My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger
Chapter 405 - 406: Closest To His Heart

Making it to the top was easy—uneventful, really—but the chill in Damon's spine only got worse.

"I can see why you're anxious. That thing is quite strong..."

Damon glanced at Valarie, who hovered in front of him like a wisp.

"You... can take that thing, right?"

Valarie turned to him, his hollow gaze drifting toward the final floor of the spiral tower. The others had yet to arrive. It was just him, Matia, and Sylvia.

"I can," she said simply.

Damon clenched his fist. "How are you still able to fight? And if you could, why not just take yourself to Dawn Break Hollow?"

Valarie smiled faintly.

"I was sealed, remember? Even now, I'm just a discarnate soul. I can use remnants of my power… by burning what's left of me."

Sylvia bit her lip until blood reached her tongue.

"Then you'll be... burning your soul now too..."

Valarie scoffed. The disembodied lips curled into a grin.

"I'm already dead. All I want now is a good place to rest. If what's left of me can help you all... then I will be honored to help."

Matia stepped forward, removing her helm. She stood in front of Valarie, her mouth parting slightly, yet no words came.

The silence made Valarie's smile widen.

"Don't worry. As long as I don't overdo it, I can last a little longer—just long enough for you to bury me. The waypoint can get you to Dawn Break Hollow, so consider it a nice stop before your departure."

Damon nodded, taking a deep breath.

"We'll wait for the others..."

Valarie floated around like a flickering wisp.

"I'll take care of the monster above before they arrive... should be a decent surprise."

Damon raised his hand to stop her, but Valarie vanished—a streak of dancing light ascending the tower.

Moments later, the sounds of battle rang out above—bestial growls, the roar of magic. Damon noticed a shimmering golden light bloom across the ceiling. Valarie had cast a barrier to keep them safe.

Still, Damon felt a rising unease.

"And that's all you can do..." came the mocking voice of Back-to-Back again, slithering into his mind.

Damon ignored it, eyes fixed on the floor above. The only sounds were the crackles of the spatial rift and the haunting echo from the abyss below—the kind of hole that would swallow even hope.

The group stood in anxious silence. No indicators. No warning.

Damon's skin prickled.

His danger sense flared—and the moment it did, he spun—but something grabbed his mouth. Sharp pain stabbed into his cheek. He narrowly dodged, avoiding a lethal hit, but blood flowed.

Then chaos.

Sylvia's head was smashed against the wall. Matia was kicked across the chamber like a ragdoll.

Mana surged. A blade—an artifact—flashed with power, slashing Matia as she rolled perilously close to the edge of the pit.

Damon tried to scream her name—Matia!—but he couldn't.

He couldn't scream.

He couldn't because—

Because Damon no longer had a mouth.

It was gone.

Stolen.

He tried to scream, but his mind floundered.

No scream came.

Not even a gasp.

Just the throbbing of this violation, the raw terror of being made less than whole.

Rage consumed him. He unleashed Ashborn in a mad fury. The dark flames burned his mind, a torment worse than dying, as shadow energy and mana bled from his very soul.

But the flames were pulled away—devoured by another artifact.

He didn't even have time to be surprised; it was too fast.

This was an ambush. A well-planned strike by an enemy that knew how they fought.

Damon staggered. His vision blurred.

Sylvia stood, blood soaking her snow-white hair.

She struck at the attacker—but the enemy unrolled a white scroll. Its runes flared, and her mana was drained in an instant.

Damon teleported—his blade slicing out—but the enemy anticipated his movement. Still, Damon shifted again, slicing its side with a sharp rip of steel.

It groaned.

And the sound that came out—

Was his own voice.

Then he saw its face.

The creature was white, bipedal. Its body was smooth, unblemished—its fingers long and pale. Its face, or lack thereof, was blank.

Except now… it had something it didn't before.

A mouth.

His mouth.

This thing—it was…

A Face Stealer.

Damon's body grew heavy. He shook his head, trying to fight the influence of whatever curse or mental assault it had placed on him.

This creature wasn't just terrifying. It was intelligent.

It used human tools. It wielded artifacts. It fought strategically.

He didn't wait. He couldn't. He was bleeding out—but so was the creature. Damon had used the Bloodletting skill—its wounds would not stop bleeding.

It smiled with his mouth while Damon stood, jawless—skin stretched tight where his lips should be.

He unleashed his shades—weak, but enough to distract—

But it only smiled, as if expecting it.

"I've been watching, human," it said, voice dripping with smug certainty.

It pulled out an orb. A flash of blinding light banished the shades.

"I've been learning your methods."

Then came a flash of ice. A jagged shard shot from the floor, impaling its legs. Matia groaned—her body drenched in blood.

The Face Stealer winced—but before Matia could move, it raised its hand, commanding shadows—Damon's attribute —using Damon's mouth to do it.

It could also imitate the attributes of its victims.

The darkness clawed at Matia, wrapping around her bleeding frame—then hurled her into the void.

Damon fired his omnidirectional gear, latching onto Matia—he was pulled toward her, grabbing her hand just as the gravitational pull of a spatial rift seized her legs.

The Face Stealer grinned using Damon's stolen lips, staggering toward Sylvia.

"I need a face... I need her face... I need to heal..."

The voice echoed—his voice.

Sylvia was bleeding. Unconscious. Helpless.

Valarie was still battling the monster above.

The rest of the party was nowhere in sight.

Damon held onto Matia, her hand slipping in his grip. The void below howled like a hungry god. His body ached. His consciousness flickered.

This was the worst ambush they'd ever faced.

Matia's hand slipped further.

The hole exhaled with force—Damon's bones groaned as he held on.

And the Face Stealer was nearing Sylvia, hungering for her face.

Then a voice whispered in his mind.

Back-to-Back. Close. Too close.

"Let her go... you can only save one."

Damon's bloodied hand tightened around Matia's.

Another voice echoed. Cold. Inevitable.

"Let her go…"

Damon closed his eyes.

Matia or Sylvia.

He could only save one.

Choose.

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