{Chapter: 164: New Changes}
"Hiss…" Henry Moore sighed, watching the two titans wrestle in the mud like children.
He shook his head. If this was the kind of authority they were relying on for answers, perhaps they were all doomed.
After much heated discussion, most of the demigods and commanding officers present came to a consensus: open the defense barrier at full strength for several days and monitor the situation carefully. If any signs of abnormal activity reappeared, they would retreat immediately without hesitation.
---
Dozens of days passed.
Deep within the extra-dimensional pocket space that connected to the material plane, Dex was finally completing the fine-tuned adjustments necessary after his interrupted transformation evolution. The backlash had left behind a series of imbalances and internal distortions, but his near-obsessive self-control and mastery over his own evolution system allowed him to stabilize it.
With a slow, controlled breath, Dex opened a spatial rift and stepped through.
He re-emerged into the material world, and with him came a noticeable shift in atmosphere.
His appearance had changed—subtly, yet unmistakably.
The elf-like, slender ears he once had were now gone. In their place, a pair of small wings had sprouted—miniature versions of the larger wings adorning his back, flickering with dark energy and fine magical veins. Even more striking was the vertical pupil that had opened on his forehead, a third eye shimmering like a gem set in ancient runes.
It wasn't just for show.
His perception had ascended to another realm. His vision now allowed him to track even the faintest distortions in space. The very teleportation trails left by others were now visible to him—lines of power painted across the sky like streaks of light. His hearing, too, had deepened, attuned to echoes from faraway planes.
Perhaps, with further progression, he might one day match the mythical feats described in ancient Eastern scriptures—able to gaze into the heavens, and peer into the deepest pits of the underworld.
But the changes didn't stop there.
The death-flower pattern embedded into his skin had also morphed. Their roots twisted into complex runes, forming an intricate, living script that ran across his body like a second skin while keeping their looks and beauty. These runes glowed faintly with ever-changing light, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. They weren't just aesthetic; they were functional—channeling energy, casting enchantments, and amplifying his evolving nature.
His appearance had become even more striking—eerily magnificent and devastatingly handsome. The transformation endowed Dex with an unnatural beauty that radiated a sinister allure, an otherworldly charm that could captivate the senses and draw people in without them even realizing it. There was something intoxicating, almost addictive, in the way he looked now. He exuded the kind of dark charisma that both repelled and fascinated, a contradiction that made him all the more compelling.
He tilted his head and rotated his neck in a full 360-degree arc, bones cracking audibly as he moved with unnatural fluidity. With a few casual stretches, his body emitted a slight hum of energy, signaling that he was still adjusting to his newfound form.
Dex glanced down at the earth beneath his feet, where deep fissures were beginning to spiderweb out in all directions. The moment he stepped onto the ground, the soil began to wither and dry up as if all life had been drained from it. Within seconds, the area around him—spanning dozens of square meters—had turned into a lifeless, dead zone, and the decay continued to expand outward like a spreading infection.
"Feels like I've become some sort of drought demon," he muttered to himself with a dry chuckle, watching the dying land crack beneath him.
But he didn't dwell on it. In truth, this was nothing new to him. As a demon, he had long accepted his place as a pariah, a cursed intruder in every world he visited. It was the natural reaction of the universe to his presence. He had always been an unwelcome anomaly—a walking violation of cosmic balance. The world rejected him simply because it could and did not want to contain him.
"Eh, whatever. I'm used to being hated anyway," he murmured casually, brushing it off. "A little rejection never killed anyone. As long as I keep my heart open and my goals clear, nothing's really a problem."
With that, the two pairs of wings on his back unfurled with a mighty flutter. One pair was ethereal, glowing faintly with blood-red energy, while the other appeared more shadowy, woven from mist and bone. The moment they spread out, a small shockwave rippled through the air.
With a swift beat of his wings, Dex launched into the sky, slicing through the air like a comet.
As had become tradition after each transformation, Dex sought out an opponent—someone strong enough to test his new abilities. This habit had become a ritual, almost a sacred moment of reckoning for him. It wasn't just about proving his strength to others, but about understanding his own limits—his place on the ever-changing food chain of power.
And although this particular transformation had only been halfway completed, he still felt the need to assess where he stood.
Thanks to his heightened perception, it didn't take long for Dex to lock onto a suitable target—one radiating considerable power, and, more importantly, someone who hadn't gone into hiding.
His speed increased rapidly, his body tearing through clouds and compressing the air around him with every beat of his wings. He didn't bother to mask his presence; on the contrary, he wanted to be noticed.
And noticed he was.
As he closed in on his target, the demon standing on the distant peak finally turned his gaze upward. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and hostility the moment he sensed Dex's overwhelming aura drawing closer.
Dex slowed and hovered above him, looking down with a faint, knowing smile.
"I want to fight you," he said simply, voice calm yet unwavering, as if announcing an inevitable truth rather than making a request.
The demon—Jarrot—snarled, nostrils flaring. Dex's scent hit him like a tidal wave, pungent with corrupted mana and twisted essence. But there was more than just power in that scent. It carried whispers—whispers that slithered into his mind like parasites, chaotic and maddening.
It made Jarrot's skin crawl.
He wanted to attack, to wipe the smirk off Dex's face, but something in the air warned him against it. The way Dex simply stood there—utterly unafraid—radiating composure and confidence, was enough to make any seasoned warrior hesitate.
An oppressive silence fell between them, thick and heavy like a storm on the verge of breaking.
But Dex didn't push further with words.
With a simple wave of his hand, several blood-red spears materialized in the air—burning with searing crimson flame and laced with demonic energy. Without hesitation, he hurled them at Jarrot with deadly accuracy.
That was all the provocation Jarrot needed.
Already on edge and burning with anger, Jarrot exploded into action. His body split into dozens of identical clones, all of them charging at Dex like a swarm of furious hornets.
Dex didn't move. He didn't flinch. He stood there, calm and still, allowing the barrage of attacks to strike him dead-on.
"BOOM!"
The impact was cataclysmic.
A violent explosion tore through the sky, displacing all air in the area and creating a vacuum for a brief moment. The resulting shockwave shattered clouds and sent debris flying in every direction.
But even as the dust settled, it was clear something was wrong.
Jarrot's eyes widened in disbelief.
Dex remained completely unharmed.
Not a scratch on him. Not even a wrinkle in his exoskeleton.
His aura had absorbed and deflected the entire assault as if it were nothing more than a gust of wind.
Jarrot stared at him, stunned.
All that force, all that effort—and it had done absolutely nothing.
In that moment, an unshakable realization crept into his heart like ice down his spine.
"This is bad… very, very bad."
*****
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