My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 989 - 991: Hold Back

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Previously on My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger...

Luna departed Lord Fayjoy's residence empty-handed after his unyielding defense of his son. In the rainy carriage, she confided in Iris her fading memory of her father's face, grief over her parents' deaths, and fear for brother Damon amid the escalating battles, her prayer briefly manifesting a divine aura. Meanwhile, on the demon continent, Damon lived in opulent isolation within his vast tower, passively drawing hordes of demons through his enigmatic power while plotting an effortless takeover of Trace.

Damon exhaled slowly, reclining back into his chair as his fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest. He remained utterly baffled by it all.

Suddenly, a demonkin had materialized from thin air, claimed a tower, but not a single figure from the Demon Lord’s faction had arrived to interrogate him.

Zero suspicion. Zero probing. He'd even crafted a backstory from the higher-ups' past ordeals, yet nobody showed up with questions.

Did they possess such absolute faith in the enchantments shielding the city of Trace?

'Magic across the demon continent surpasses all other lands by a vast margin.'

He spoke no untruth.

Rune mastery here reached levels unimaginable beyond Lysithara's borders. The formations delved deeper, the patterns wove more complexly, each glyph pulsing with razor-sharp purpose. From his knowledge, rune craft stemmed straight from the Unknown God himself—this arcane art had birthed from his essence.

And demons guarded its purest incarnation.

Over the last month, Damon had devoted himself almost solely to study. He honed his grasp of rune frameworks and tested ways to elevate his incantations.

Ashcroft had blended incantations with runes.

If memory served, the incantation unfolded thus.

Damon stood from his chair, abandoning the uneaten tamberry cakes. He raised his palm, channeling mana gradually into it, observing the power twist between his digits.

"Tinder to spark, ember to glow,

In this place, let fire grow.

With a breath, let flames flow,

Consume all—Inferno."

As the final word left his lips, his mana surged outward.

Yet nothing stirred.

He huffed through his nostrils.

'Predictable. Reciting alone won't cut it. There must be a—'

He halted, his gaze sharpening.

"Runes," he whispered.

Two factors might block him. First, affinity. Fire spells demanded it. Ashcroft wielded it effortlessly thanks to his domination trait, bending any element—including fire—to his command.

Second, the runes proper.

Damon lifted his hand once more. Now, bypassing shadow mana, he called forth the Flames of Ashborn, where shadow and fire merged in ominous flickers across his skin.

With meticulous care, he inscribed a rune mid-air. Not the full verse. A single term.

Inferno.

A shimmering magic circle bloomed around it, pulsing faintly.

He intoned anew, tone firm.

"Tinder to spark, ember to glow,

In this place, let fire grow.

With a breath, let flames flow,

Consume all—Inferno."

Upon uttering the closing word, the rune blazed to life.

A ferocious column of ebony flames burst forth, shredding the room, pulverizing fortified barriers, and straining the tower's wards until they shuddered under the onslaught.

Damon lowered his palm deliberately, eyeing his smoldering fingertips.

'That's the mechanism.'

This went beyond mere fire burst.

The blaze embodied purpose.

It sparked from tinder, kindled to ember, swelled on breath, surged as flames, and peaked in inferno.

'Every phrase shapes the incantation's path.'

Master this framework...

And he could forge custom spells.

'Surely a path exists to invoke without tracing runes.'

"Clap. Clap. Clap."

Damon glanced over his shoulder.

Gotrog loomed there, smacking his enormous fiery palms, embers flying with every strike across the ground.

"Magnificent spell casting, my lord. Truly beautiful."

Damon stayed silent. His focus lingered on the fading burn scars while his thoughts unraveled the event: purpose, phrasing, mana currents.

These formed spellcraft's foundation.

He let out a quiet sigh.

Futile effort.

He wasn't a true mage. Amid furious battles, no leisure existed for such rituals. Unlike Ashcroft, who spun spells seamlessly in motion.

'Perhaps Iris could harness this.'

Gotrog dropped to one knee. Wendy and Renata sat still, watching as the tower mended itself, drawing from Damon's reserves. Lana and Matia held their posts like sentinels, ignoring commands to rest.

"My lord," Gotrog declared, head bowed, "the clashes approach swiftly. Tower lords will vie for supremacy. Word has come from His Excellency, Demon Lord Baal, via the Snake Temple. Tournament launches in three days."

Damon kept his back turned, arms crossed casually.

Infuriating twist.

His deployment as infiltrator demanded climbing ranks deep in hostile turf.

The Ouroboros Coil heist lingered ongoing. Superiors never foresaw a swift grab. This op spanned years.

To immortals spanning centuries, mere years faded to irrelevance.

He'd ascended too swiftly.

"My lord," Gotrog pressed on, "I advise drawing recruits from the crowds beyond the tower. They yearn to pledge loyalty. They await only your word."

Damon massaged his temple with a pair of fingers.

This contest boiled down to tower siege warfare.

Seize a tower. Vanquish its demon guardian. Claim it for your domain.

Conquer and defend alike.

The one hoarding most tower keys claimed victory.