Devour Vol 2 Ch 27: A Plea From The Shadows!

Elara's eyes drifted downward, golden light spilling from her gaze like slow-moving fire across the void.

In her palm, barely visible against the ridges of her hand, was him — the speck who had dared to raise his voice at her, who had stared into her eyes as if she were something less than divine. His body trembled from the fall, and still... there he stood.

Such fragility. Such defiance.

She could crush him. With a twitch of her fingers, he would be gone — no trace, no sound, no pain. And yet, even knowing that, she didn't. The thought almost irritated her more than his words ever had.

Maybe this was her fault.

Elara's brows furrowed, the faintest ripple of thought passing through her colossal expression. She couldn't control her urges... Not entirely. Not after what had happened. But how could he possibly understand that? He couldn't even begin to grasp what she was.

Her breath escaped her in a long, low sigh.

The sound rippled through the vacuum of space like a wave of energy, bending light and time around it. Entire starfields flickered from the pressure alone. Realizing the force of it, Elara quickly turned her head aside, exhaling into the void instead of toward her palm. Even that single, careful gesture showed restraint — an impossible gentleness from something so vast.

When she turned back, her expression was composed again. Her voice came slow and low, each word vibrating through her massive form.

"My kind," she began, "needs to devour worlds to survive. This is how it has been since the first spark of creation. The Mother of All Things shaped us this way... and so it will remain."

Her tone wasn't cruel — it was resigned, ancient, almost mournful.

Conrad stood there, looking up into the burning sky of her face, trying to process her words. His heart felt heavy, raw.

"You just don't understand..." he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I promised those people they'd live. I told them I could save them. I watched their cities burn — their oceans boil — and I couldn't do anything."

He clenched his fists, his voice shaking now. "I promised."

Elara's immense eyes narrowed faintly, not in anger, but pity. "Then it's a promise you should not have made," she said softly.

Her words hit harder than any shout could.

Her hunger — the endless, eternal pull within her — would not be denied. Could not be denied. Planets weren't simply meals; they were energy, life itself — the pulse that kept her from fading into nothingness. It wasn't malice. It was survival.

And yet...

"Then what's the point of this trip?" Conrad asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a crack in glass. He stared up at her, trembling but unyielding. "Aren't we going to this so-called 'meeting' so your mother can bring those people back? To resurrect them?"

Her expression faltered, faintly.

"Why do any of this if everything's just... inevitable?" he continued, stepping forward across the warm golden plain of her palm. "Why didn't you just destroy my planet too? If that's who you are—if that's what you're made to do—then why not finish the job?"

The words hit her like a pulse through the chest.

Elara didn't respond immediately. For the first time in eons, her massive heart began to race — slow, thunderous beats echoing across her body. She could feel it, the mortal's gaze cutting into her like a blade, his voice small but sharp, his anger real.

Why hadn't she destroyed his world?

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, she just stared down at him, her eyes trembling faintly — an expression that, to someone so small, might've looked like the weight of a universe pressing inward.

She could feel his gaze piercing straight through the illusion of power and hunger — right into something deeper, something she didn't dare name.

And for the first time, the Devourer of Worlds felt small.

Elara's lips parted, ready to speak again — but something shifted. A flicker, faint and dark, rose from the edge of her palm.

Her golden eyes narrowed.

The shadow thickened, twisting into form — tendrils of darkness pulling together into something vaguely human. It pulsed faintly with violet light, not bright enough to challenge her glow, but enough to be noticed. Enough to be wrong.

Elara's expression sharpened. She recognized that aura immediately. She had lived beside it for eons — the cold, swallowing hum of Darkness. Her sister's mark.

Slowly, she leaned closer, the movement alone bending the light around her face. The stars dimmed in her reflection as her eyes fixed on the tiny black figure standing in the center of her hand.

"Who are you?" Her voice rolled through space like a wave, deep enough to make Conrad stumble and clutch his ears. The air itself shivered around her words.

The shadow knelt immediately, his head bowed, hood concealing all trace of a face. The faint glow from her skin reflected off his formless body like sunlight on oil.

"I am Shadowfell," the figure said. His tone was low, respectful — yet unshaken. "Servant of the Devourer known as Darkness. Your elder sister."

Elara's brow furrowed. "I can tell that," she said sharply. Her tone carried the bite of annoyance, almost boredom. "Now tell me why you're with me and not her."

Shadowfell didn't look up. "I was ordered to remain with you," he said simply. "To keep watch on you and the mortal."

Elara's eyes narrowed, her voice cooling to a dangerous calm. "You were spying on me," she said, the faintest smile touching her lips. "How brave."

Shadowfell's head dipped lower. "I act under orders, Great One. But I've revealed myself now because... there may be something wrong."

That made her pause.

"Wrong?" she echoed, her golden light dimming slightly as she leaned closer. "What do you mean?"

Shadowfell hesitated. For the first time, his form flickered. The hood seemed to ripple, his shape blurring for a moment like smoke losing focus.

"I don't know," he admitted finally. "Her presence—my connection to her—it's been burning in and out. I can no longer feel her clearly."

The words struck a nerve.

Elara's glow pulsed once, brighter, as her jaw tightened. "You don't know?" she repeated, disbelief twisting into irritation. "You appear before me, uninvited, bringing half a warning, and you don't even know what's happened?"

Shadowfell's form shrank slightly, his voice steady but subdued. "No, my lady. Only that something has changed. Darkness does not answer. And her emotions stirs."

Elara stared down at him in silence. For the first time in a long while, the fury behind her eyes softened into something else — something like thought.

Behind her on her palm, Conrad looked up at her enormous face, watching the faint flicker of conflict cross her expression. He couldn't tell if it was worry... or rage.

Finally, Elara spoke, her tone low, more to herself than to them.

"If something's happened to her..." she murmured, the glow from her eyes dimming further, "...then whoever is responsible won't have long to exist."

Her gaze returned to Shadowfell, and the fire came back to her eyes. "You'll stay where I can see you," she said coldly. "If my sister's silence is a trick — or if you're lying — I'll scatter your essence across a thousand suns."

Shadowfell bowed his head again. "Understood."

Conrad swallowed, glancing between the towering goddess and the shadow on her palm, his voice barely a whisper.

"What's happening?"

Neither of them answered.

Elara's expression had turned distant, her glowing eyes fixed on the empty stretch of stars ahead — as though, somewhere in that black ocean, she could already feel her sister's absence.