CHAPTER 156: HE IS BACK!

Somewhere high in the sky, half-shrouded by drifting clouds, a creature observed the chaos below with an expressionless gaze.

His eyes—avian and unblinking—narrowed like a hawk’s, pupils slicing through the distance as they locked onto the figure of the nightmare creature ravaging the land. Cold, analytical, devoid of emotion. This silent watcher was none other than Ricky.

He had been following the trio’s every move since they first entered the area, his presence concealed for reasons known only to him. There were rules—unspoken threads he chose not to pull just yet.

Then, a scoffing voice crackled beside him like kindling tossed into a flame.

"What a weakling! Can’t even take down a ghost spider."

Ricky didn’t turn to acknowledge the speaker. He didn’t need to. His silence said enough. Still, beneath that still exterior, a flicker of irritation rippled through him. For the first time, he began to wonder if bringing this one along had been a mistake.

Hovering a short distance away from him floated a towering figure—almost as tall as the transformed Darius. He had a wild mane of blazing red hair, eyes glowing like smoldering coals, and skin like tempered bronze—muscles pulled tight like forged iron cords. A living furnace, his presence radiated oppressive heat.

This was the Flaming Giant.

The very same one who had laughed in Ricky’s face when he first stepped foot into the Trial of Selene Veylor.

But that was then.

Now, things had changed.

Now, the Flaming Giant was shackled—not by chains of iron or flame, but something far worse.

Enslaved.

His pride was fractured, soul bound in silence. And now, despite the inferno of rage and shame simmering beneath his skin, he floated beside Ricky like a humbled wraith.

For a moment, the Red Giant tried to speak again, his massive jaw opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words. But none came. Only silence.

He could feel it—that subtle pressure emanating from the smaller creature beside him. A strange, coiling darkness that defied explanation. Something in Ricky had shifted—grown colder, deeper, and far more terrifying than before.

And the worst part?

Some part of him remembered.

Vaguely. Dimly.

He had seen that mosquito before. Back in the ruins of that ancient battlefield, just before everything went black.

One moment, he had been battling monstrous constructs. The next, he had awoken to find himself a puppet.

Now, every time he tried to meet Ricky’s eyes, his own vision seemed to blur. The weight of something ancient and unnatural bore down upon him.

It was humiliating.

And yet, even his noble bloodline couldn’t muster the strength to resist.

Something had changed.

And whatever it was... it was enough to make even the proudest Giant lower his gaze.

Before the Red Giant could delve deeper into his swirling thoughts, Ricky’s voice—calm, flat, and stripped of emotion—echoed directly into his mind like a blade sliding into still water.

"Can you defeat the monster below?"

Just seven words.

Simple. Clean. Devoid of malice.

And yet, the effect was devastating.

The giant’s bronze-skinned face stiffened. The blood drained from his cheeks, turning his crimson-tinged flesh a dull, ashen hue.

No need to think. No reason to lie.

He shook his head.

There was no way—none whatsoever—that he could defeat the abomination below.

That creature was something else entirely. Not just a monster... a calamity wrapped in sinew and shadow. Every instinct screamed at him to run. His very bloodline, proud as it was, trembled in its presence.

Ricky didn’t look away from the battlefield. His expression didn’t shift, not even a flicker of amusement or disappointment crossing his features.

He had already expected that answer.

A brief shrug of his shoulders was the only response the Red Giant received, as Ricky turned his focus back to the spectacle unraveling below.

Or more accurately, the massacre.

Darius was getting brutalized.

His body was barely holding together—twisted, torn, and painted in crimson. His limbs trembled with every motion, and his defenses shattered like brittle glass against the monster’s relentless assault.

If the Eldros King were watching from afar, he might not even recognize his own son.

A faint hum left Ricky’s lips. "Hmm."

His gaze narrowed slightly. Even he had to admit—the monster was vicious.

If Ricky were to face it head-on, brute against brute, he wouldn’t fare much better than Darius. There was no shame in admitting it. That thing wasn’t just physically strong—it carried the pressure of something ancient. A creature carved out of an era long gone. A remnant of nature’s wrath, perhaps... or something worse.

But then again, Ricky wasn’t one to fight fair.

He didn’t need to meet brute force with brute force.

Not here. Not now.

A breeze curled around him as he took a long, measured breath, eyes half-lidded and thoughtful.

"One hundred thousand years should be enough."

The words slipped out, barely above a whisper—spoken more to himself than anyone else.

He had been waiting for a moment like this.

A chance to test the power he had obtained not long ago—a technique that came at a steep cost. A technique that devoured lifespan like a starving god.

The truth was, Ricky didn’t even know its full limits. He had never dared use it recklessly.

But today... he didn’t need to hold back.

He would offer it a respectable sum—not too little to risk failure, and not so much as to cripple himself.

One hundred thousand years.

A lifespan that could raise empires and bury entire bloodlines.

And now, it would be fuel.

Ricky’s aura began to ripple.

Softly at first—gentle currents of darkness swirling around him like silk threads in the wind.

Then it began to grow. Expand.

A presence bloomed behind him. Not a spiritual field. Not just power.

But something far more ancient... and far more dangerous.

Immediately—like a dam quietly opening—Ricky felt his vast mana reserves begin to drain.

It wasn’t violent, but deliberate, like a tide pulled by some ancient, unseen force.

The energy surged toward the void just behind him... where his proboscis floated in eerie silence.

Then it changed.

Morphed.

Twisted.

The flesh-like appendage sharpened, elongating into a translucent obsidian lance, its surface reflecting the world like warped glass dipped in oil.

It pulsed softly, black veins crawling across its surface like cracks in a dying star.

Around it, phantom wails rose from nothingness—sometimes laughter, sometimes weeping, sometimes both at once—an unsettling orchestra birthed by the True Darkness Poison that laced the weapon.

It wasn’t just poison. It was torment liquefied, madness refined into venom.

And now it was ready to be delivered.

Ricky didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

His gaze remained locked on the monstrosity below, the one tearing Darius apart like a toy made of cloth and blood.

Then—

Swish!

There was no wind. No warning. No chant.

The lance simply vanished from its place in the void and reappeared directly above the beast.

Not even a whisper of sound betrayed its approach.

Then—

Pierce.

The lance tore through the creature’s hardened back, bypassing bone, sinew, and monstrous armor as if they were wet parchment.

It plunged deep—aiming for one thing: the spiritual core.

If the monster possessed one, it would be eradicated.

BOOM!

An explosion erupted—not a fiery detonation, but something denser, heavier—like a tanker imploding under its own weight.

A sound that shattered silence and made the sky tremble.

The beast jerked violently.

Its body compressed—crushing in on itself like a dying star collapsing into its own gravity. The twisted spider-lizard creature howled, its limbs thrashing in every direction as it was flung to the earth below.

It hit the ground with a deafening crack that echoed for miles.

Mad howls escaped its fractured maw as it rolled, flailing blindly, trying to dislodge something unseen from inside its very soul.

The field around it warped, shadows coiling unnaturally, drawn to the poison now writhing within it like a serpent of despair.

Above it all, Ricky floated.

Silent. Still. Unblinking.

The lance reformed behind him, dripping with black ichor that vanished before it could hit the ground.

He had no need for words.

Only results.

....

"Argh!"

A guttural cry escaped Darius’s lips as he lay pinned to the ground like a discarded corpse.

His limbs refused to move.

His bones creaked, his skin was split in a dozen places, and his blood had long since soaked into the earth beneath him.

And yet—his spiritual field, weakened and trembling, remained barely active.

Through it, he watched.

He saw the monster convulsing, shrieking in agony... impaled by something that defied the laws of nature.

A single thought pierced the haze in his mind.

A single name rose like a scream inside his soul.

His lips did not move, but the words echoed in his skull.

He’s back...!

The aura was different—darker, more refined, more terrifying than before.

But there was no mistaking it.

Not for him.

Not for someone who had once faced that creature in battle and lived to remember it in nightmares.

The Venom Fang Overlord... is back.

His heart should have clenched in fear.

And yet...

Even though Darius hovered at the very edge of death’s door, even though his flesh had been reduced to a ruin of bruises and blood—

A strange, overwhelming emotion washed over him.

Relief.

Like a wave crashing through a desert.

Like cold water after days lost under the sun.

Relief... that he wasn’t alone.