SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 163: sheer will

"What is that?"

Just then, Ricky noticed something.

At the very heart of the vast inner cosmos, where all four spiritual spaces floated in silent orbit, there stood an ancient presence. It wasn’t a space, nor a seed—it was something deeper. Like a shadow older than time itself, it lingered there, watching. Its gaze swept across the three great spiritual spaces with the patience of a father watching his children struggle to grow, as though its very existence was tied to their survival.

For a brief moment, Ricky’s avian eyes softened. He had four spiritual spaces now, yet only one felt like his true flesh and blood—the first, the original. His bond with it was irreplaceable, and the sight stirred a deep, unspoken attachment within him.

But the warmth lasted only an instant.

There—on the surface of his original spiritual space—Ricky saw it. A hairline fracture, no larger than a fingernail, gleamed faintly against the vast expanse. From that crack seeped tendrils of darkness mana, bleeding out into the void like smoke escaping from a broken vessel.

Ricky’s face immediately hardened.

"This... can’t be happening."

At first, he tried to dismiss it as an illusion—a trick of perception born from the exhaustion of sacrificing so much lifespan. But the more he stared, the more undeniable it became. The crack was real. Worse still, it wasn’t static—it was growing. Inch by inch, moment by moment, the fracture crawled outward, creeping like the first splinters in a shattered mirror.

His heart sank, heavy and cold.

And then, before he could steady himself, a chill raced down his spine. His instincts roared in warning.

From the very site of the crack, strange patterns began to manifest. Runes—dark, shifting, and grotesque—etched themselves into being as though the void itself was birthing them.

"This aura—!!"

The pressure that spilled from those runes was foul beyond comprehension. It was vile, suffocating, alive. The marks writhed with intent, extending shadowy tendrils across the surface of his spiritual space, slithering and curling until they began to wrap around it completely.

Shing!

A piercing resonance tore through the void, sharp enough to make his soul quiver. The original space responded violently, unleashing a surge of force that multiplied severalfold in an instant. The delicate balance that had allowed the four spaces to coexist shattered like glass.

The other three began to drift—no, to fall—toward the original. As though compelled by an irresistible pull, they strained against the void itself, yearning to return to their root, their origin, their source.

Ricky could only watch, dread pooling in his chest, as the harmony of his foundation broke apart before his very eyes.

........

Ricky’s face immediately turned pale, his purple eyes narrowing into thin, dangerous slits.

"I can’t allow this to happen."

If the crack continued to grow, the fragile balance would shatter. All four spaces would collapse inward, colliding in a catastrophic implosion. The mere thought sent a chill into the core of his being.

Grinding his non-existent mandibles together, Ricky forced his will outward. His intent surged through the void like a command carved into the marrow of existence.

At once, the spiritual world responded.

It was as though some primordial beast had roused from eternal slumber. The vast domain quaked, reverberating with a deep hum that echoed across the infinite expanse. From the void, a faint shimmer appeared—darkness given form, flickering like liquid night.

That black radiance crept outward, slow but inexorable, until it began to coil around each spiritual space, weaving an intricate cocoon of restraint.

Ricky’s gaze glimmered with cold determination.

This light was no foreign power, no gift of heaven. It was the crystallization of his own spiritual force—raw will refined by years of battle and soaked in countless drops of blood.

In the earliest days of a cultivator’s path, spiritual force was little more than a faint whisper, unseen and intangible. But as strength grew, it sharpened into something more—visible, palpable, a force that bent the void around it.

For most warriors, its form reflected their elemental path. Ricky’s, of course, was steeped in shadow. His command of the darkness element had long since surpassed the boundaries of comprehension, brushing the edge of the forbidden.

Now, with the emergence of three additional spiritual spaces, the potential to branch into other elements—fire, water, lightning—lay open before him, a vast treasury of paths yet untouched.

But Ricky had chosen differently. He had not diverted his focus.

He did not need to.

Every fiber of his being was committed to darkness, his spiritual force saturated with it until even the void seemed to breathe in shadow.

The dark light wrapped itself tighter, layer upon layer, straining against the unnatural pull of the original space. The tremors continued to ripple, the balance still fragile, but for now... for now, the collapse was held at bay.

And indeed, in the next moment, the spiraling chaos ground to a halt.

The four spiritual spaces, once surging toward inevitable collision, froze in place—suspended like great celestial bodies bound by unseen chains.

Ricky’s spiritual force—an ocean of darkness—had managed to anchor them. As if thousands of black cables woven from unbreakable steel, his power stretched in every direction, clutching tightly onto each spiritual space and holding them apart.

Relief flickered across Ricky’s sharp features.

For the moment, the disaster had been contained.

For the moment, he still had control.

Or so he thought.

A deep tremor rolled through the void, reverberating like the roar of a collapsing world. It was no mere ripple—this was a tidal wave of spiritual destruction. Vast. Unstoppable. Hungry.

Ricky’s expression darkened. His purple eyes narrowed into knives as he steeled himself.

I stopped it once. I’ll stop it again.

But the surge was merciless.

BOOM!

The pressure multiplied in a single instant. The void itself seemed to shatter. His black cables—those countless tendrils binding the spaces in place—snapped one after another with deafening cracks.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

They broke like brittle glass beneath the weight of an endless storm.

Ricky’s chest tightened. His spiritual form flickered, edges unraveling under the unbearable strain. His consciousness reeled, hammered by waves of agony that tore deeper than any wound of flesh or bone.

"Damn it!"

The cry tore from him as his vision swam. His head felt like it would split apart. The pain was relentless, eating away at his will.

And in that moment, temptation whispered.

Why resist? Why endure?

If he simply let go, if he allowed the four spaces to collide, everything would end. No more torment. No more struggle. Just silence.

For the briefest heartbeat, Ricky’s resolve wavered.

But then—

A spark ignited within him. Not calm. Not resignation.

Anger.

Raw, venomous fury surged from the depths of his being. Anger at the pain. Anger at the vile runes invading his space. Anger at the thought of being reduced to nothing, erased like a worthless insect.

The darkness inside him roared.

It was unwilling to submit, not willing to bow down to any foreign forces

...but so what if it didn’t want to submit?

Reality was not built to bend to the whims and fancies of an individual. It was cruel, indifferent, and merciless.

The destructive force pressing for collapse swelled once again, more violent than before. Ricky’s jaw clenched, his expression twisted with fury as he poured every ounce of will into resisting the pull.

Snap!

The cables of darkness that he had woven shattered once more, torn apart by the merciless pressure. Yet in the very next breath, Ricky’s force surged again, reconstructing them—threading each broken filament back into existence as though defying the heavens themselves.

And again—snap!

Again—reconstructed.

The cycle repeated endlessly, a merciless loop of breaking and rebuilding.

Every time the tendrils of his spiritual force broke, they came back weaker, more brittle. Every time he forced them into being again, the toll on his consciousness grew heavier, the strain more unbearable.

With each repetition, Ricky’s complexion dimmed. The proud glow that once danced in his purple eyes dulled, fading like a dying flame in a storm.

After all, no matter how unyielding his will was, spiritual force was not infinite. Just like everything else in this world, it was a finite resource. With each wave of destruction and reconstruction, it was being consumed at an alarming rate.

But the storm showed no signs of stopping. The void trembled more violently than ever, pressing him toward despair.

Ricky’s breathing grew ragged. His head buzzed as if his very soul was being split apart. Yet the thought of surrendering—the thought of letting the three mighty spaces collapse and erase everything—was more suffocating than death itself.

And so, like a lone figure standing against an endless tide, he resisted. Again and again.

Even as the darkness within him began to flicker toward extinction.

The only thing that he wanted to do at this moment was to save the situation by any possible means.

In such a tense situation, Ricky mind entered a situation of tremendous focus only by sheer will.