This was as desperate a situation as any Damon had ever found himself in.
His life was genuinely in danger.
If he lost this body, he would be at risk of dying. His soul had already reached the Sixth Class Advancement, and within the Anarchy Mountains, that alone was enough to make him a target for the mountain's strange laws.
Damon glanced down at the gaping hole in his chest.
The wound was filled with writhing shadows and remnants of the mist creature's attack. Whatever that mist was made of, it was powerful. It was slowly corroding the Shadow Drone's body, eating away at the darkness that composed it.
Damon narrowed his eyes.
He had no idea what the mist was made of.
That alone made it dangerous.
The creature itself was even stranger.
It was formless, its body composed of countless drifting shapes that constantly changed. One moment it resembled a claw. The next, a twisted humanoid figure. Then a mass of fog with no discernible shape at all.
