My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 891 - 892: Deathless Strikes Back

Cassian furrowed his brows. Moments earlier, they had seen every participant hurled into the arena devoured and obliterated by a monstrous entity, its shadowy silhouette blanketing the entire space, its oppressive presence pushing right up against the world's very edges.

Prior to that, they had truly sensed the divine essence.

They barely had moments to process it all before being ejected back, vomited out exactly where they had been swallowed. The colossal horror broke apart into specks of radiance.

His fingers trembled a bit as he surveyed the group of survivors, reduced now to scarcely half of the initial count from the war games' start.

A quiet breath of relief escaped him upon noticing his daughter and nephew both still standing.

Even more crucially, he sensed it clearly.

Their presences.

All of them had attained that breakthrough.

"The Fourth Class advancement," a voice whispered, echoing his own thoughts precisely.

Emperor Kronos advanced, masking the deep grief over his son's death with a composed expression.

"Abellona."

He placed a hand on his daughter's head, the sole sign of warmth he permitted in view of others. This gesture alone pushed boundaries. Emperors weren't meant to falter, yet as a parent, he had just endured one offspring's death and the vanishing of another. Wasn't it a mercy that the deity restored one to him, despite the irreplaceable loss?

She dipped her head just a touch.

Evangeline dashed straight into her father's embrace the instant she spotted him. She wasn't alone in that. Plenty of young masters and noble daughters, who had projected strength amid battles and conflicts—especially those near Damon's age—burst with joy at reuniting with their kin.

At returning to the realm where safety enveloped them.

Damon yearned for that sensation. The ability to detect mana once more, the warmth of his home world embracing him fully, absent any repulsion, without branding him as a foreign plague demanding purification.

He lifted his gaze and caught sight of a silver-haired girl hurrying down some steps, trailed by Brightwater guards struggling to shield her. In front of her, a girl with pink locks sprinted directly toward him too.

Damon bowed his head, clenching his lower lip. When he looked up again, the pair collided right into his hold.

He embraced them silently. Words tumbled from their lips, but Damon drifted in a haze. Whether from the curse or his swirling feelings, witnessing his sister's sheer delight at his survival struck him with the selfishness that death would have embodied.

Not that survival was his decision anyway. The curse compelled it upon him.

'At least Deathless hasn't hurled any deadly ordeals at me so far.'

"Damon Grey, surrender the elixir of pseudo immortality. A mere peasant like you has no right to possess such a mythical artifact."

A chilling voice rang out as a formidable presence crashed over Damon. He flicked his hand casually, then eyed Luna and Iris.

"Leave. Immediately."

He commanded it without inflection. The Brightwater knights didn't hesitate, yanking the two girls back before they could reply.

Damon spun to face a noble glaring at him. The man's daughter numbered among those who endured.

Damon sized him up thoroughly.

"Do I even know you?"

The noble, seeming at minimum a count, let out a derisive snort.

"Such bold arrogance, peasant. Your conceit will spell your doom."

Damon creased his forehead faintly.

"No, this wasn't arrogance on my part. I truly have no clue who you might be. Don't you feel like some minor extra? I mean, if you mattered at all, I'd recognize you."

The fellow's complexion flushed through various hues from the indirect barb.

He wasn't alone. Damon picked up young aristocrats murmuring details on the elixir. Few grasped its true effects, so tales inflated wildly with each passing instant.

It evolved from a universal remedy, to a formula for eternal life, to harboring the very mysteries of divinity.

Alchemists coveted it. Mages desired it. Nobles hungered for it. All craved it. Above all, the temple had fixed its sights on him now.

Father Dantalion, the renowned witch hunter, observed with sharp focus. His eyes flicked momentarily toward Paimon, the demon lord in attendance, yet his features remained unchanged.

"That's sufficient, lad. We alchemists insist you relinquish the elixir for the institute to examine."

"Ridiculous drivel," bellowed a mage from the magic continent.

"It belongs evidently with the Magic Academy. Our facilities on the magic continent surpass all, allowing true analysis of such a potion."

Damon exhaled wearily. This chaos grated on him. Not one had laid eyes on the elixir, yet they bickered like this.

They debated as though he stood invisible. In truth, it almost was—he hadn't ascended to their ranks yet.

Lilith pressed her lips together, poised to seek her grandmother's aid. Her revelation of the elixir bore some blame. Even without her slip, discovery was inevitable.

Damon shook his head.

He had rejoiced prematurely. Deathless appeared to have launched its lethal pursuits already.

His instincts blared warnings as he eyed influential figures staking avaricious demands on his rightful prize.

Seras Blade regarded the unfolding drama with poised curiosity.

"Indeed, he pulled through alive. Though given this mess, it won't last. He faces just a single path forward."

Damon smirked, his expression icing over.

"Even should I offer it, not a soul among you would claim it."

He delved into his shadow storage and extracted the elixir. Why? For he was Damon Grey. A curse enforcing survival didn't demand meekness from him. A curse of meekness would cripple far worse.

The golden fluid gleamed brightly.

"Behold, the elixir."

With that, he stowed it away in his shadow storage once more.

He traced a boundary on the earth using a burst of magic.

"I challenge any of you to step beyond that mark and face my response."

A hush fell. They gawked at the youth freshly entered the Fourth Class. Precisely what did he intend?

A Sixth Class elder strode ahead.

The instant he breached the line, Damon blinked out of sight.

He materialized anew behind the grand duke, fingers clutching the noble's attire.

"Help me, Grandfather," he wailed without shame.

The grand duke stiffened briefly, then his face set like stone as reflexes surged.

His tone turned icy, akin to a frozen gale.

"Who dares lay hands on my grandson?"

The whole arena plunged into stillness.

His grandson?