it now. You can deny or permit elements in this space, but not both simultaneously."

He lifted his head gradually, meeting the High Prophet's gaze.

"This technique lets you wield your god’s authority here. That's correct, isn't it?"

The High Prophet grinned down at what he took for a dying foe.

"And what of it? You're finished, and I haven't even unleashed my domain."

Blood welled from Damon's chest. His limbs grew feeble, his form sluggish, his vision dimming from the hemorrhage.

"Yes. I counted on you skipping the domain. I'd stand no chance. Even a budding domain carries immense weight, tied to the wielder's essence. Unlike fixed skills, life shapes unique paths, so no domains match exactly, no matter the overlap. A companion once shared that insight with me."

The High Prophet hoisted his blade high.

"You sure love to chat for a man on death's door."

Damon grinned.

"True enough. Ever heard of dethrone?"

At those words, he triggered his third class skill, Dethrone, which briefly nullified one of the opponent's abilities. In that fleeting moment, a form emerged from the pillar's shadow, gripping the sword Broken Bonds, and drove it straight into the High Prophet’s chest.

He jerked his head up as the disintegrating blade ravaged his soul itself.

Damon smiled.

"Thanks, Ghost."

He rose to his feet, drenched in his own blood.

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

The High Prophet hacked up blood in his final, bitter moments.

"You wretch."