My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Revenge.

Ahhh, what a beautiful word. If Revenge were a woman, Damon would've run up to her, dropped to his knees, and asked her to marry him on the spot.

Whoever said getting revenge would make you less clearly had no idea what they were talking about.

Or maybe it was that ridiculous nonsense about forgiveness.

Actually—Damon believed in forgiveness.

He would absolutely forgive his enemies.

After he got his revenge.

As for that tired old saying about how killing your enemies in revenge only meant the number of killers stayed the same?

Bullshit.

No one actually cared about that. If someone slapped you on the right cheek, you weren't supposed to turn the left.

No.

You slapped them back—harder. Twice, maybe thrice. Basically, as many times as it took for them to get the point.

Right and wrong? That didn't matter. It never did.

Should he feel guilty for killing her children—those innocent monsters?

No.

Why didn't she feel guilty for trying to kill him?

But then again… didn't Damon intrude on her territory first? The Evil Forest wasn't exactly human land.

Still—he didn't care.

As far as he was concerned, logic could kiss his ass.

He was the victim, at least in his own head, and that meant he was here for justice.

And, well… "justice and shit like that."

He almost shed a tear at the thought.

Evangeline would be so proud of the man I've become.

"Look at me, thinking about justice and doing what's right… I'm a good guy now," he said, voice thick with sarcasm.

If she actually knew the context, she'd probably side with the Wendigo—who had lost all her children to Damon after he snuck into her den and slaughtered them.

Yet here he was, coming back like the righteous victim.

To be fair… the Wendigo was a man-eating monster. So Damon technically had free reign to kill her. He wasn't committing a crime.

But that begged the question—was this justice?

Why did justice decide the Wendigo's life was worth less than his?

Didn't that mean justice wasn't the same as equity?

That it was just another human construct pretending to know who lives and who dies?

Who gets branded innocent. Who gets branded guilty.

Had justice ever truly been right?

And who gave the judge that authority—basing verdicts on evidence and arbitrary testimonies crafted by laws designed by a handful and imposed on the many?

Was justice even real if it could only be enforced through violence and power?

Damon's thoughts were rapidly spiraling into something philosophical—exactly the kind of conversation Evangeline would've hated.

He missed that golden-haired girl.

Who, as it turned out, was secretly his cousin.

Small world.

He missed Leona and Sylvia too. He'd spent months with them. Now, alone in another death zone, he couldn't help but feel a little… empty.

He'd called them earlier—using his academy pager to reach the Duke's estate. Lilith had generously provided the contact info.

Honestly, he half expected the call wouldn't go through.

But the moment he revealed his identity, the person on the other end became extremely eager to please.

He spoke with them briefly. They hadn't returned yet because—apparently—Sylvia didn't want to come back. Not with her father's soldiers waiting outside the academy.

But she'd agreed to return tomorrow. Her father, the White Ruler, would be arriving personally to attend the upcoming War Games. He'd take her back after.

Damon said his goodbyes, told them about his escapades—dodging exams but still keeping his grades.

He could've waited a day longer to see them.

But revenge?

Revenge waits for no one.

He was eager. Names were piling up on his hit list.

Which brought him here.

It was daytime, but in this place, light barely existed.

After months in death zones, Damon had grown to hate forests, mountains, and trees.

Oh, it wasn't a big deal—it's not like he had traumatic experiences with them or anything.

Nope.

Just a totally normal association between trees and pain, death, horror, madness, and misery.

Once again, Damon braved a death zone—for vengeance this time.

The ground here was pitch black. The sand, tainted. The flora, still trying to kill him.

Yet he walked like he owned the place.

Last time he came here, he was crawling through brush, swinging in trees, flinching at every sound.

Now?

Whatever lurked near the outskirts better pray he ignored them.

Damon stopped, extending his shadow perception until he found the familiar den.

This was where the Evil Forest Wendigo once lived.

He took a single step—Shadow Stride—vanishing into darkness and reappearing in front of the den.

His shadow energy drained slightly from the long distance, but it wasn't a problem.

He could almost taste the Wendigo's blood on his tongue. He could hear the growl, the pain, the—

He cleared his throat.

No need to leak murderous intent yet.

He gently knocked on the den's opening.

He was an avenger, not a barbarian.

Just because you were here to kill someone didn't mean you couldn't be civil about it.

There was silence.

He didn't use his shadow perception to peek inside. After all, the Wendigo was a female. What if she was… changing?

Not that she even wore clothes.

He was civilized.

Still, his playfully murderous mood began to fade.

He knocked a second time.

Still no answer.

No roar. No attack.

Not even the Wendigo's scent.

Just a small scarlet squirrel perched on a tree, nibbling on a nut and watching him curiously.

Damon sighed, finally spreading his shadow perception inside.

Nothing.

The den had been abandoned. Long ago, by the look of it.

His eye twitched.

Imagine coming to kill something… and it didn't even have the decency to wait.

"If I have to hunt you down," he muttered, "torture is on the menu…"

He turned around and met the squirrel's gaze.

With a single step, he teleported to its branch.

The poor creature tried to flee—too late.

He caught it with ease. It squealed in his hand, tiny body trembling.

Damon smiled coldly.

"Relax. I won't hurt you. You seem more intelligent than the average beast…"

The squirrel stopped struggling. Just slightly.

It understood him.

And Damon could understand it.

Soul Tongue.

A skill that allowed him to speak with all creatures—beasts, monsters, and everything in between.

Perfect for what came next.