SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 103: The difference between them

While Ricky stood still, silently reeling from the oppressive gaze that had only just receded, Darius completely misread his silence.

The prince saw not fear, nor suspicion, nor paranoia—but awe.

A smug smile slowly stretched across Darius’ lips, arrogance blooming like a poisonous flower. He took Ricky’s quiet as submission, mistaking his internal panic for admiration.

His voice turned warm—patronizingly so.

"Then let me offer you a path," he declared, raising his hand with the grandeur of a self-proclaimed savior. "Become my loyal servant, and I—the true heir to the Great Eldros Kingdom—will guarantee that no one in this dark, chaotic world will ever be able to harm you."

He took a step forward, eyes shimmering with the promise of power. "Join me... and I will show you a world beyond your imagination."

The words echoed in the air like a solemn vow—one meant to shake hearts, to inspire worship, to bend lesser creatures to his will.

And after delivering what he believed to be a magnanimous offer, Darius fell silent, confident that the weight of his presence and the authority of his bloodline would be more than enough to elicit the expected response.

Internally, he was feeling quite pleased with himself.

He might have failed to inherit the power within this realm, but what he had just acquired was far more valuable—a monster of potential, a key to secrets he hadn’t even begun to unravel.

Yes. He was sure.

It was only a matter of time before the Venom Fang Overlord told him everything—about the inheritance, about the spiritual space, perhaps even offering techniques or guidance on how to form one himself.

Darius couldn’t help but imagine the envy on the faces of those who once stood above him.

He almost chuckled aloud.

The thought that Ricky might reject his proposal didn’t even cross his mind.

After all... since when did anyone have the courage to say no to Prince Darius Eldros?

The silence stretched.

It hung in the air like a fragile thread, taut with tension. The Guardian Spirit, standing quietly by the side, watched the unfolding scene with a glimmer of intrigue sparkling in her amethyst eyes.

Prince Darius had piqued her curiosity.

There was something almost absurd about the quiet confidence he radiated, as if the entire room had no choice but to orbit him.

It was then that a loud, unrestrained burst of laughter erupted, shattering the heavy stillness.

"Hahahahaha..."

The sound reverberated through the chamber, not from Darius—but from Ricky.

His mandibles flailed wildly, chittering in all directions, as if struggling to contain the sheer amusement bubbling inside him. His laughter was raw, genuine, and completely unfiltered, as though he had just heard the funniest joke in the history of his existence.

Prince Darius blinked, visibly confused, his regal composure faltering.

Ricky finally wheezed between chortles, "Damn... Prince Darius, I don’t know if anyone’s told you before, but you’re a very funny man."

Darius narrowed his eyes, lips twitching in confusion. He stared at Ricky, one eyebrow raised.

He didn’t get it.

Why was this pest laughing?

Had the recent success gone to his head?

The prince frowned inwardly, thinking this had to be some elaborate attempt to save face.

But then—the laughter stopped.

As quickly as it came, the mirth was gone.

Ricky’s expression turned cold—deathly cold. His compound eyes dimmed into emotionless voids, and the playful curve on his face twisted into one of solemn indifference.

Then Ricky spoke, his voice low and cutting like a blade hidden beneath silk.

"It seems, Prince... you’re not as bright as I once believed."

A pause.

Ricky took a deliberate step forward, each word dripping with suppressed contempt.

"Do you even know... who you’re talking to?"

Silence returned, but now it was tense—charged, like a storm waiting to break.

Darius’ brow furrowed. Something in the air shifted.

And then, finally—Ricky uttered the final word.

A command.

Sharp. Absolute.

"Kneel."

"What did you say...?"

Prince Darius blinked in disbelief, his voice sharp with stunned confusion—as if he had misheard something too absurd to be true.

But then, before he could even process the command fully, his body began to move.

Unbidden.

Uncontrolled.

His knees buckled. His muscles strained and twitched, resisting with all their might—but something far more insidious had taken over. Something ancient, foreign, and overwhelming.

A cold shiver shot down his spine.

No... no way.

This... this can’t be happening.

He gritted his teeth, pouring all his willpower into halting his descent, but it was too late.

SMASH!

His knees struck the floor with a heavy, echoing crack—like a hammer smashing down on glowing iron. The sound reverberated through the hall, brutal and final.

Humiliation.

It surged through him like wildfire. Darius’ heart burned in shame, pride shattered like fragile porcelain.

And then—Ricky’s voice echoed again.

Colder. Crueler.

"Start licking the floor."

There was no emotion behind the words, no mockery. Just a command.

Absolute. Undeniable.

Ricky’s compound eyes were icy, devoid of empathy. This wasn’t a negotiation. This wasn’t a conversation. This was a correction.

He had been more than willing to speak as equals. He had even considered a cordial relationship. But this arrogant heir dared to act superior.

So now... he had to be taught.

Darius’ hands trembled, his body seizing up in horror. But against his will, he obeyed.

His head lowered.

His lips touched the ground.

And then—he began to lick.

Like a dog. Desperate. Powerless.

His tongue slid over the cold stone floor, again and again. Each movement draining more of his dignity, more of his pride.

Darius’ face turned ghostly pale.

He screamed inside, mentally thrashing and roaring, trying to resist the command etched into his very soul—but nothing worked.

No matter how hard he tried—he couldn’t stop.

There he was—the proud prince of Eldros, a high-ranking Stage 3 cultivator—crouched like an animal, licking the ground under the cold gaze of a creature he once dismissed.

If anyone of standing saw this scene... if even a whisper of it escaped this space...

What would the world say?

Meanwhile, the Guardian Spirit stood frozen to the side.

Completely stunned.

Her amethyst eyes shimmered with disbelief.

First, her master had formed his spiritual space on the very first attempt—a feat she had never seen in her long existence. And now, without so much as lifting a claw, he had turned a mighty Stage 3 being into a groveling, obedient puppet.

One after another, Ricky kept defying her expectations, bending reality around himself as if destiny were merely another string he could pull

Darius continued licking the floor, the metallic taste of stone and dust scraping against his tongue. Time lost all meaning.

Each second felt like an eternity.

It was only when Ricky’s cold voice finally rang out that the torment ended.

"It’s enough."

His tone was calm. Unbothered. As if this entire episode had been no more than a passing inconvenience.

If he truly wanted to, he could have ordered Darius to clean every inch of the floor with his tongue. But there was no point. The lesson had already been delivered—and received.

Anything more would’ve just been a waste of time.

Darius rose slowly, his body trembling, knees bruised and bloodied. But it wasn’t the physical pain that shattered him—it was what he had come to realize during that half hour of complete, soul-breaking humiliation.

He wasn’t free.

He stood like a man whose spirit had been ripped from his chest, his proud eyes now hollow and distant.

In that silence, a truth more devastating than any injury echoed through his mind:

He was a slave.

Somehow—somehow—he had become a puppet of the pest he had once regarded as mildly interesting.

A curiosity.

A footnote in his grand story.

Now, if that very pest told him to bark like a dog...

He would bark.

Loudly. Obediently. Without hesitation.

His will was no longer his own.

The weight of that realization pressed down on him like a mountain.

Yet, as Darius stood lost in his spiraling thoughts, Ricky paid him no mind at all.

He had already moved on.

With a flick of his compound eyes, he turned toward the Guardian Spirit and spoke, voice cool and composed:

"Give me the alchemical recipes we discussed. And prepare some of the rarer ingredients if possible."

The Guardian Spirit nodded silently, already in motion.

Just as Ricky was about to leave with his new slave in tow, her voice rang out behind him—clear, smooth, and deliberate.

And what she said next made Ricky freeze mid-step.

His antennae twitched, and a flash of disbelief flickered across his gaze.

Her words were simple, but their meaning...

Stunning.

"What did you say?"

Ricky’s voice was laced with confusion, his compound eyes narrowing slightly.

He hadn’t expected that request—not now, not from her.

The Guardian Spirit stood still, unbothered by his reaction. Her long silvery hair shimmered like liquid moonlight, cascading over her shoulders as she spoke again—this time, slowly and clearly:

"Master... I also want to go outside."

Her voice was soft—almost hesitant—but beneath it lay a longing that couldn’t be hidden.

"It’s been forever since I was trapped in this place..."

She didn’t dare meet his gaze. Her head was slightly bowed, and her gem-like amethyst eyes stared off to the side, as though afraid of what she might see reflected in his expression.

It wasn’t just a passing wish.

There was deep yearning behind her words—like a candle that had burned quietly for ages in an airless room, now flickering at the thought of open skies.

Ricky stared at her, momentarily speechless.

Of all the things he had anticipated... this wasn’t on the list.

She, who had guided him through the inheritance.

She, who always seemed so composed, so bound to the legacy of her master...

She wanted to leave?

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