SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer
Chapter 62: Tyrant Brutes

Chapter 62: Tyrant Brutes

"Divine Researcher Saint Selene Veylor..."

Ricky muttered the name, tasting the unfamiliar syllables on his spiritual tongue. It meant nothing to him. He didn’t know what a Divine Researcher was, and he sure as hell had never heard of anyone named Selene Veylor.

His confusion was plain to see—antennae twitching, compound eyes slightly widened, mandibles parted in uncertainty.

The Guardian spirit noticed it immediately. A glimmer of disdain flickered in her cold silver irises, and for a fleeting second, her expression turned several degrees frostier.

Pathetic.

How could a creature this ignorant be selected as one of the candidates for her creator’s sacred inheritance?

The Guardian spirit’s thoughts churned silently behind her pale, flawless features, but Ricky wasn’t oblivious. His gaze had been locked onto her ever since she spoke, observing every micro-expression and slight shift in posture. He didn’t miss the subtle change in her face—however quickly it vanished.

And that worried him.

Mandibles twitched with unease. He could feel the tension wrapping around his thorax like an invisible coil. If this woman decided to act against him, he doubted he’d have much of a chance. But that didn’t mean he’d go down without a fight.

Deep within his core, his Darkness spiritual seed pulsed with faint light, a low hum of anticipation spreading through his body like wildfire. It was excited. Eager. As if longing for conflict.

"Good guy..." Ricky frowned slightly. That seed again—it was getting stranger by the hour. Ever since he had formed it, it had shown signs of possessing... desires? Instincts of its own?

But before he could ponder further, the Guardian spirit’s cold voice cut through the silence like a shard of obsidian.

"Follow me. We are leaving. Because of you, the trial is already late."

There was no warmth in her tone, no room for negotiation. She didn’t wait for his response. Her body shimmered, radiant spiritual energy enveloping her like a translucent veil.

"Wait—leaving? To where?!"

He wanted to ask a hundred questions, to demand clarity, but none of it mattered. The moment the Guardian spirit activated her power, Ricky felt the space around him thicken, like he had been dunked in a vat of slow-moving jelly. A familiar pressure twisted around his form, and the air vibrated as spacetime bent unnaturally.

Just like before—when he had first entered the inheritance ground.

The scenery around him dissolved like smoke.

And when it reformed, Ricky found himself somewhere completely different.

"Um?" His voice was laced with awe.

He floated in a titanic palace that defied belief.

The ceiling stretched into the sky itself, thousands of meters above him, so high it blurred at the top. Intricate patterns of starlight and constellations danced along the golden arches, and glowing runes swam across the marble floors like living things.

The air was thick with ancient power, humming with reverence and silence.

Directly ahead of him was an enormous altar—easily six hundred meters in diameter—crafted from pristine white marble. Complex runes and sacred symbols were carved with supernatural precision across its surface, glowing faintly with spiritual light.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of wooden chairs were arranged around the altar. Simple at first glance, yet each chair radiated its own aura of mystery and quiet power.

And to his growing disbelief, many of those chairs were already occupied.

Figures sat silently, most of them with eyes closed, but each one exuding a presence so vast and domineering that Ricky’s wings stopped flapping mid-air.

He felt like am ant in front of giants.

Even from a distance, Ricky could tell—none of these beings were Stage 2.

They were beyond that.

Stage 3 monsters and cultivators... the kind of existences one would only hear about in legends. They didn’t just radiate strength—they were strength. Beings who had walked the path of power far longer than Ricky had even been alive.

Stage 3 humans—Rising Sun Magi.

Stage 3 monsters—Tyrant Brutes.

Immortal-like creatures capable of living a thousand years. Or more.

Ricky’s mind reeled, but even amidst awe and disbelief, one particular, greedy thought pushed to the surface:

"If I could absorb all of their lifespan..."

His mandibles parted slightly as he drooled at the idea. It was an absurd, suicidal fantasy—but it lingered all the same.

And then, as if sensing the greedy itch in his heart, the Stage 3 beings opened their eyes.

Their gazes hit him like a crashing tsunami.

Ricky froze, his exoskeleton locking in place.

It felt like his soul had been peeled open and laid bare. As if every hidden desire, every corrupt instinct, was exposed under their cold scrutiny.

But just as quickly, they looked away. One by one.

Dismissed.

Unworthy.

A stage 2 pest with delusions of grandeur.

Ricky exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

The gathered beings turned their attention to the Guardian spirit, who now floated ahead of Ricky with her usual composure.

"We welcome the Guardian spirit..."

The voices echoed in unison, deep and respectful.

The Guardian spirit’s expression softened. For the first time, her lips curled into something resembling a smile. It seemed praise from beings of their stature pleased her greatly.

Ricky made a mental note.

Praise equals favor.

Then she turned to him.

"Take your seat. There is still some time before the trial officially begins."

Without hesitation, Ricky nodded and darted toward an unoccupied chair, ensuring he picked one that wasn’t too close to the intimidating cluster of Stage 3 powerhouses.

As he landed on the seat, he immediately noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere.

A strange force enveloped his form—a gentle, calming field that soothed his mind and quieted his racing thoughts. The spiritual seed inside him pulsed in harmony, drawing mana from the air at a noticeably faster rate.

Ricky blinked in surprise.

He leapt off the chair—and the sensation vanished. The calm disappeared. His absorption rate slowed.

"Hmmm... these chairs are some kind of spiritual artifacts," he murmured. "They help with cultivation... probably increase concentration and draw in ambient energy."

Just then, a loud, disdainful voice boomed from a nearby seat.

"What an ignorant pest. He’s surprised by such a simple treasure?"

Another voice snorted in agreement. "Can’t understand why the Guardian spirit would allow a simple pest to join the trial."

Ricky’s eyes narrowed—not because of the words themselves, but because he picked up on something beneath them.

Murderous intent.

Barely hidden, but present.

"Do I even know this clown?" he wondered, craning his head toward the source of the mockery.

What he saw made his antennae twitch.

A massive man—easily twenty feet tall—towered over the others. His very presence bent the air around him, like gravity itself was afraid. The man’s head alone was larger than Ricky’s entire body, and resting upon it was a jagged crown forged from some kind of deep crimson metal that glowed faintly with spiritual heat.

Ricky’s instincts screamed at him—this wasn’t a normal Stage 3 being.

This was something else.

And as his gaze scanned the rest of the room, he realized...

This wasn’t the only anomaly here.