My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 996 - 998: Kill Order

In a twist of irony, none of this had been part of Damon’s intentions.

From what he could best gauge, a fierce and drawn-out clash with the tower lords awaited him, a narrow victory at best, followed by a period of recovery.

Yet now, every tower lord knelt before him, and his own tower stood as the heart of the City of Trace—the One Tower.

But that wasn’t everything.

The tower had transformed.

Its form had sharpened into jagged, infernal contours, while a roaring fireball blazed at the summit like a sinister second sun, bathing the whole city in an eerie light.

Even more crucially, a letter had reached him.

A priestess from the Snake Temple would come in three days to guide him there for his prize.

Timing couldn’t be better.

At last, they’d pinpoint the temple concealed from sight.

Damon had of course alerted Seras, who stood prepared.

With the location in hand, she could warp straight there, and the two of them would snatch the Ouroboros Coil. Damon had to keep his true nature hidden if he could. His directive rang clear: keep playing the demon.

Another matter lingered—why Damon Grey hadn’t surfaced on the field.

Word was, the goddess races were forging a fake of his Ascendant Armor, planning to have an imposter don it.

Just a copy, naturally. Lacking any real might of the genuine Ascendant Armors.

The Temple of Doom had once chased the authentic ones but abandoned the effort. Those bearing them were big shots, and even snagging one offered no promise of duplication.

Lysithara reigned as the pinnacle of magic and science back in ancient times, yet they’d forged only six armors for their six overlords—the finest sages of their era.

Seated in his throne, Damon drummed fingers softly on the armrest while demon heirs approached in turn to give reports and present themselves.

Gotrog and Bakemon had already joined forces to reorganize the forces under single command.

Even so, something piqued Damon’s interest.

"How far have the goddess races advanced into the Black Mountains?" he inquired coolly.

Bakemon advanced, spreading a vast parchment wide with both hands.

"My lord, latest intel shows them pushed a hundred kilometers into the range, backed by intense air cover and huge barrages from their coastal ships," Bakemon stated.

A subtle frown creased Damon’s brow.

Merely a hundred kilometers.

Disappointing, indeed.

He’d anticipated greater progress.

The demon continent proved far tougher to breach than anticipated. Should this assault crumble, demons would strike back in retaliation.

"Hmm. With such overwhelming firepower, I’d have thought they’d hit the first mountain fort," Damon remarked.

Gotrog inclined his head, sparks dripping from his horns as words flowed.

"Indeed, my lord. They’ve misjudged the mountains yet again. These peaks shun hostile forces. Dense fog shrouds the fort and field, thwarting precise strikes from skies and ships alike."

Damon required no further visualization.

Troubling developments.

Blind bombardment from air forces risked allies as much as foes amid mountains. Ships faced identical woes.

While fog endured, battle devolved to boots-on-ground infantry war.

A nightmare matchup for the goddess races.

Demons boasted superior physical might, thriving on native soil.

"Who commands their forces?" Damon questioned, voice turning chill.

"Abellona of Destruction," Bakemon answered.

"I see. Valtheron’s third princess."

A subtle smirk graced Damon’s mouth as memories surfaced of the stunning princess with icy crimson gaze, innate bearer of destruction’s essence.

Under her lead, the goddess races enjoyed skilled guidance. Her war savvy dwarfed Damon’s own.

His sole edge lay in cunning, devious ploys.

"Any rising stars shining in the conflict?" Damon probed.

"Yes, my lord. The troops struggle against the Ascendants."

Damon’s face tightened a touch, silencing the chamber.

"Has Damon Grey appeared?" he pressed.

Bakemon appeared puzzled.

"No, my lord. Just the rest, barring Sylvia Moonveil. Scouts report she sails with the fleet from Verdant Continent."

Gotrog dipped his head, tone sinking to a menacing murmur.

"Among them, the foulest is Xander Ravenscroft. The Colossus."

"The what?" Damon echoed.

"They dub him the Colossus. He swells to mountain scale, smashing our ranks. His colossal frame serves as shield and carrier for elite warriors. Challengers face crushing gravity. Damage barely fazes him; fallen, he rebounds."

"All adore his noble conduct and burning loathing for demons."

Damon kept a stone-cold facade.

Within, curses raged wild.

’Damn Xander. I step away briefly, and you hog the spotlight. Sensing your aura-grind from here. Giant form now? When did that unlock? Armor trick or skill? Son of a witch. Meat shield.’

Damon lifted a hand to halt them, rising to pace deliberately toward the sheer window gazing over the city.

"Xander Ravenscroft has wrought atrocities upon our sacred kin. Justice demands his reckoning."

Hands locked behind, he held rigid stance.

"As Lord of Demons, I, Ash, invoke in my exalted name a Ten Thousand Kill Order on Xander Ravenscroft. His head’s bearer claims vast rewards."

Shock rippled across the gathering.

A Ten Thousand Kill Order.

Every demon now tasked to pursue Xander relentlessly.

Not even Damon Grey had drawn such a decree.

A sly grin crept over Damon’s features.

"Hmph. Steal my aura farm, you cursed meat shield."