SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 96: For survival!

"Young one, I am moved by your spirit," Ricky said at last, his voice slow and deliberate, carrying an odd weight of solemnity. His monstrous features settled into something that almost resembled a sage’s expression—if one could imagine wisdom etched into the face of a segmented-armored nightmare.

"There is no need for you to waste time finding those worthless things."

As he finished speaking, a sharp click echoed—a cold, metallic sound—as his segmented forelimbs tapped together.

Click.

A pulse of invisible force swept through the area. In the blink of an eye, the dry and dusty wooden floor transformed.

Lush greenery bloomed from the earth as if time had been reversed. The stale air became rich, saturated with spiritual vitality. The faint scent of wild herbs and fragrant nectar invaded the senses. Where there had been only cracked woods moments ago, now stood a vibrant treasures filled with an overwhelming variety of exotic flora.

Five Petaled Lotus... Soul Calming Grass... Sun and Moon Milk...

Valemont’s breath caught in his throat. His pupils dilated as his eyes darted from one miraculous herb to the next, as if afraid they’d vanish the moment he blinked. The spiritual energy emanating from them was so pure it made his skin tingle.

There were not dozens—but hundreds.

He didn’t need to count to know. Every single ingredient required to refine the Spiritual Force Strengthening Pills was here. And not just in quantity—these were peak-quality specimens, rare even in the most affluent sect vaults.

He muttered under his breath, half in awe, half in disbelief. "This is... this is enough to refine thousands..."

His heart pounded. He mentally retraced Ricky’s earlier words, weighing them against the scale of what now stood before him. A terrifying thought struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Could it be...?

He froze. His mind raced.

Then, with a slow exhale, clarity returned to his eyes like clouds parting after a storm.

Yes.

This was no test of quantity or obedience. It was a test of spirit—of ambition. The kind of test only a true alchemist would understand.

The Venom Fang Overlord didn’t care about refining a mere hundred pills. No, such a number would be an insult. He wanted excellence. Devotion. A display of mastery so overwhelming that it could shake the heavens.

A thousand pills... he wants me to refine a thousand of them.

Valemont nearly laughed out loud—not in amusement, but in disbelief at how absurdly logical it all seemed. His shoulders loosened as an odd sense of relief washed over him. Somehow, recognizing the scale of the challenge made it feel doable.

At least now he knew the parameters.

And thankfully—for now—Ricky couldn’t read minds.

If he could...

If Ricky even glimpsed the hurricane of panic and awe storming within Valemont’s heart, he might just reel over in shock. This supposed ’genius alchemist’ was barely keeping himself from screaming.

Just what the hell is wrong with this guy...?

Unaware of Valemont’s internal turmoil, Ricky calmly observed as the young man began laying out his tools, organizing the ingredients with care and precision. There was a rare stillness in the air, as if nature itself held its breath to watch the birth of alchemy.

After offering a few brief words of encouragement—short, weighty phrases laced with a wisdom far beyond his years—Ricky spread his iridescent wings. With a soft hum of power, he ascended into the sky, leaving behind a swirling breeze and the faint shimmer of his spiritual aura.

The wind stirred the leaves in his wake.

And then... silence.

---

One week later.

"Damn," Ricky muttered under his breath, his tone edged with annoyance as he stared at the translucent blue window flickering before his compound eyes. "Even after upgrading it three times, the one-year cooldown still remains?"

The interface remained unmoved, its glowing letters sharp and precise:

[Mother and Son Poison (C-Rank)]

Any creature infected with this poison will become your eternal servant, with their life and death in your hands].

Ricky clicked his tongue—or rather, emitted a sharp clack from his mandibles. He had already poured an immense amount of energy into upgrading this skill, hoping to bend its mechanics to his will.

Three times.

Three separate evolutions.

And yet, the result remained the same—unchanged, as if mocking him.

That one-year cooldown was immovable.

A single, stubborn number. And it wouldn’t have mattered—shouldn’t have mattered—except...

He had used over a hundred thousand years of lifespan to enhance the ability.

His total remaining lifespan now hovered at a dangerously low number: 500,000 years.

To any mortal, that span of time would be akin to eternity.

But to Ricky—whose every step forward demanded sacrifice, whose growth was tied to ancient, brutal forces—it felt like a ominous wall. One mistake, one wrong encounter, and those years would vanish like smoke in the wind.

He stood atop a twisted cliff, looking down at the valley below. The landscape stretched endlessly—rolling hills draped in mist, forests still cloaked in morning dew. The wind whistled past him, cold and sharp, tousling the black fur on his insectoid limbs and making his mandibles twitch.

Ricky exhaled—a slow, weary sound.

"Is there really no way to reduce the cooldown?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

The system remained silent. The window blinked once, then faded into nothingness, leaving only the sound of the breeze and the faint rustle of swaying trees.

The rising sun cast golden light across the sky, but it did little to warm him. The world remained bright, but Ricky’s silhouette—alone against the skyline—felt strangely hollow, as if burdened by the weight of time itself.

His wings did not flutter.

His shadow stretched long across the stone, unmoving.

He looked powerful.

But in this quiet moment...

He looked utterly alone.

Just then, a cold chime rang out within Ricky’s consciousness.

[System Prompt: The host may expend 100,000 years of lifespan to bypass the cooldown of this skill. Successive uses will double the cost.]

Ricky blinked—stunned into stillness.

For a moment, the wind, the world, even time itself seemed to hold its breath.

"...What?" he muttered under his breath, antennae twitching as the words echoed through his mind. He had never expected the system to throw him such a surprise. His heart—or whatever passed for one in his current form—skipped a beat.

He almost leapt into the air with elation.

Almost.

But as his eyes traced the final line of the prompt, his joy was smothered by a heavy, creeping weight.

Successive uses will double the cost.

The implications hit him like a falling mountain.

If he used Mother and Son Poison now—right now—it would cost him 100,000 years of his life. A painful, but perhaps manageable trade. But if he dared to use it again before the cooldown naturally reset, he would have to pay 200,000 years.

A third time?

400,000.

The numbers escalated with a merciless, exponential cruelty. Within three uses, he would be drained to the bone. His entire lifespan—already carved down to half a million years—would vanish like sand through his fingers.

The dream of enslaving entire armies, binding a host of minions to his will with this insidious poison, shattered before it could fully form.

He clicked his mandibles quietly, lowering his head slightly, as if the weight of the future had physically pressed against him.

What if—just what if—one of those non- enslaved subordinates suddenly turned against him?

What if something older, darker, and vastly more intelligent than him hijacked one of their bodies?

The possibility sounded far-fetched.

But then again... wasn’t that exactly how he had ended up here?

He had transmigrated without warning, without cause, without any kind of preparation. One moment, he was in another life—another world—and the next, his soul had slipped into the body of a mosquito, reborn as this strange creature of venom and power.

And the reason behind that?

Still a complete mystery.

If it had happened to him, then surely it could happen again—to anyone. Maybe even to those standing loyally beside him, wearing friendly faces while harboring alien souls.

Watching him move around like fool, internally snickering, sharpening their fangs.

What if they were just waiting, biding their time, until the perfect moment to strike?

If he didn’t prepare for the worst case scenario when he could, then there would be no one to blame other than himself and his own stupidity.

The thought alone was enough to send an unnatural chill crawling across his carapace. The breeze was no longer refreshing—it was unsettling. Like the breath of something unseen brushing against the back of his neck.

Ricky’s multifaceted eyes narrowed.

He didn’t trust fate. He didn’t trust luck. And most of all, he didn’t trust anyone else.

There would be no careless uses of Mother and Son Poison. Not unless he was prepared to deal with the worst-case scenario.

And from this moment on, he would assume that every single subordinate could betray him.

It wasn’t paranoia. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

It was survival.

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