{Chapter: 154: Injection of Toxins}
Dex glanced at his own wound. The damage was already closing. The writhing blood vessels pulled back into the muscle, and the skin knit itself together with unnatural speed. The remaining toxins, still in his body, were ignored like a mild itch. His regenerative abilities were far beyond that of mortal beings.
A slow, malicious grin stretched across his face as he looked at Emerson. "Decisive," Dex said, voice a rumble of amusement layered with cruelty. "Very good. I was planning to inject all the toxins back into you…"
His tone was mocking, as if amused at the elf's attempt to harm him.
If Emerson's weapon had carried holy properties or exorcising power, perhaps it might have given Dex pause. But a simple poison and curse? That was child's play.
Dex was a demon. His flesh was born of the Abyss, tempered in the corrupt fires of chaos. Poisons and curses weren't his enemies — they were nourishment. What others feared, he thrived upon. Unless it was an exceptionally rare or god-forged toxin, such effects only strengthened him.
What had been meant to harm him merely bolstered his stamina.
But what he had injected into Emerson — in addition to the toxin contained in the opponent's blade, also included the powerful plague that came with his innate ability..
That was no ordinary plague. It was a virulent disease created by Dex's own biology, enhanced by his demonic lineage. It was a corrosive affliction capable of killing even creatures of elemental energy — spirits, wraiths, and even golems weren't immune to it. It devoured both body and soul.
Had Emerson hesitated by even a tenth of a second, his internal organs would have liquefied.
Across the battlefield, the severed arm convulsed violently, grotesque blisters and tumors sprouting across its surface. In mere seconds, it was covered in pus and decay, the skin flaking and bubbling as the flesh melted like wax.
"Bastard…" Emerson spat, his face twisted in fury and pain.
He staggered back a step, clutching the bleeding stump of his arm, fury mixing with grim relief. He had survived — barely. But he had also learned a chilling truth.
He wasn't just facing a powerful enemy.
He was facing something far beyond his understanding — a predator that treated poison like wine and shrugged off death like a passing inconvenience.
And worse still, it was enjoying this.
As a demigod, Emerson's body possessed immense resilience. His divine bloodline granted him a powerful resistance to most toxins and curses. But the way his severed arm decayed into a festering, pus-soaked mess in mere seconds—with traces of dark energy still lingering—proved one thing beyond doubt: whatever substance had been injected into him was far beyond ordinary poison. It was something vile. Something crafted in the deepest pits of hell.
Had he hesitated for even a heartbeat longer, had his instincts dulled for just one instant, the infection would've crawled through his veins like wildfire. The consequences would have been catastrophic.
Now, gripping his cursed blade tightly in his remaining hand, Emerson's entire body tensed like a drawn bow. His vigilance was absolute. The smallest lapse in awareness could mean a gruesome death. He subtly activated a concealed communication talisman tucked into his armor, a last resort to buy time—time he might not have.
Dex, unaware of the call for help, moved like a predator—slow, silent, and impossibly confident. He circled his wounded prey with exaggerated calmness, grinning with the unholy glee of something that enjoyed pain not just as a means to victory, but as a reward in itself. His burning red eyes gleamed like coals beneath a shroud of malice.
He chuckled darkly, voice as sharp and deep as iron scraping stone. "You… you're a demigod in this world, aren't you? Judging by your energy signature and divine scent, your rank's just a bit higher than mine. It's a shame, really. If you hadn't gotten cocky after landing that hit earlier, you might not be bleeding like a butchered animal."
Emerson's eyes narrowed. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by reluctant acknowledgment. Dex… was just a [Middle-level Demon]? That couldn't be right. His power, his speed, his resilience—it felt like battling a corrupted god. Still, Emerson steadied his breath and replied coldly, "So what? Even gods make mistakes. There's no shame in paying the price for a lapse in judgment."
His words were proud, defiant, but his chest burned with bitter regret. Had he underestimated his opponent? Had he relied too much on his racial superiority, on his divine gifts? The answer was all too clear.
Dex, sensing the doubt, smirked with mock sympathy. He slowly raised a clawed hand and pointed at the rotting severed arm twitching on the ground beside Emerson.
"Oh, by the way," he said, voice dripping with venom. "I forgot to mention something important. What I injected into you? It's not just poison. It's a plague. A living, breathing pathogen—something far more insidious. It seeps through skin, floats on air, and worms its way into flesh. What you felt through your wound was the concentrated strain... but even airborne, it still kills."
He grinned wider, fangs glistening.
"If we're keeping time… then I'd say it's starting to work right about now."
As soon as he finished speaking, Emerson's face, which was not very good to begin with, froze. His originally pale face suddenly turned red, and his body's senses began to slow down rapidly.
Emerson's knees buckled slightly. His pallid skin flushed with a strange heat. A wave of dizziness surged through his skull like boiling tar. His breathing grew ragged. His senses dulled. Every motion felt sluggish, like he was moving through thick mud. His divine energy, usually so responsive, now sputtered like a candle in the wind.
Though not immediately lethal, the symptoms were crippling. In battle—especially against a demon like Dex—they were a death sentence.
Dex, having patiently stalked him for this exact moment, lunged forward with a monstrous roar.
His massive hand shot out, fingers curled like steel hooks, targeting Emerson's throat with brutal finality.
The air cracked.
Emerson, despite the swirling vertigo in his mind, tried to vanish into the Shadow Realm. His body shimmered, divine magic surging—
But then snapped—a backlash from within. His energy coiled in resistance. Something inside his bloodstream surged and blocked the spell. He gasped, realizing that the impurities from the plague were interfering with his teleportation ability.
He felt a large amount of impurities in his body, blocking his actions at all costs. Although he could spend some time cleaning them up, it was obvious that he didn't have the time at the moment…
Although the sudden physical condition is far from fatal and can be recovered by taking some time to adjust the body, in the current situation, these negative conditions are completely fatal factors.
He needed time to purge them. Seconds—no, milliseconds.
He didn't have them.
Dex's clawed hand slammed into the man's throat with the full force of a falling mountain, talons digging deep into flesh and bone.
Crack.
The sickening sound of shattering vertebrae tore through the battlefield like a thunderclap, echoing amidst the silence of death and destruction. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the victim's body convulsed violently, his limbs thrashing in a last, desperate bid for survival.
Just when he thought he was about to die,
Just as the light in his eyes began to fade, a radiant golden streak—pure and divine—howled through the air from more than ten kilometers away. It shot toward Dex like a blazing comet, aiming straight for his skull, desperate to stop the killing blow, trying to stop his actions.
But Dex didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Didn't care.
He tightened his grip.
Crack… Crrrackkk…
The neck buckled under his monstrous strength, bones splintering like dry twigs. Flesh tore, tendons snapped, and with one final savage twist, the man's head was ripped clean from his shoulders in a spray of arterial blood.
Thud. The headless corpse collapsed to the dirt like a discarded puppet.
BOOM!
The golden light struck Dex dead-on in the face a heartbeat later—exploding in a blinding inferno of divine fury. The earth shook. Dust and flame engulfed the area. The air trembled with raw energy in a violent explosion.
But even through the smoke and fire… Dex stood tall, unmoved, blood dripping from his claws like ink from a broken quill.
He turned his head slowly, eyes glowing like coals.
"Next."
*****
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