His head felt heavy, more so from Evangeline's attack than anything else… but also from the overuse of Faceless.

This battle had seemed easy, yet three people had come close to destroying his avatar. If they had attacked at the same time with better coordination, they might have actually succeeded.

The first was Abellona. Her Wings of Destruction made her truly deadly. Luckily for him, he knew how it worked having seen her use it before and he knew she could only maintain it for a limited time.

Too bad she had once told him the wings had a fatal weakness: if she used them beyond their limit, her own destructive power would consume and kill her.

That was why he had only evaded her, weaving past her attacks until she exhausted herself.

The next was Leona. Her power was dangerous enough too bad she was only in the second class.

Her most recent blast of lightning would have killed him if she were in the third class.

Too bad indeed.

That said, she did create an opening for Evangeline to strike, and that attack had truly done damage.

Damon—or rather Amon—had to retaliate with extreme prejudice against her power. Evangeline was dangerously powerful… or rather, she was a terrible matchup for Damon.

It was like how someone with a normal fire attribute didn't stand a chance against someone with an ice attribute, it was a natural counter. While his attribute was Umbral and hers Light, that wasn't the reason. The reason was simpler.

Justice and guilt.

The final reason for such a ruthless attack… Damon realized he was losing his identity under the effect of the Faceless skill.

In his heart, he was starting to believe he truly was Amon, a demon lord.

Damon was still in control of himself, but that seed was there.

If he didn't deactivate Faceless soon, he would be in serious trouble.

The only problem was… Damon couldn't deactivate it while standing on a battlefield, with everyone watching.

The stars in the sky glowed with an unusual light, as if they would explode. The darkness and flames from the battle were illuminated by white starlight.

Everyone held their breath. This would be the battle that determined the fate of all present here.

If Damon killed Amon, the goddess races would be victorious. If he failed and perished here, they would be wiped out.

His form was cloaked by rippling shadows as he faced off against Amon, who was surrounded by something akin to dark mist. He—or it—could not be seen or perceived properly.

However, his power left no question.

Damon glanced at his system window. He had already completed the second act of his quest.

Now came the third, and hopefully the last act. He looked at it, his expression narrowing.

Ominous was an understatement.

Quest Act Three – [Despair]

Once more, I oblige. Heed my warning. Your perils have only begun.

Objective: Survive the Feast of Nightmares.

Rewards:

You live.

Failure:

Eternal damnation, forever dreaming a nameless nightmare.

The quest was literally called Despair, and living was its own reward. What kind of horrible quest was that? Normally, Damon was given some kind of appealing reward, a skill, an item, something.

But this… this was as if surviving whatever was coming was the reward itself.

Damon's danger sense screamed that this wasn't good, and he was right. He didn't look away from Amon, glancing briefly at Abellona.

"Kill that priestess before she completes whatever ritual she's doing… I'll kill Amon."

Abellona nodded. His words, though calm, echoed across the silent battlefield for all to hear.

The goddess races knew they had to kill the priestess, and the demons knew they had to protect her.

His skin crawled, his unease deepening after those words left his mouth.

It was only after saying them that he realized they changed nothing, it only made his danger sense worse.

Which meant killing her might not even change the outcome.

He didn't have time to waste. He would end this quickly.

"We both know that won't work," Amon spoke, though in truth Damon was just talking to himself.

'It's too late. I know that… besides, I wonder how this affects my own plans,' he thought to himself as the world around them exploded into a fevered battle for the priestess.

Amon raised his hand, laughing as he charged at Damon with a sword of ice. Damon flash-stepped forward, and the battle began, with his own self.

A farce he could not stop.

He was an actor in a play of his own folly, dancing in a script written by a god who had mastered cunning, guile, and manipulation. His strings were fate itself, and everyone here was a puppet.

Like how puppets could not seize the strings, so too mortals, their resistance was futile.

Still, Damon didn't care. He clashed with himself.

Fate was everywhere, it lived in their actions and their choices. This wasn't the unknown god's will; this was Damon's choice. His choice to be here. His choice to fight his own clone, manipulating everyone for his own ends.

In the end, he would only regret the choices he didn't make.

Wherever this road led wouldn't matter soon, when he got his hands on the cure for his sister.

He would die.

That was the ultimate middle finger he could give to the unknown god who had written this script.

Can't have a story without a main character to drive the narrative, overcome obstacles, and reach the ending.

This wasn't suicide, it was his defiance.

"If I'm going to lose anyway… I'll lose on my own terms. Only my own terms."

The defiant mortal who would rather choose his own end than be dragged down the god's path.

His sword clashed with Amon's, creating massive astral winds that roared all around them. His long hair whipped in the storm as he watched the faceless mirror of himself, dancing to his whims, struggling as its identity corroded.

What a fitting foe to fight.

'Who else could fight me but myself… who else must I overcome?'

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