Genetic Ascension

Chapter 1532 Cesspool

The voice had a tinge of madness to it, the sort of edge someone who was calm but could fly off the handle at any moment would have. It was also slow, the sort of slow that came from a person very much used to having everyone hang on their every word. Sylas had no time for it, nor the care or energy to speak to this man.

To Fowler, Sylas was the genius who stole his Contested Title.

To Sylas, Fowler was never on his level to begin with, and he had had the audacity to put hands on his wife.

There was nothing to talk about. What need was there to exchange words with a man who was wholly his inferior?

A crown appeared above Sylasʼ head and the projected image crumbled. Official source is Nov3lFɪre.ɴet

But as a Primus Luminaria, especially one born from his own Sector, the likes of Fowler had no right to strut around before him.

Sylas timed it all perfectly. The engines of the vessel roared, space warping and bending around them. In a flashing instant, they sliced right through the body of drones, destroying what amounted to 30% of them.

In the blink of an eye, it was over, and Sylasʼ vessel hovered near the border of the Milky Way Galaxy, almost slowly striding in.

Not once did he exchange a word with Fowler. For now, the Leava could live only because Sylas didnʼt have an easy path toward exterminating him. But the moment he did, Fowler Leava would be no more.

Within the Leava Clan vessel, Fowler held onto his head, roaring in pain as veins popped across his forehead. In the depths of his eyes, reflecting with the kaleidoscope of colors the Leava Clan were known for, the crystal structures shattered one by one along with anything that remained of his pride.

“

Cassarae huffed for breath, her entire body vibrating, and yet her blade remained as steady as a mountain and as immovable as the skies.

She stumbled to one side, palming a section of the hall to stabilize herself. Jagged gears and broken pipes hissed, both with heat, and both for separate reasons.

This ship is going to collapse soon, she thought to herself.

She had lost count of the number of Trakar she had killed. She thought that if there was a C-tier present, they would have appeared already, but her Luck kept pinging her to be alert.

Half of her thought that this was because she was heavily injured, so if she was careless, even these weak D-tiers could take her life. But the other half of her, less hopeful, thought there was another reason.

If she was a C-tier here leading the Trakar, and she had all the most powerful warriors of her family following after her, what would her top priority be?

Well, if her ship was about to fall into a star at this point, then her top priority would obviously be to stabilize it.

Not everyone could survive in space. Even D-tiers could die instantly to the vacuum if they didnʼt have protection of a strong enough Will. And without telekinesis, at the very least, you would drift endlessly in space without being able to orient yourself.

It was essentially a death sentence if you drifted out there.

Cassarae herself didnʼt even have telekinesis. Well, she felt that she had Will strong enough to nurture it, but her Charisma had always lagged far behind, so it was harder for her to awaken it than for others with strong Wil.

However, even so, her Will aura protected her from being turned into an icicle out in the depths of space, and with a lifesaving item on her person, she had been able to teleport to the ship and stop herself from aimlessly drifting.

Knowing that, Cassarae knew that there was one likely explanation for why Patriarch Dazeth hadnʼt appeared before her yet.

He was making sure to save as many of his people from that fate as he could.

And the moment the ship stabilized enough, or the cost of trying to stabilize it outweighed the benefit of killing her as quickly as possible... BOOM.

... He would be here.

Cassarae looked up shakily toward the enormous hall that had opened up in front of her. It must have been near the core of the ship, or it was, at the very least, an important part of it.

At the entrance, holding a piece of nigh molten steel as thick as a waist in his hands as though it were a flagging piece of paper, was a behemoth of a man.

He stood at five meters tall, his four arms thick and pulsing with radiant might. Somehow, the heat coming off of his body felt even more omnipresent and oppressive than the heat coming from the damaged ship. His blood itself might as well have been swimming magma.

Cassarae tried to read his stats and failed, her eyes narrowing as her grip on her sword tightened. But even now, when she had to gather up strength, she was still leaning against the wall for support, unable to straighten herself.

”You.”

The voice rumbled and shook, a hot wave of air smashing against her body and nearly sending her tumbling back. She managed to stabilize herself with a step, but her heart couldnʼt help but be bitter.

”Keep your fucking shitty breath away from me. No one wants to smell that cesspool you have in there.”

“Your name.” Patriarch Dazeth growled. ”Grimblade. You know the man who killed my son. Bring me to him. Now.”

“What? Did your son crawl into your mouth and die? Is that why I have to be subjected to that garbage dump youʼre hissing out?”

Fury bulged in Patriarch Dazethʼs eyes.

”DIE.”

Cassaraeʼs grip tightened on her sword. She had been subtly casting [Blood Debt], her Growth Skill, since she stepped onto this ship. She couldnʼt even read Patriarch Dazethʼs stats, so it was likely hopeless no matter what, but even if there was a small chance— Her body suddenly completely relaxed when a strong back blocked her view of the Trakar Patriarch.

“Took you... long enough...” she spoke softly, her vision swaying.