SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 42: Let them come

[STATUS WINDOW]

[Stage 2, Rank 1]

[Name: Ricky Stormwind]

[Bloodline: Venom Fang Mosquito]

[Lifespan: 234 years]

[Evolution Progress: 17%]

[Spiritual Force: 1.5]

After the slaughter, Ricky hovered in silence. His spiritual field pulsed gently around him, the black tendrils of darkness retracting as the bodies below him cooled.

He flexed his proboscis, still wet with blood.

The energy gained from this brief massacre had refilled his reserves. The lifespan spent to form the spiritual seed had been reclaimed. But even now, as he drifted in the sky like a phantom wreathed in wind, his thoughts moving at lightning speed.

"But still, it’s not enough."

His wings buzzed with frustration.

"The lifespan drain skill is too slow..."

If only he could evolve it. Just one upgrade—just one push in the right direction—and he might be able to drain years of vitality with a single bite.

But he could only sigh, as Innate skill couldn’t be upgraded using Lifespan.

His mind swirled with dark possibilities.

"Maybe after the next evolution..."

He looked toward the forest canopy below. There—a ripple in the web of connections he’d threaded through the forest.

The sleeper cells.

His eyes narrowed.

Without a word, he tilted forward—and shot across the treetops.

Like a spear hurled by fate.

But he didn’t have to travel far. Something strange was happening.

They’re moving... all of them.

Dozens of infected cultists were converging in his direction, as if pulled by an invisible force.

A grin touched Ricky’s lips, cold and crooked.

"You’re saving me the trouble."

He rose higher into the sky, his silhouette vanishing into the silver clouds. From above, he saw the forest ripple like a living thing, branches parting as the cultists sprinted beneath, unaware of what watched from the skies.

---

Beneath the veil of trees, the scent of incense wafted through the air.

Somewhere in a shaded grove, an altar glowed dimly with oil lamps and blood-streaked stone. Ancient chants echoed, reverberating like divine prayer.

"O Lord of the Abyss, devourer of light... we praise your hunger—eternal, endless, beautiful in its perfect ruin."

The voice trembled with devotion.

High Priest Ghostly Face sat cross-legged before the altar, his long robes soaked in layers of oil and blood, head bowed in worship.

Then—

His eyelid twitched.

A strange stillness fell over him. And then, like a wound splitting open, tears began to stream down one half of his face.

"My babies..."

The cry that escaped his mouth sounded less like a warlord and more like a mother mourning the death of her children.

Several low-ranking cultists, standing guard nearby, exchanged glances. Unease spread like wildfire through the camp. They had never seen the High Priest cry before—much less like this.

Then—

Crack.

The other side of his face contorted. Righteous fury twisted his features—one half sobbing, the other burning with hate.

An eerie contrast. Like a mask caught between joy and grief.

But it didn’t last.

Just as quickly as it came, every emotion vanished. His face turned blank. Unmoving. Like a corpse.

"Interesting..." he muttered. "A mere pest managed to reach Stage 2."

He rose to his feet. His spiritual aura rolled out like a tidal wave, crashing over the nearby cultists and flattening some to the ground.

"Send command," he said calmly. "I will personally lead a team of Stage 2 beings to hunt that demonic creature down."

"If anyone dares to interfere..."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"...they will be cut down on the spot."

The order rippled outward.

Several guards went pale. One of them gulped audibly.

"Heaven help us," someone whispered. "They thought it was just a mosquito..."

"How could such a thing be possible...?"

---

But while the Abyssal Pact mobilized for war.

The demon moved.

The Mosquito King.

Like a silver streak, Ricky surged over the canopy. His limbs, still stained with cultist blood, gleamed in the rising dawn.

Then—

He spotted them.

Below, in a long winding line, another group of cultists cut through the forest like a blade of wind. Their movements were sharp, purposeful. Most of them were sleeper cells, tainted from within, unknowingly marching to their doom.

From high above, Ricky’s gaze locked onto them.

His killing intent surged. The wind around him warped.

They felt it.

A sudden, inexplicable chill brushed their spines.

"Who’s there!?" someone barked. "Reveal yourself!"

But Ricky didn’t answer.

He fell.

Like the divine spear of judgment hurled by gods.

Mid-flight, his wings snapped wide. A gust of mana-charged wind exploded downward, flattening trees and throwing leaves skyward.

Then—

Swish.

He landed in their midst. A meteor of blood and darkness.

The moment he touched the earth—

Slaughter began.

His claws tore through flesh like parchment.

His proboscis plunged into necks and spines, draining life before a scream could leave their lips.

[+74 Days of Lifespan Absorbed]

[+94 Days of Lifespan Absorbed]

[+65 Days of Lifespan Absorbed]

They tried to fight back. They really did.

But their spells fizzled against his spiritual field. Their blades bounced off his reinforced armor. And every second they hesitated...

Another body dropped.

A minute passed. Maybe less.

When the final scream died, only Ricky stood.

---

[STATUS WINDOW]

[Stage 2, Rank 1]

[Name: Ricky Stormwind]

[Bloodline: Venom Fang Mosquito]

[Lifespan: 334 years]

[Evolution Progress: 17.7%]

[Spiritual Force: 1.5]

Ricky hovered just above the ground, arms slick with gore. He gazed at the numbers calmly.

Another year.

"I have to move fast," he whispered. "Take advantage of the confusion... before they react."

He wasn’t arrogant. He knew the truth—these victories were only possible because there were no Stage 2 enemies nearby.

If even one had joined the fight, things would’ve been very different.

So, he moved.

Faster. Sharper. More decisive.

A silver blur through the trees.

Wherever he went, cultists died like cattle. Human invaders became meat, their essence pulled into him like falling stars.

And in the silent undergrowth—

The forest watched.

Animals, who for the past month had hidden in caves and shadows, emerged.

First, a squirrel. Then a rabbit. Then birds, foxes, even a massive panther. They watched from a distance as Ricky passed by—unstoppable, untouchable.

A new king had risen.

One that didn’t speak their tongue—but one who defended their home.

They cheered in silence.

Even the wind seemed to sing for him.

While beasts cheered, humans trembled.

Every rustle of a leaf. Every broken twig. Every drifting shadow—filled their heart with terror.

It might be him.

The night passed.

---

Next Morning.

By the time dawn kissed the horizon, Ricky had hunted without pause for hours.

Dozens of sleeper cells. Hundreds of scattered cultists. All had been drained dry.

[Lifespan Absorbed: +500 years]

If he stopped now—if he stopped here—he could outlive most Stage 2 beings.

And yet—

He didn’t stop.

He floated in the wind, triumphant.

Then he paused.

Three auras.

Fiery, vibrant, unmistakably strong. Moving fast. Two unfamiliar. One familiar.

His mind flicked to a memory—

A knight girl.

Fierce. Determined. The one who’d tried to hunt him weeks ago, but escaped with her tail tucked in between her legs.

As he locked onto her approaching aura, something strange happened.

Her spiritual signature wavered. Then—it turned. She was retreating.

Running.

She sensed him.

Ricky hovered in place.

He didn’t chase. He didn’t strike.

Instead, he waited.

Silent. Watchful. Cold.

Let them come.

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