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

His frame weighed down with exhaustion. Regeneration had kicked in for his tongue, yet as he sensed it within his mouth, an odd sensation gripped him. No normal tongue should feel quite like this.

Damon thrust his tongue outward from his lips, eager to examine it properly, or at least the remnants. He braced himself for the sight of blood and mending tissue.

Instead, what appeared before him was utterly shocking and horrifying.

The tongue stretched out longer than before.

Not merely extended.

It dangled excessively, reaching a bit beyond the length of a canine's.

As Damon peered downward, he barely stifled a primal yell at the horror unfolding.

That appendage, once a simple tongue, now resembled a ghostly pale maggot with a humanoid visage and a savage maw lined with jagged fangs. A tiny tongue squirmed within it, while minuscule black specks served as eyes.

Damon sensed its connection.

His nerves commanded it still.

Undeniably, this abomination was his tongue.

Suddenly, the tongue jerked with a repulsive snap.

It uttered words in a tone he despised.

Silky. Composed.

The exact timbre of Damon Grey's own voice.

Imitators of human speech ranked among the most loathsome. He loathed their psychological tricks above all.

"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 remained silent.

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 tiny sparks of flame while twisting in the atmosphere.

He scrunched his face against the foul odor emanating from his mouth.

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

"Ha ha ha how smart..." the foul tongue chuckled, its repulsive aroma intensifying as it edged 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 stroke of his sword, Damon severed the revolting tongue cleanly.

It plummeted to the earth, spasming wildly.

This phenomenon wasn't unfamiliar, and he had zero desire to endure a sermon from his own appendage.

He compelled his gaze downward and advanced, boots grinding against the underbrush.

Vast foliage enveloped their surroundings, transforming the area into a tangled maze of vegetation.

Even worse, upward glances were forbidden.

At every stride, the presence lurking in the branches beckoned them insistently to peer skyward.

Damon grappled with uncertainty on how to respond or counterattack.

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

He cast a quick look her way.

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

Clenching his jaw, Damon pressed on, his expression frozen in bottled fury.

Their march persisted until dusk fell.

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

Through that hazy radiance, Damon discerned indistinct outlines perched among the branches.

Forms that bore no human resemblance.

Entities defying all logic.

The longer Damon fixed his stare on its blurry contour, the more tangible it seemed to become.

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

He strained to assemble its identity from fragments.

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

Fine white threads encircled his ebony pupils.

Additional pale strands materialized.

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 inviting.

Tender.

Soothing.

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

His gaze whitened progressively more.

The silhouette amid the branches sharpened as it murmured.

"Look up."

Damon's head tilted upward gradually toward the ethereal glow overhead.

Right as his eyes neared contact with the unseen horror, his shadow convulsed fiercely and surged, draping over his features like a shroud.

Pallor seized his face in a flash of awareness.

He yanked his head back down abruptly, severing the visual link.

Spinning about, he noted several expedition members had vanished.

They had evaporated.

Simply like that.

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

Just that absence now marked their fate.

A chilling terror surged through him, honing his mind amid the vise of panic gripping his torso.

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

She pivoted her head 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.

Yet now, he was erased.

Though ropes sealed her lips, a stifled cry of anguish escaped her.

Her outburst roused the group.

Terror's mist enveloped the expedition team.

They formed a protective circle as the beast culled them sequentially.

And to twist the knife deeper, rubbing salt into open sores—

Crimson droplets cascaded from the overhead branches.

Accompanying it tumbled viscera.

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 dislodge it, she identified it as a palm.

A delicate silver band encircled one finger.

She knew that band intimately.

It was his.

He'd boast endlessly of his trio of offspring and his stunning spouse awaiting his return.

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

He abhorred the idea of eternal separation.

Despite masking it expertly.

Now, oblivion claimed him.

Snatched by the arboreal vault.

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.

Undoubtedly his timbre.

Giggling.

Boasting.

But the Listening Canopy twisted it into ridicule, replaying his familiar tales.

She'd once resented his incessant prattling.

Yet she cherished the joy in his voice when family came up.

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

Gruesome crunches of fracturing bones and shredding flesh reverberated from some colossal force.

Amid the treeline, the soft ethereal gleam threw elongated shadows over the soil.

Its hazy form clutched yet another victim.

It compressed.

The form burst akin to overripe fruit.

Gore cascaded downward.

The nauseating reek of terror, bodily fluids, and iron-tanged blood blended into a toxic haze.

Lana yearned to pivot and flee.

She longed to bolt.

Fear consumed her.

She was utterly terrified.

Terror so profound it eclipsed any spark of wrath.

This terror diverged sharply from demonic clashes.

Demons at least offered comprehensible foes for her psyche.

This defied grasp.

She dared not behold it.

She couldn't even glimpse it.

"I want to go home... I’m scared..."

Her eyes bulged.

Her own words boomed from the branches.

Tears welled as horror constricted her lungs.

Her knees faltered, clashing together.

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

Her plea resounded 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 laments persisted.

Until Damon's timbre echoed 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.

That single voice pierced through the din for her.

Amid the barrage of inner terrors and frantic pleas for life, his alone rang indifferent.

As though that bleak, haughty declaration shone like a lighthouse in this glowing inferno.

It captivated her.

She ached to glance upward and witness his countenance during those words.

Yet Damon Grey wasn't perched there.

He strode ahead of her.

His demeanor icy.

Restrained.

Finally, the tone she'd feared most resounded.

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 approached her and clasped her shoulder with resolve.

He shook his head briefly.

Then he delved into his jacket and quaffed a vial.

This time, his tongue mended correctly.

Fresh tissue weaving seamlessly.

He drew a deep breath.

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