Fwoosh!
The silvery blur tore through the air like a sword unsheathed by the heavens themselves. One mont the cultist was deep in his chant, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy — and in the very next, his body froze mid-motion.
A long, narrow cut split open his shoulders — clean, surgical, so precise that it seed almost gentle.
The cultist stumbled backward, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened in disbelief, unable to register what had happened.
"W-What...?"
He hadn't even seen the mosquito move.
Ricky hovered mid-air, wings thrumming at a pitch too high for normal ears. His body shimred faintly with silver-green light, and beneath his carapace, blood pulsed in rhythm with a power far exceeding the limits of Stage 2.
"You talk too much."
His voice didn't carry through the air — it slipped directly into the cultist's mind like a whisper from a god. Cold, calm, final.
The cultist scread — not in pain, but in terror.
Thud!
His robed arms dropped to the ground, limp. A mont later, blood splattered in a thick, crimson arc.
"No... no! This isn't possible! I was chosen! I was—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Ricky appeared behind him like a ghost through the mist.
Puchi!
Like a nail being driven into rotten wood, Ricky's proboscis sank into the cultist's back, bypassing flesh and striking deep.
A rush of warmth t him — the familiar sweetness of blood.
Or so he expected.
Almost instantly, Ricky's entire being recoiled.
This blood was vile. Bitter, thick, sour — like sewer sludge left to rot under the sun. It carried impurities so foul he could feel them corrupting his body.
But he didn't stop.
He focused, redirecting his thoughts toward the growing string of glowing system notifications flashing across his vision.
[39 days of Lifespan absorbed].
[50 days of Lifespan absorbed].
[69 days of Lifespan absorbed].
In re minutes, Ricky's reserves ballooned. Dozens of days, then months — and then years of stolen vitality coursed through his spiritual space like a flood.
The cultist, sensing his lifeforce draining like sand slipping through his fingers, howled in fury.
"Demonic being! Let go of , or the heavens will smite you!"
His voice, loud and distorted by hysteria, echoed through the forest. It struck like thunder, shaking weaker beasts to their core.
Realizing his helplessness, the cultist shifted tactics. Panic gave way to desperation, and desperation gave birth to threats.
"Damn pest! If you kill today, the Abyssal Pact will hunt you to the ends of the world—!"
"Your entire race will be wiped out! Slaughtered to extinction!"
Then, sothing strange happened.
Ricky's compound eyes glead with sudden interest. His voice, faint and uncertain, slipped once more into the cultist's mind.
"...Is that really true?"
There was hesitation. Doubt. A sliver of fear.
The cultist blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected the mosquito to actually hesitate.
He believed ?
Inwardly, he sneered. Truly nothing more than a pest... so easy to fool.
Outwardly, he fought past the pain, his expression twisting into one of forced solemnity.
"It's not too late," the cultist said, feigning grace. "The lord might still forgive you..."
Alexandria and Boar watched the scene unfold in disbelief. Their minds couldn't keep up.
Just monts ago, Ricky was monts away from execution. Now, he was hesitating?
"Yes... yes! If you let go, the cult will forgive you..."
"Truly...?" Ricky's voice remained uncertain.
"I'll even vouch for you..." the cultist added, every word filled with false sincerity.
Ricky's eyes flashed, cold and sharp.
As if I'd ever let you go... heh.
The venom glands nestled in his abdon stirred for the first ti. Silver-black droplets of liquid venom seeped into the cultist's bloodstream, silent and unnoticed.
They spread like ink in water — dormant for now, but waiting. Waiting for Ricky's command.
He could paralyze the man. Explode him from within. Rot his body piece by piece.
But Ricky didn't do any of that.
Not yet.
He slowly withdrew his proboscis, the long spike sliding out like a blade from flesh, and fluttered back.
The cultist's body sagged in relief.
What an idiot, he thought. So easily tricked...
But he didn't linger.
Turning, he dashed away like a madman.
As he erged from the forest, several other Abyssal Pact mbers approached, shadows parting around them.
They gasped when they saw his broken state, their expressions changing from confusion to horror.
And that's when it happened.
Black smoke leaked from the cultist's pores — thin, mist-like tendrils that slithered invisibly into the surrounding air.
In re seconds, every single one of them was infected.
—
"Ten... eleven... thirteen..."
Ricky hovered above the trees, eyes closed, sensing each newly infected soul like a phantom limb.
He could feel them — as if small parts of him now existed inside their bodies, waiting for a signal.
Then, slowly, he turned back toward Alexandria and Boar.
They both stared at him, faces unreadable.
"You should've killed him..."
Alexandria finally spoke. Her voice was low and biting. Despite Ricky saving her, resentnt bled through — she hated him for letting the bastard go.
Her trust wasn't so easily earned.
Boar remained silent, but his expression showed conflict. Unlike Alexandria, he wasn't angry. But the questions burned behind his gaze.
Ricky didn't reply. Not imdiately.
He simply smiled inwardly, cleared his throat, and finally spoke.
"Tell what's going on in the forest..."
—
Though chaos spread across the Thousand Erald Green Forest, the Stone Courtyard remained untouched.
A haven.
Peaceful. Untouched.
Dark Shadow rested on the large web she'd woven, her multiple eyes flicking occasionally toward the woman nearby — the one loosening soil with gentle, practiced movents.
Every ti she saw Noctyss working with that soft smile, happiness filled her cold heart.
The six spiritual fruit saplings were growing steadily — five small, one large. Quietly, naturally.
Even the grafted one, strange and unfamiliar, was thriving. In fact, it was growing faster than even Dark Shadow herself.
Then, Noctyss suddenly paused.
She looked up, her smile deepening, her eyes softening with joy.
It was the kind of expression only a lover could wear — a girl welcoming soone precious.
At so point, six strangers had appeared at the entrance, led by a bald man whose presence quietly distorted the air around him.
In a voice sweeter than honey, Noctyss called out:
"Ahh! Traveler, are you lost?"
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