Chapter 880 - 881: Rules Of The Room

Unfair advantage, well there was no concept of fair or unfair on a battlefield. All that mattered was who lived and who died. That was a fact.

Damon felt his shadow hunger grow to ninety percent, but he didn’t go ravenous.

It was as if there was a law that stated he could not go ravenous.

And sure enough, he couldn’t. His eyes widened silently as he ducked out of the way of one of the High Prophet’s chained blades.

The High Prophet smiled, seeing Damon’s expression falter as he slid behind a pillar.

Damon gritted his teeth, a cold expression on his face. He released his Dealer’s Hand and let the broken sword float in front of him. Reaching into his shadow storage, he pulled out the sword Broken Bonds. This sword had the ability of Disintegration and was one of his spoils in Lysithara.

"Not going to say that was a cheap ability," the High Prophet asked in a chilling voice.

Damon shook his head.

"No. Why would I. Using every means necessary to win is fine, even if it is borrowed power."

He glanced at the rattling chains, knowing a frontal battle would not be ideal anymore.

His words must have touched a nerve because the High Prophet’s face scrunched up in mild irritation.

"This power you’re using is part of Seraph Null’s domain, but you’re not accessing it directly, are you. So how do you do it."

Damon dived into the shadows and took out his bow and arrow, pulling back as he sniped at the High Prophet.

The arrow fell past him as he dashed toward Damon, slicing the pillar and walls together.

However, Damon teleported out of the way and into the shadows again.

"Come out and face me you coward. Why are you running," he screamed, enraged by Damon’s evasive tactics.

Damon walked through the shadows, cautious as a mouse.

"I’m not running. I’m right here."

"Fine. Hide in the shadows all you want."

He pointed his blades at Damon’s direction.

"I hereby forbid all shadows in this room."

When he said that, all the shadows recoiled and disappeared, leaving the room bright and fully illuminated, with Damon standing between two pillars, his bow drawn.

He looked at the High Prophet who was staring at him, then at his bow.

"It’s not what it looks like."

Before Damon could finish his statement, he swung his swords. The blades shot toward Damon, who dived out of the way but was still caught by the chain, his arms getting wrapped around it as he was flung into a pillar.

He gritted his teeth and tried to turn into a shadow, but apparently that was also prohibited as part of his words. No shadows in the room.

Damon didn’t have a shadow, and neither did he. All shadows were not allowed, which put Damon in a bind.

Most of his abilities were shadow based. He only had a few exceptions.

His head slammed into a wall as he felt the fresh breeze of the outside, rain soaked with blood and war entering the tower.

’Hmm. Wait. Don’t I have another attribute.’

Yes, he couldn’t use shadows, but he had something similar.

’What about darkness domination.’

Where there was darkness, there were shadows.

Damon slid out of the way of the chained blades. These weapons were annoying. They were close range weapons, but at long distance he could throw them, and thanks to the chains they would act as long distance weapons.

"Darkness dominate."

Damon called out as blackness speared from his arms and covered the whole room. He then raised his hand and charged forward.

"I hereby forbid darkness in this room."

As soon as he said that, Damon switched to his next attribute.

"Frost dominate."

Frost sprayed all over the room, and as soon as it did, Damon pressed his arms together.

[Magical Arsenal]

Swords made of magical energy suddenly filled the air. As soon as they appeared, Damon raised his hand and poured all his mana into them. With swift ringing sounds, they shot down at the High Prophet.

As soon as the first sword came down, he swiped his blade to stop it, but it exploded, forcing him to dodge. He ran across the walls of the tower to evade as Damon’s Magical Arsenal bombarded the halls, breaking parts of the tower in a terror filled battle.

He was already not at full power, and his mana was lower than usual. However, Damon wasn’t planning to win by force.

Before he could realize what was happening, the High Prophet spoke.

"I hereby bestow upon myself the ability to teleport within this room."

Damon’s eyes widened as the man teleported right behind him. When he did, Damon suddenly saw all the shadows return, which distracted his ravenous ability, but before they could take effect, he was slashed from chest to stomach, his armor torn through.

He was sent through several walls, stopping at the foot of a pillar where he had been hiding before. His blood left a deep trail.

"You fought well, but you can hardly beat me. I have never lost, even with your tricks," the High Prophet said as he walked toward the blood covered Damon.

Damon chuckled, blood in his mouth, his teeth red.

"I see it now. You can prohibit or allow something within this room, but never nothing at once."

He raised his head slowly, looking at the High Prophet.

"This is a skill that allows you to use your god’s authority in this room. Am I right."

The High Prophet smiled, looking at the dead man.

"And so what. You’re done for, and I didn’t even need to use my domain."

Blood bubbled down from Damon’s chest. His hands were weak, his body lethargic, his eyes heavy from blood loss.

"Yes. I was hoping you wouldn’t use a domain. After all, I would lose. Even if your domain is a nascent one, the idea of a domain is still powerful and dependent on the person. Unlike skills, no two people can have the same experiences in life, and therefore no matter how similar, domains can’t be the same. A friend told me that, by the way."

The High Prophet raised his blade.

"You’re very talkative for someone who’s about to die."

Damon smiled.

"Right. Have you heard of dethrone."

As soon as he said that, he activated his third class skill, Dethrone, which temporarily disabled a single one of the enemy’s skills. In that split second, something rose from the shadow of the pillar, holding the sword Broken Bonds, and plunged it into the High Prophet’s chest.

He raised his head as the sword that disintegrated damaged his very soul.

Damon smiled.

"Thank you, Ghost."

He stood up, covered in blood.

"Meet Ghost, my shadow. Oh, and by the way, I never planned on fighting fair."

The High Prophet coughed up blood as he died indignant.

"You wretch."