SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 157: Gorath return

It was almost amusing to imagine what Ricky’s reaction might have been, had the Venom Fang Overlord somehow been aware of Darius’s thoughts.

Knowing him, he would have done nothing more than roll his shoulders in that lazy, dismissive way—perhaps forcing a smile that carried neither warmth nor sincerity.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the battlefield, sharp and cold as steel. From the swirling dust, a figure emerged—silent, inevitable.

Ricky stood only a few meters away from Darius. His long black robe billowed and snapped in the wind like a torn battle standard, every movement of the fabric hinting at an invisible weight in the air. The atmosphere seemed to warp subtly around him, as though reality itself recoiled from his presence.

Darius, still half-buried in the torn earth and unable to rise, managed to choke out two words:

"You are?"

Confusion laced his voice.

He knew. Through the tenuous connection they shared, he was certain—this was the Venom Fang Overlord. But the aura that radiated from Ricky now... it was colder, heavier, more suffocating than anything Darius remembered. It was the kind of presence that gripped the soul and whispered of finality.

In that moment, it was as though he wasn’t looking at Ricky at all. He was staring at the personification of death.

And, to a certain extent, he was right. Ricky was no longer what he had once been. Death’s own blessing flowed in his veins now, warping him into something far beyond ordinary.

Ricky’s eyes moved over Darius, expression unreadable—though in truth, there was little emotion left in him to read.

The Venom Fang Overlord gave a small, almost negligent shrug. In Darius’s current state, there was nothing more to be done.

Then—

Boom!

A massive shadow fell over them. The ground trembled as something colossal descended from the sky, landing with enough force to send dust and shattered stone spraying in all directions.

The flaming red giant, Gorath, straightened to his full height, his massive frame wreathed in the afterglow of his descent. The impact of his landing rippled through the air, though in this vast, battle-scarred expanse, it was little more than a minor disturbance—an echo of the chaos that had already unfolded.

Still, though completely disabled, Darius somehow managed to lift his head.

Pain flooded every nerve in his body. His spiritual field was flickering like a dying flame, his bones crushed in several places. Yet, through sheer will, he forced his trembling eyes to focus.

A hulking figure stood in the cloud of dissipating dust—flaming skin like cracked magma, horns rising like a crown of doom.

Gorath.

Darius’s eyes trembled violently. Even without spiritual perception, he could recognize that silhouette. And as the realization settled into his battered consciousness, a heavy thought formed with the weight of a landslide:

So... it has finally begun.

He had already foreseen this.

Not in some prophetic dream, but in the quiet, subtle cues of their interactions. The Venom Fang Overlord was never one to reveal his hand unless he wanted the game to end.

This—this wasn’t the end. No.

It was the beginning.

Just as that thought took shape, Darius winced. A fresh surge of pain snapped him out of his spiral. Now’s not the time to think about grand schemes, he muttered inwardly. I need to get this body moving... somehow.

Across from him, Gorath’s burning eyes swept over the charred battlefield and eventually locked onto Darius’s broken figure.

Despite everything—despite the chains of control tightening around his will—recognition flickered in those monstrous eyes.

Before the trial began, there had been a few warriors who had caught Gorath’s attention. And Darius had stood at the very top of that list.

A wry smile stretched across Gorath’s jagged lips, layered in contempt and faint pity. "You sure were arrogant before..." he said, voice like a volcano rumbling before eruption. "Now, look at you in this state... You were once so proud."

His tone wasn’t mocking. It was cold, observational. Like a god inspecting a fallen statue he once admired.

Off to the side, Ricky stood still, his hands folded behind his back.

The long hem of his black robe fluttered faintly in the residual breeze of Gorath’s landing. Shadows curled around his boots as if trying to climb up and wrap themselves around him. His face showed nothing—but his inner thoughts swirled with subtle agreement.

He did think the same.

Darius had grown proud. Too proud.

Ever since he rose to Stage 3, he’d begun walking with his chin a little too high. Not outright disobedient—but no longer cautious. There was a quiet insolence in his tone, a confidence that implied he believed himself indispensable.

And perhaps he was.

But even a man like that needed someone to watch over him. Keep his ego in check.

Ricky had always intended to trim the weeds before they strangled the garden.

The other Stage 3 warriors would have been handled sooner or later—but Darius? Darius was a different kind of threat.

Unknowingly, he’d grown into a wild card.

So Ricky chose to act. Quickly, decisively.

And Gorath... well, Gorath was a convenient counterweight.

A perfect chain.

Of course, if Ricky wanted to, he could snap Darius’s pride like a twig. With the mother-and-son poison link embedded deep within the warrior’s soul, Darius was no more than a puppet wearing a lion’s skin.

He could make him dance.

Make him kneel.

Make him beg.

But that would be boring. Predictable.

What Ricky truly wanted was to see how much further Darius could grow under pressure.

And perhaps... how much he would break first.

Still, Ricky agreed with Gorath’s words—right up until their short exchange was interrupted.

"Gorath, quickly heal him."

The command came sharp and sudden. Ricky’s voice didn’t rise in volume, but it carried the weight of authority, cutting through the stale battlefield air like a blade.

Gorath didn’t hesitate.

The towering giant immediately nodded and lumbered toward Darius, ready to carry out the order. To him, Ricky’s commands weren’t suggestions—they were divine decrees, impossible to refuse.

But just as he knelt beside the broken warrior, Gorath’s face twisted.

His expression darkened. His jaw clenched. And his eyes—those blazing, bestial eyes—briefly trembled with uncertainty.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Inwardly, Gorath was screaming in panic.

"Heal him!? How the hell am I supposed to do that!?"

He didn’t know the first thing about healing techniques. As someone born from a prestigious lineage—an ancient bloodline blessed with monstrous regeneration—he had never needed to heal another. His wounds stitched themselves shut before they became problems. Why would a monster like him learn something as gentle as healing?

But now? Now he had no choice.

Ricky had spoken.

And when Ricky spoke, the world obeyed—Gorath included.

No matter how absurd or unnatural it felt, the Venom Fang Overlord’s word was absolute.

He had to find a way.

Darius, even in his broken state, noticed the flicker of confusion in Gorath’s face. That hesitation, subtle as it was, didn’t escape him.

Something’s wrong.

What is this bastard planning?

His instincts screamed caution, but his body was too far gone to act on them.

Still, he bit down on the fog of exhaustion clouding his mind, gathered the last vestiges of his strength, and forced out a shaky question:

"W-What do you... want to do?"

His voice was barely a whisper, lips trembling, breath faint.

He didn’t trust Gorath—not in the slightest.

The flaming giant didn’t answer. He didn’t offer reassurance or explanation. He didn’t even look Darius in the eye.

Instead, he extended one massive hand—and sliced it open with his claw.

A gash opened across his thick palm, and a rush of dark, crimson blood surged forth, steaming slightly as it met the cool air. It splattered onto Darius’s face in thick, burning drops.

Darius flinched, startled, but his senses—dulled though they were—flared to life the moment the blood touched him.

There was power in it.

No... there was essence in it.

His battered body instinctively recognized the energy flowing into him—

Blood essence!

This was no ordinary blood. This was the distilled life force of a powerful bloodline, the sacred fuel that monsters rarely—if ever—shared with others.

And yet, Gorath had offered it without hesitation.

He was healing him.

With his own essence.

Darius froze. The pain didn’t fade right away, but something deeper stirred. A strange warmth spread through his chest, filling in cracks, stitching broken bones, and coaxing torn muscles to knit back together. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

This...

Darius didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know what to think.

He had prepared himself for pain, betrayal, even death. But not... this.

Not the blood of a giant monster being used to save his life.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

He was dumbfounded—caught between disbelief and confusion, his mind unable to make sense of what had just happened.

And as the warmth of Gorath’s bloodline flowed through him, healing what should have taken weeks to recover, Darius was forced to reconsider the monster kneeling beside him.

Maybe this world was far more complicated than pride and strength alone.