My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Damon froze because what he saw was not uncommon, but still surprising to witness in this particular region, especially with Valerion merely a week away and the Ravenscroft domain so close.

These creatures walked on all fours, their slick black scales glistening in the dim light. Long, whip-like tails lashed behind them, claws as long as daggers dug furrows into the ground, and sharp fangs more than capable of biting through steel armor flashed in the shadows.

Their monstrous strength and speed were such that they could rip a grown man in half with relative ease.

Their eyes held that same spark of murderous intellect Damon had once read about.

"Lesser demons," he whispered.

And from the looks of it… they were just the start.

Damon gripped the bars of the cage and, with a soft snap, broke them apart. Croft and Scar shot out immediately—one in a burst of black feathers, the other darting away with a flick of a bushy tail.

Seeing the danger, they didn't need encouragement. Damon really wanted to curse the damn raven and squirrel, but it seemed they had the right idea.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, something moved in the corner of his vision. What was flung toward him was the body of a knight—or rather, half of it.

The severed remains tumbled through the air before crashing to the ground, armor clattering, entrails spilling out with a fetid stench that burned his nostrils.

Damon's danger sense exploded, a sharp pressure in his chest. This had been a knight in the Third Class… what could do that to him?

He didn't even need to look far.

Something—no, a group of somethings—was tearing through the knights.

They were easily nine meters tall, their horned heads rising above the treetops, bodies covered in thick fur. They looked almost like minotaurs—except far, far worse.

"Goristro." Damon slid back further, trying to put distance between himself and the carnage.

This was a monstrous type of demon with the strength and power to shake the earth. Aggressive, relentless, and always full of rage.

Screrrrch… THANG!

The sound of tearing metal and splitting earth filled the air. Damon saw the glow of flames and heard the deafening sound of the forest itself being torn apart.

In the smoke and chaos, wings of fire spread wide. One of the knights—Fourth Class by his armor and aura—was engaged in a desperate battle against a towering horned monstrosity with a body of molten rock and sulfur.

The ground around it cracked and blackened, turning to bubbling lava as it hurled burning chunks of earth with every step.

Balrog.

The flaming wings were what made this species of demon so feared in the Demon Wars.

Balors, as some called them, were cunning and avoided head-on fights when possible, preferring to scheme from a distance and decimate their enemies with devastating spells and vile magic.

In mere moments, the forest lay in ruins. Goristros ripped entire trees apart, scattering splinters as both allies and enemies fell in heaps of broken bodies.

Through the chaos, Damon caught sight of a striking figure—a beautiful woman clad in gleaming armor, a long spear in her hand. On her back unfurled a pair of golden-yellow wings.

"She's a fae…" Damon muttered, turning to flee the scene.

The woman sidestepped a lashing demon tail and, with a precise thrust, impaled the lesser demon's head. Shifting her wings, she surged slightly into the air.

Her spear glowed with destructive light, her eyes briefly flicking toward the commander locked in combat with the Balrog.

Seeing they didn't need her help, she exhaled in relief. As long as those in the Fourth Class held their ground, they could handle this.

"Stand your ground… switch to Formation Five!"

She raised her hand, and feathers from her wings floated forward, drifting down like golden petals. The first feather landed on the head of a lesser demon. Its skull caved in with a wet crack, shattering into a burst of blood that sprayed across a knight's armor.

Damon, already keeping his distance, narrowed his eyes.

"She's in the Third Class… but not far from the Fourth. And she's quite the monster…"

Not that he cared—his danger sense was spiking higher and higher. And worse…

Whatever was coming, he needed to see it from a safe distance.

"This is Lysithara all over again…"

The battle raged on. With superior skill and discipline, the knights began to overwhelm the demons.

Damon watched as victory started to shift back toward the humans. He considered going back to try and devour a demon corpse, but quickly shook his head.

Safe distance was better.

The knight officers in the Fourth Class shattered the Balrog's horn in a blinding white flash. The mage woman—who had nearly pulverized Damon earlier—launched a spell with terrifying force, obliterating the demon. The knights pushed forward, boxing the remaining demons in and cutting them down.

Swords and spears clashed against teeth and claws. Damon's unease grew. Something wasn't right—there was no demon-kin leading them.

Normally, a very human-looking demon would be in charge. But here… there was nothing.

He wasn't the only one to feel it. The fae woman's wings flickered restlessly, her brows creasing.

This was too unusual. Demons didn't simply attack without cause—especially not here. No one should have known the knights' route, and even if they had, she wouldn't expect this kind of force.

Judging by the way the demons had reacted, it seemed more like they had been caught off-guard by the knights' presence, rather than executing a planned ambush.

As she processed this, something stepped out from the burning ruins of the trees—what little was left of them that wasn't shattered or aflame.

It was small.

A creature walking on two legs, with pointed ears and green skin, no taller than half a man. A long nose jutted from its face.

A goblin.

Ordinary, common, forgettable. And yet…

When she saw it, her hands trembled.

This goblin walked with the air of a conqueror, as if the world owed him allegiance as if all existence existed to serve this proud, chosen son of heaven.

He strolled past the corpses of the slain demons. The moment he appeared, the battlefield went silent. Not just the demons—everyone stopped.

Far in his hiding place, Damon felt his chest tighten. His shadow trembled and twitched like it did when it hungered only now, so much worse.

Every instinct screamed at him to flee… but he couldn't. He had to witness this formless majesty.

The goblin reached the center of the battlefield and glanced at the Balrog's corpse, letting out a disappointed sigh.

"They just don't make Balors like they used to…"

His words were calm, clear, carrying a deep-seated arrogance and charisma that made you want to bow before him.

A knight in the Fourth Class stood in front of him, raising his sword with all his strength.

"Die, critter!"

The goblin didn't even move. He muttered softly to himself.

"This body is failing me… no matter."

He extended his hand, palm open toward the knight, and spoke a single command.

"Mind dominate."