My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger-Chapter 259: The Hand Given

Damon stared down the war troll, watching as its massive body regenerated from minor wounds. In contrast, he was still drenched in blood—his own. He had originally been on the brink of collapse, with only a sliver of life remaining, but after using his attribute points, he had forced his body to adapt, expanding his health points and pushing his limits beyond what they once were.

His body trembled, aching from the abuse it had suffered, yet something deep within him was changing. He could feel it. A clarity washed over him, sharper than ever before. His strength refined itself. His speed honed to perfection. His endurance became something more than just survival—it became power.

This was an evolution.

He was breaking free from the realm of weakness and stepping into the domain of the strong.

If he survived this battle… he would reach the first-class advancement.

Assuming, he thought grimly, I don't die first.

The war troll barreled toward him, its immense axe carving through the landscape like a force of nature. Trees snapped like twigs, toppling over in rapid succession, sending clouds of dust into the air.

Damon took the opportunity. He lunged forward, slicing his dagger at the war troll's stomach.

The blade met flesh—

But it was pointless.

The wound barely registered, sealing itself almost instantly, leaving behind nothing more than a shallow scratch.

Damon didn't hesitate. He rolled to the side as the troll's massive foot came crashing down, shaking the very ground beneath him.

His mind moved faster than his battered body. He leapt onto its arm just as the war troll slapped at its own skin, trying to crush him like an insect.

But Damon moved with the grace of a predator. His Parkour skill activated, his feline-like reflexes allowing him to weave through the attacks.

With a swift motion, he flipped and landed on the war troll's face.

The troll's lips curled into a wicked grin.

It opened its maw wide—jagged teeth snapping at him like a bear trap—

Damon twisted mid-air, curling his body as the troll's teeth clamped down just inches away from his legs.

For a split second, the war troll looked amused.

Then Damon drove his dagger straight into its eye.

"ARRRHHH… MY EYE!"

The troll roared in agony, stumbling back, massive hands clawing at its own face in a desperate attempt to dislodge the blade.

But it was buried too deep.

And its fingers—too massive, too clumsy—couldn't pry it free.

Damon had no time to savor his small victory. The troll's flailing sent him flying. He slammed into the ground, his body skidding across the dirt before tumbling to a stop. His shadow armor cracked from the impact, the living darkness writhing as it struggled to mend itself.

A sharp, metallic taste filled his mouth.

He coughed—blood spilling from his lips.

But he laughed.

A broken, rasping sound.

"Hah… ha… ha…"

He staggered to his feet, feeling his ribs shift painfully under his flesh.

The war troll, still clawing at its ruined eye, finally stopped its futile attempts.

Its solution?

It simply let it regenerate, the dagger still buried inside, leaving it blind in one eye but very much alive.

Its remaining eye locked onto Damon.

"DIE, TINY HUMAN!"

The troll charged.

Damon had no time to dodge.

The sheer force of the troll's massive body colliding with him sent him hurtling like a ragdoll across the battlefield. His shadow armor barely held together, the black tendrils desperately trying to knit themselves back into shape.

His grip on his remaining dagger slipped.

He hit the ground hard, his body bouncing before coming to a rough stop.

Pain flared through him, but he could not afford to stay down.

He rolled to the side, forcing himself up—

And as he did, his Pale Blood Veins skill flared to life beneath his cracked armor.

His cold, lifeless eyes stared ahead, bloodshot and soaked in crimson.

Even in his battered state, his gaze burned with defiance.

And with murderous intent.

The war troll reached out to grab him, its massive fingers closing in like a cage of death.

Damon dodged, twisting away with desperate agility. His hand shot into the shadows of his armor, pulling free two arrows with hollow tips.

The cold mountain air around him seemed to shudder. He could feel the spirits of the land react to the presence of the arrows. These weren't ordinary weapons—these were cursed ore arrows.

Without hesitation, he stabbed both arrows into the war troll's wrist vein.

The beast barely flinched, its pain tolerance too immense to care about something as small as an arrow wound.

But Damon wasn't done.

He pivoted sharply—breaking the arrow tips inside the troll's flesh.

A guttural growl rumbled from the beast's throat, but before it could react, Damon rolled beneath its massive legs, maneuvering himself up onto its broad, mountainous back.

The war troll snarled, then fell backward, attempting to crush him under its sheer weight.

Damon leapt off at the last second, landing on solid ground just as the creature slammed down with a thunderous impact.

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Its back was exposed.

Damon didn't waste a second—

He pulled out an entire quiver's worth of cursed ore arrows and plunged them into its gut.

One after another.

Then—he broke them off inside its flesh.

The war troll groaned in pain, a deep, horrible sound that shook the air. Blood poured from the wounds, dark and sluggish.

It swiped wildly, catching Damon mid-air with the force of a landslide.

The impact sent him flying.

He crashed into the dirt, rolling violently before skidding to a stop. His armor of shadows cracked and writhed, the black tendrils struggling to mend themselves.

The war troll grunted as it pushed itself up, its massive body trembling slightly.

Then, for the first time—it looked down at its wounds.

And realized something was wrong.

The wounds weren't healing.

Its single remaining eye widened in horror.

"Me… not heal…?"

Damon coughed, a spray of dark red leaving his lips as he forced himself to his feet. His vision blurred, his body screaming in agony.

"You can't heal from cursed ore…" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Even if your kind is resistant to the poison, the curse lingers…"

The war troll snarled.

It gripped its massive axe in one hand now, its stance shifting.

It no longer saw him as prey.

It saw him as a threat.

Damon grinned beneath his cracked armor.

Then—he unleashed it.

Omen of Dread.

A crushing, oppressive aura filled the battlefield. A chill ran through the air, sinking into the bones of everything alive.

The war troll froze.

Its one functioning eye dilated, its massive frame locking up for the slightest moment.

And that moment—

Was all Damon needed.

He charged.

The troll swung its massive left hand in panic—Damon leapt onto it, using its own movement to propel himself upward. He climbed with reckless speed, dagger in one hand, and in the other—

Another cursed ore arrow.

As he reached its face, he lunged, aiming to plunge the arrow into its skull—

But the war troll reacted.

It let go of its axe—

And caught him.

Its massive hand wrapped around his body, crushing him with terrifying force.

Damon gasped in agony.

The pressure caved in his shadow armor, his ribs creaking under the force.

"Arghhh…!"

But he didn't struggle.

Instead—he drove the arrow into the gap between its fingers, forcing its grip to loosen slightly.

And then—he lunged forward.

His arms couldn't reach its eye.

So instead—

He used his face.

With a snarl, he removed his shadow helm, revealing his bloodied, battered face—

And bit down onto the troll's remaining eye.

The taste of blood and flesh filled his mouth, the thick, slimy texture making him want to retch—

But he bit down harder.

The troll screamed.

"RAHHHHRHHHH—!"

It yanked him away—

But too late.

The eye was ripped from its socket, still clenched between Damon's teeth.

A bloody tendril of nerve and flesh snapped, the sickening taste of raw gore spreading on his tongue.

The war troll shrieked, stumbling backward in blind agony.

Its massive hands clawed at its ruined face, red blood streaming down its cheeks.

Damon hit the ground hard, his body barely responding anymore.

His armor of shadows lay shattered, his limbs trembling, blood seeping from every wound.

He could feel it—

Death's embrace.

His vision darkened.

His breath was weak.

He was dying.

…No.

Not yet.

With a snarl, he forced his broken arm forward, dragging himself through the dirt—

Toward the battle axe the war troll had dropped.

His cold, bloodshot eyes burned with one final, unyielding will.

He would not die.

Not until his enemy was dead first.

This was the hand he was dealt.

And this—

Would be the hand he dealt back.

This was his hand. And he would deal it back—brutal, final, and merciless.