SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 135: Come out

"Come out, Kael!"

Ricky’s voice rang out—not with mere volume, but with authority. It boomed like thunder cracking through the skies, reverberating in the spiritual fields of everyone present. It wasn’t a request. It was a summons.

Far into the depths of the Emerald Green Kingdom’s territory, space itself twisted unnaturally, then peeled apart like ancient curtains opening onto a stage. From the rift stepped a lone figure—serene, poised, and razor-sharp in presence.

Clad in modest green robes that fluttered slightly in the wind, the man’s appearance was deceptively plain. Yet his very aura carved through the air like the edge of a blade honed over centuries. His eyes, calm and deep as a still forest lake, concealed storms of calculation and pride.

But every so often, that veil slipped, and a glint of aristocratic arrogance flashed in his gaze—undeniable, like the sun glinting off a sword’s edge.

There was no mistaking his identity.

Kael—the son of the Iron Fang Legion’s supreme commander, Dorn. A noble scion, a genius cultivated in the furnace of legacy, and one of the unfortunate souls who’d once participated in the trial alongside Ricky.

Back then, he had entered the trial with the pride of his lineage... and come out broken.

Although Ricky had trusted Felicia and Darius to hold the line, he wasn’t naïve. He prepared contingencies. Kael was one of them—his hidden card should the tide ever shift dangerously.

And now, with the dam breached and the undead pouring in, it was time to reveal that card.

But what Ricky didn’t expect—was this.

Kael stood atop a hill, sword unsheathed, his long sleeves flapping dramatically. His chin was tilted upward, as if he were admiring the moonlight... despite it being midday. His hair flowed back in the wind, eyes narrowed imperiously as he surveyed the oncoming horde of skeletons like they were insects unworthy of his blade.

He radiated cool indifference—far too theatrical for Ricky’s taste.

The mosquito’s mandibles twitched. A crease of irritation appeared on his brow.

So dramatic...

In a cold, clipped tone that shattered the stillness, Ricky snapped, "Kael, stop posing and start working. If any of those skeletons make it past you..."—his voice dipped, sharp as a blade drawn in warning—"I’ll toss you back into the dungeon myself."

Kael’s posture froze slightly.

A moment later, the proud scion of a noble family sighed and lowered his sword. He turned toward the incoming horde, his expression hardening.

No more theatrics.

It was time to get to work.

Immediately, a cold shiver ran down Kael’s spine.

His breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t need to hear Ricky’s words twice. That place—that wretched dungeon where time stretched like torture and every breath felt like swallowing nails—was a memory seared into his soul.

Dying would be a better fate than returning there.

His pride? His noble lineage? His carefully crafted demeanor? All of it shattered in an instant beneath the looming shadow of Ricky’s threat.

Before conscious thought could intervene, Kael’s body moved on instinct—springing forward, spiritual force igniting like wildfire along his limbs. With the grace of a trained master and the desperation of a cornered beast, he launched himself toward the advancing undead.

Watching from above, Ricky’s compound eyes narrowed slightly before he sighed in mild relief. Only then did he allow himself to redirect his attention back to the battlefield beyond.

He hadn’t forgotten. That fleeting pulse. That sharp, almost imperceptible flare of unnatural energy from earlier—too faint for anyone else to notice, but not for him. His spiritual field had recorded the shift, and from that moment, he’d locked onto the trail like a hound catching a whiff of blood.

He was close. Very close.

Somewhere, hidden beneath the roiling tide of skeletons, something intelligent—something dangerous—was watching.

Somewhere, the other undead princesses were waiting.

---

Meanwhile, Darius stood silently, observing the scene with a hint of amusement and weary understanding.

He hadn’t said anything when Kael appeared, but inwardly, he wasn’t surprised.

He had already guessed Ricky’s plan.

It was just like him—calculating, prepared, and never willing to gamble unless the odds were fully stacked in his favor. Kael was insurance, a secret ace Ricky had kept hidden until the right moment.

But the implications of this plan made Darius’s thoughts spiral. freewebnσvel.cøm

If Ricky pulls this off... If he really manages to eliminate the remaining undead princesses...

Then he would reign uncontested in this region. No other force—human, beast, or undead—would be able to challenge him. The forest, the borderlands, even the ruins of fallen kingdoms would fall beneath his shadow.

And strangely, Darius didn’t feel joy or pride at the thought.

He felt a chill.

Not because of fear, but because he knew: once this war was over, the real game would begin.

Still, one part of his mind drifted back to the undead. Their numbers were overwhelming, but their behavior wasn’t natural. The rhythm of the invasion, the way they retreated only to return after a cycle... It followed a pattern—one Darius had studied during his time in the royal archives.

He remembered the old parchment texts, the grim voices of scholars long gone.

"When the world is full, they come to harvest. When it is empty, they return to slumber. Once its life bleeds back into the soil, they come again."

A slow cycle of death and rebirth.

This invasion, no matter how terrifying, would pass too—eventually. The undead would retreat, perhaps because there would be nothing left of value to devour. And then, like cruel gardeners, they would wait for the forest to regrow before descending again.

Darius clenched his fists.

A never-ending cycle.

Unless someone broke it.

His gaze rose once more toward Ricky—his wings tucked behind him, drifting like a shadow in the sky, ever hunting, ever silent.

Maybe... this time will be different.

While Ricky’s thoughts churned with frustration, a sudden surge of violent pressure drew his attention.

Kael’s Stage Three spiritual field had erupted—

A tempest of oppressive energy slammed outward in a sudden burst, vaporizing everything within a hundred-meter radius. The horde of undead around him disintegrated into sludge and splinters, reduced to nothing more than unrecognizable bio-waste. Bones cracked, armor dissolved, and the wailing screeches of cursed beings were silenced in an instant.

Kael didn’t utter a word. His eyes were calm, focused—frosted glass over a raging inferno of fear and pride. He couldn’t fail here. Not when the threat of that dungeon still loomed in Ricky’s promise like a blade hanging by a single thread.

Meanwhile, Darius and Felicia moved with practiced synergy, their attacks intersecting and diverging in a deadly rhythm that kept the tide barely at bay. Felicia’s sword sang arcs of white light through the air, while Darius smashed through skeletal giants with thunderous roars. Their teamwork created a perimeter—a fragile wall of force just strong enough to hold the line.

Then, with a thunderous snort that made the earth quake, Boar arrived on the scene, smashing into the battlefield like a walking calamity.

"Finally!" Darius muttered, exhaling sharply.

With the four of them together, a counterforce had formed—a spear of defiance in an ocean of death.

---

Three days passed.

The sun had become a hazy disk in a sky choked with ash and smoke. Beneath it, a mountain of bones rose like a monument to slaughter.

The once-lush green of the Emerald Forest was gone—buried beneath the endless tide of fallen undead. The terrain had turned grey and black, a colorless war zone littered with twisted skulls and shattered ribcages. Rivers ran red. Air buzzed with decay.

And yet, the undead kept coming.

No matter how many fell, no matter how many were incinerated, sliced, crushed, or blown apart... more came. Tireless. Unyielding. Unstoppable.

High above, Ricky hovered in silence, wings beating softly against the ashen wind. His compound eyes swept the battlefield like an executioner choosing his next target—but his expression was dark. Grim.

His senses, so sharp and attuned, had picked up nothing for hours.

All the leads—the hidden spiritual signatures, the flares of divine deathly aura, the fragments of undead mana—had disappeared.

It was like the battlefield itself had turned into a stage... and the main actors had slipped behind the curtains.

Ricky’s eyes narrowed.

They’re hiding again... Playing me like a fool.

He hated this feeling—the sensation of being led by the nose, of being taunted and outmaneuvered like a helpless pawn on someone else’s chessboard.

His irritation built up like pressure in a volcano, rising steadily with each passing second.

Finally, he could bear it no more.

"Fine."

His voice was cold. Decisive.

If you won’t come out willingly... then I’ll drag you out myself.

Without another thought, Ricky’s wings folded behind his back.

His body tilted forward.

He carved a gleaming arc through the smoky sky—one that sliced downward like a blade.

Then, like a meteor of fury, Ricky dove into the battlefield.

Dust exploded as he landed, his spiritual field unfurling like a divine storm, intent on one thing:

Exposing every last undead princess.

Boar, who was leading Ramon and the others to contain the undead swarm at the outer perimeter, suddenly froze mid-charge.

His snout twitched, his battle-hardened ears flicked, and the faintest ripple of energy brushed against his mind.

Ricky’s voice. Calm. Commanding. Absolute.

"Retreat. I will handle things from here."

The beastkin warrior’s bloodshot eyes cleared instantly, as if splashed with cold water. The fury of battle faded from his mind, replaced by a sharp awareness. He didn’t hesitate for even a second.

"Stop! Everyone! We’re retreating!" Boar roared, his voice like rolling thunder that cut through the clash of metal and the groans of the undead.

The sudden command sent a jolt through the soldiers. Confusion flickered on some faces, but they knew better than to question it.

Ramon, already coated in grime and gore, stepped up like a second shadow beside Boar, his sword dragging a trail of sparks as he lifted it high.

"Create a path for safe retreat! Defensive formation!" he barked with practiced authority.

Soldiers leapt into motion without question. Shields locked together, blades slashed out in precise, sweeping arcs. The lines pulled back, forming a curved funnel—drawing the enemy forward just long enough to buy time for the bulk of the force to fall back.

---

Elsewhere...

High above the bone-littered battlefield, Ricky hovered with unmoving wings.

The silence around him was unnatural.

The air, heavy with decay and blood, trembled faintly as he drew a slow, controlled breath.

His many eyes flickered, the glowing lines across his exoskeleton dimming... condensing.

"Darkness Pulse."

He whispered the words not with drama, but with grim purpose.

And then—

The world dimmed.

Not like a setting sun or creeping twilight, but as if some great celestial veil had fallen.

The sky lost its color.

The air grew dense and cold.

Shadows deepened unnaturally, stretching like claws. Every flicker of light on the battlefield shrank, flickering like a candle about to be snuffed out.

A low hum vibrated across the ground—deep, guttural, as if the bones beneath the earth were groaning awake.

Even the undead paused for half a breath, the ancient instinct of all beings whispering that something monstrous was about to descend.

The battlefield, once alive with chaos, fell into a tense silence.

Ricky opened his arms wide. His spiritual field expanded like a sea of black flame.

"Let’s see if you princesses can still hide in this."

The night was no longer just a time of darkness.

It was his domain.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦