My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Hiding his power and pretending to be weak…

Never in his life had Damon imagined he would stoop to something so pedestrian.

What was the point of power if not to abuse it?

He had once been weak. And people had abused their power over him.

Now that he held power himself, there was no way he would "be the bigger person."

Why wouldn't he bully the weak?

The weak weren't synonymous with kind. The weak could be just as wicked — only less capable.

And what about his pride?

Pride? What pride?

He prided himself on having no pride.

He'd never be caught dead carrying something as heavy and useless as honor.

He was arrogant. He was egotistical. And Damon truly believed he was an unpleasant person.

However…

Even with all that said, he wanted to be better.

That's why he had chosen the long, miserable path of feigning weakness — for now.

His anger issues, however, could never.

His gaze fell on Seta, who was still sitting beside him, her face painted with a weary mix of confusion and worry.

"W…why did you come back here?" she whispered.

Damon tilted his head in mock confusion, his lips curling into a sharp smile.

"I have nowhere else to go. This is my home, after all. Even if it were razed to the ground in black flames, I would come back here…"

Seta bit her lip and sank into the empty chair next to him.

"I… this village was happier without you…" she muttered, barely audible. "Are you back for revenge?"

Damon smiled softly. This girl's perception was still sharp.

"Revenge? Why would I want that?" he replied with a small chuckle. "It's not like you guys did anything to me…"

She lowered her gaze.

Damon took a long, thoughtful sip from his ale.

"You came to kill us, didn't you…?" she murmured. "You promised you would."

Damon blinked.

Had he really said that? A promise like that didn't sound like something he'd forget…

"Really? I did?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

"Must have skipped my mind. Which is weird. I never forget anything. I don't remember saying that."

Seta swallowed hard and looked away, guilt knotting in her chest.

"I know you…" she said slowly. "You never forgive. You always get even, one way or another. I'm not sure if you remember, but once… you got into an argument with Heton. Days later, you broke his arm as payback. Your mother got so angry, she beat you herself and put you under house arrest."

Damon furrowed his brow. "Really? That happened?"

As far as he remembered, he was an upright child. Mischievous, sure. But not vengeful. Not then.

Seta nodded slowly. "You did it because he touched a flower you planted."

Damon leaned back, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

"Huh. I must've really loved that flower, then." He shrugged. "Oh well. Ancient history."

His eyes drifted back to her.

"How've you been? It's been too long. Last time I saw you, you were throwing rocks at me."

Seta gave a weak chuckle, trying to calm her nerves.

"I'm fine. How've you been all these years? We all thought you died a long time ago…"

She paused, her eyes narrowing.

"…How's Luna?"

Damon's eyes hardened.

"She got magic circuit cancer."

His voice was dry. Flat.

He offered no further explanation.

"I… I see. I'm sorry," she whispered softly, visibly shaken. The thought of Luna — bright, fragile Luna — suffering from something so cruel cut her deeply.

Damon didn't bother correcting her. Luna was still alive.

"It's fine. I'm over it."

Seta bit her lip again. The death of his sister must've scarred him. He looked different now — so world-weary. There were no sparks of youth left in his eyes, only cold, dark quiet.

She wanted to pry — to dig into the truth. She needed to know what kind of life he'd lived outside the village… and more importantly, how dangerous he was to their way of life.

Seta had known Damon since before they could walk. He was a close childhood friend. But she also knew his flaws — his temper, his ability to hold a grudge like no one else.

"Where did you go… after you left the village?" she asked carefully.

Damon smirked, sipping the lukewarm ale.

"I went to the capital. Valerion," he began casually.

"I was a street kid. Worked for a local gang. Luna got magic circuit cancer. The group I worked for was later destroyed. I was chased by elven assassins. After a lot of running, I ended up here again. You can imagine the rest."

His voice painted a tale of survival — pathetic, even tragic.

What he left out was simple:

He was the one who destroyed the gang.

He killed the assassins.

And he hadn't run — he had slaughtered.

Seta nodded slowly. Good. He was weak. He had no backing. He was just a desperate traveler with nowhere else to go. His damp, ragged clothes spoke of hardship.

That was good. Less to fear.

"I see…" she said. "Must be hard making it in the big cities."

Damon nodded with a practiced smile.

"You've changed," she added, studying him closer. "Even your eye color's different. You look… different with long hair."

She reached out, placing a tentative hand on his cheek.

"Did you ink your eyes… when you joined the gang?"

He hadn't.

No ink could turn someone's eyes as dark as his — not without the power of shadows that now ran through his body and soul.

But he nodded anyway. "Yeah. How did you know?"

She smiled faintly. "Ahh. Right. Obvious, huh?"

Damon smiled too. "This reminds me of old times."

His eyes flicked to her, the intensity fading for a moment.

"What about you, Seta? How's life been treating you?"

She sighed, her smile tinged with sorrow.

"My father died. My mother and I took over the pub — not that he ever helped. The village came into some money, and the elders invested in some projects… made things more profitable."

Damon's hand tightened around his mug. The wood groaned in protest, cracking under his grip.

Of course.

They had sold off his and Luna's inheritance.

Used it to fund their precious prosperity.

This and that was what the village got for leaving two children to rot.

Their prosperity was built on betrayal.

How do they sleep at night? he wondered bitterly.

'I really have a lot to learn when it comes to being scum…'

Squeezing the mug.

The mug was already empty, so no ale spilled as he forced himself to relax. He didn't crush it. Barely.

Seta stood and gently took his hand.

"Now that you're back… why don't we let everyone know?" she said softly.

"I'm sure your relatives would be happy to see you."

Damon smiled.

But it was cold.

Sharp.

Predatory.

"I'll be happy to see them too…"