There was a small part of him that wished he had accepted this offer. Where else would he get the chance for soone to bend his will into wishing he could live?
If he had truly wished to live, then he would have t the condition for Deathless to be rendered obsolete. Or rather, the skill’s directive would have changed—from keeping him alive despite his wish to die, to actively sending death his way.
Ashcroft would have dominated his sane mind after removing the crown, forcing him to wish for life.
Alas, that did not co to pass. Damon’s desire to kill Ashcroft far outweighed everything else. This single craving consud him, the only thing that drove his fractured mind forward.
Kill Ashcroft.
Right now, Damon was at his strongest.
He was relentlessly insane, with not a trace of hesitation, weakness, or fear. Most importantly, he had drained his reserves of shadow energy until he went ravenous. All that was left was hunger—the hunger to kill the Demon Lord of Domination.
The cavern shook with a violent quake. Crystals shattered loose from the ceiling, crashing down as shards of rock and crystal broke against the floor. At the heart of the destruction, two monsters clashed.
The first resembled a half-dead goblin. His jaw was disfigured and broken, his skin peeling away. Blood covered his frail, failing body.
Across from him lood a far larger creature, one of writhing shadows. Its claws stretched long and cruel, its body shifted and reshaped itself, fangs snapped hungrily, and a monstrous tail lashed behind it—an addition ford solely to make it more efficient at killing.
The contrast between them was striking. The goblin radiated cold, calm arrogance.
Though pressed for ti, he never lost composure, carrying the sly intellect of one who had endured the cruel, relentless passage of centuries.
"Rawrrr... mhahahaha..." The shadow laughed, even as the small goblin hurled its terrifying mass to the ground.
This was a different type of monster—one that did not fear pain, one that did not fear death.
All that drove it was perverted intelligence, gnawing madness, and a single-minded desire to kill. Alongside that desire surged another force: hunger. A hunger to devour, to consu.
Ashcroft felt his arms growing heavy. His aura dropped to a shallow mockery of what it once had been. Even if he won against Damon now, it would take him years to recover. He would need to reclaim more fragnts of his forr body. He was far past his limits.
The shadow-creature that was Damon’s twisted form pounced on him. Ashcroft’s invisible sword of wind carved into that mass of darkness, its hardened shadows tougher than magisteel. The blade pierced through its chest, but his opponent only laughed in that monstrous voice.
Ashcroft shifted slightly aside as its massive maw lunged for his shoulder. Like a beast starved, it bit down, but he remained untouched.
With a flick of his hand, he called out,
"Light dominate."
At once, a blinding flash spread through the cavern. The invisible blade of wind in his grasp beca a sword of pure searing light, its radiance burning away the shadows.
But at the sa ti, Ashcroft felt his aura diminish even further. His body slowed, weaker than before.
Without hesitation, he thrust the sword of light at the shadow. Razor-sharp claws rose to block it, but under the harsh glow, its body began to unravel. The darkness dissolved to reveal an arm beneath. Ashcroft dismissed the sword instantly, conjuring another with a snap of light. Faster than his opponent could react, he sliced the arm clean off.
The creature responded by springing forward with its other arm. Using its monstrous bulk as leverage, it kicked Ashcroft back with surprising force.
His breathing was heavy now, the strain showing.
"Light beats shadow. That is a law. Perhaps you’d stand a chance if you had a darkness attribute... no, you still wouldn’t. Not against ."
The shadow lunged again, furious, madness driving every strike.
"You still have a human form under all this. Despite your insanity, you are flesh—and flesh can be killed."
Ashcroft grabbed its neck, slamming it down into the ground. His breath ca ragged, yet his gaze was calm.
"Why are you even fighting? You haven’t touched once. This is futile. You are futile."
With a wave of his hand, the air itself hurled Damon across the cavern like a ragdoll. His shadowed body slamd into the walls, blood spilling from his form.
"I can’t kill you, fine. Then I’ll break you until you can’t move."
Ashcroft had realized sothing. This wretch was a living punching bag. His pain tolerance exceeded anything he had ever seen. No—it wasn’t tolerance. It was insanity. He feared no pain.
Gripping his foe by the neck, Ashcroft pooled his will, focusing every last ounce of dominance on one thing.
"Mind dominate."
His will speared into Damon’s headspace, aiming to crush the shattered psyche. But what he encountered made him pause.
He didn’t find a single mind. He found a storm.
A chaotic stream of emotions, thoughts, and desires—self-hate, arrogance, longing, love, hate, anger, spite, guilt, lancholy, and anguish. Each desire burned like a separate star, fighting for control of this one body, dragging it toward oblivion. But above them all, brighter than the rest, was one shared cry.
Kill Ashcroft.
His na rang through that maelstrom like the refrain of a malevolent choir, a symphony with no conductor, a storm with no eye.
Ashcroft could force his way in. He could dominate. But there was nothing to dominate. This was not a mind. It was only madness.
"Hahhehheheh..." A husky laugh rattled through broken fangs.
"We told you... you cannot dominate what is broken."
The shadow’s body shifted. The form of Damon twisted.
"You invaded our mind. But we saw yours too. Hehehe... you’re right. We were using our power wrong."
Ashcroft’s gaze sharpened. He did not like the way his opponent spoke now, as though countless voices answered from one mouth.
"Allow us to correct that. This physical vessel is such a hassle..."
Blood that had been spilling monts ago evaporated. The mass of shadows began to reform, pulling tighter. From within, Damon’s human shape shifted into sothing else—a body of pure shadow.
The severed limb regrew instantly, stretching out in black smoke.
"Now... we are shadows. And you... are flesh.....ready for harvesting."
Ashcroft struck first, his fist piercing a gaping hole through the chest of the shadow-being. But inside, there was no flesh. Only endless blackness.
Pure shadow.
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