The Evolution Of A Goblin To The Peak

Chapter 1198: Birth of the Messenger of Gluttony

Eztein twisted his wrist, and hundreds of writhing strings of flesh erupted from his body, each one crackling with electricity. Lightning surged along the grotesque appendages as his spear launched into the air, spinning with deadly precision.

Whoosh!!

Blood spattered across the walls, and fresh wounds carved his flesh, but Eztein only laughed—a harsh, exhilarated sound that echoed through the warped space. The strings of flesh slithered and twisted, piercing through the spatial cracks he had just torn open, spreading like living lightning across the battlefield.

Spatial Whisperer’s eyes widened. He raised his dagger, ready to strike, but the very space in front of him began to collapse violently.

Bang!!

Eztein erupted through the tearing dimensions, catching his spear midair with a snap of his wrists. His gaze locked onto Spatial Whisperer, pure intent and fury radiating from every fiber of his being.

[Dream Power II]!!

A sudden surge of strength coursed through him, his aura flaring like a storm incarnate. Spatial Whisperer’s reaction faltered, just enough. Eztein drove the spear forward, electricity leaping from every string of flesh entwined around him, arcs of lightning slicing through the air with blinding speed.

Boom!! Boom!! Boom!!

Explosions ripped through the warped battlefield. The ground shuddered, walls cracked, and shards of shattered spatial reality spiraled like shards of glass. Lightning and raw energy tore through space itself, colliding with the enemy’s defenses, sending waves of concussive force that rattled everything in the chamber.

Eztein’s laugh rang out above the chaos, a chilling, unrestrained sound of exhilaration and menace.

Whoosh!!

Eztein landed on the cracked floor, the strings of flesh retracting into his body with a wet, snapping sound. He gripped his spear tightly, a storm of dream power and elemental lightning swirling around it, making the weapon hum with immense energy.

Through the haze of smoke and debris, a figure emerged. Spatial Whisperer had landed on the ground, his chest heaving.

The air thickened with tension as he lifted a chunk of flesh from his own arm, his body writhing in agony, teeth clenched as crimson blood spattered onto the shattered ground. Every breath he drew seemed to shake the space around him.

His gaze locked onto Eztein, burning with fury and calculation.

”Your attack... is truly troublesome,” he hissed through gritted teeth. ”I can hardly maintain my reasoning... the pain... it’s unbearable.”

Eztein’s lips curled into a faint, sharp smile. ”Do you like it?”

”No.” Spatial Whisperer’s voice was low, trembling, but filled with raw defiance. His body convulsed as elemental energy surged outward, bending the air and warping reality around him. ”Dream power and elemental mastery at that level... you are formidable.”

Then, in a blink, he vanished. The space behind Eztein warped and twisted unnaturally, and suddenly the dagger appeared at his neck, cold and precise.

Whoosh!!

Eztein’s eyes widened, his senses screaming as the dagger’s edge grazed the air near his neck. Instantly, he swung his spear with deadly precision, the weapon humming with fused lightning and dream power.

Simultaneously, writhing strings of flesh erupted from his body like living tendrils, slicing through the space around him with a wet, snapping hiss. The air itself seemed to scream as lightning arced along the flesh, crackling violently.

Boom!!

The impact tore through the warped space around Spatial Whisperer. Shockwaves radiated outward, shattering the remnants of the battlefield and sending jagged shards of stone and debris flying in every direction. Smoke and sparks filled the air, the metallic scent of blood mingling with ozone.

Eztein’s eyes burned with intensity, his body coiling with energy, ready to strike again before his opponent could recover.

...

On the other hand.

The empire.

Above the palace, Vashno hovered in the air, his gaze fixed on the emperor. A growing unease churned in his chest, sharp and instinctive. Every instinct screamed at him to keep his distance. Approaching any closer felt like stepping into a trap not of this world.

Beneath him, the dark liquid on the ground pulsed and quivered, as if it were alive, watching him. The aura radiating from it was beyond mortal comprehension, oppressive and suffocating. Vashno held his position, maintaining a careful distance of five hundred meters, his eyes never leaving the emperor.

The palace was silent, its halls emptied of life. Every servant, soldier, and noble had perished. Only he and the emperor remained.

A subtle vibration ran through the dark liquid below. The emperor, still on his knees, clutched at his throat, his movements erratic and tortured. Then, his eyes snapped wide open, black as a void, and a scream tore from his lungs:

”Aaaaakkkhhhh!!”

The sound was a mixture of agony and pure malice, echoing through the shattered palace. From his eyes, the dark liquid began to pour forth, thick and viscous, snaking over his body and merging with the pool beneath him. Slowly, inexorably, he dissolved into the dark liquid, becoming one with it, as if the very essence of his being was swallowed by the abyss.

Vashno’s gaze hardened. Whatever force had taken hold of the emperor was beyond anything he had encountered, and its presence made the hair on his arms stand on end.

”What?!” Vashno’s eyes widened, a jolt running through him. Slowly, deliberately, he retreated, increasing the distance between himself and the emperor’s former position. Every instinct screamed caution.

He positioned himself outside the palace, hovering just beyond the ruined walls, and cast his gaze toward the sky. True to his expectations, the chaos above had paused. The angels and fallen angels, towering and imposing, now fixated on the palace, their wings spanning wide, energy radiating like a living storm.

A voice cut through the tense silence:

”Gluttony Army...”

At the sound, Vashno’s expression darkened. Anything tied to the Gluttony Army was never trivial, and the weight of their presence pressed down on him. He silently circulated his mana, every fiber of his body ready to cut a path through if things went sideways.

Then, the first figure descended. A silver-armored angel, his two pairs of gleaming white wings slicing through the air, radiating a blinding mix of light and flame. The oppressive heat of his aura warped the air, sending the hairs on Vashno’s arms standing.

Almost simultaneously, a fallen angel appeared above the palace, equally massive and menacing, his shadow darkening the ruin beneath. Both beings gazed down, their expressions grim, almost predatory.

”Ninth Shackle Realm...?!” Vashno’s frown deepened. The power emanating from them was beyond anything he could casually challenge.

It was league above his current level.

A Ninth Shackle Realm was already a powerhouse even by Holy Land standards. To face one meant the situation had spiraled far beyond normal combat. Vashno’s instincts screamed that it would not be long before the angels and fallen angels escalated into full-scale war, perhaps drawing in God-rank beings.

A sudden, blood-curdling scream ripped through the air:

”Aaaaaarrrrrkkkkk!!”

The dark liquid beneath the emperor shuddered violently, pulsing with unfathomable force. Waves of energy rolled outward, distorting the air itself.

Ohm!!

The Ninth Shackle Realm angel and fallen angel froze, their heads snapping upward in unison toward the enormous spatial rift tearing across the sky. From the crack, two beams of radiant light descended, bathing the celestial warriors in an otherworldly glow.

”This...!” Vashno’s eyes widened as he traced the spatial fissure. The energy radiating from it reeked of higher beings, powers far above even the Ninth Shackle Realm.

Every other faction—the raiders, the plunderers—halted mid-motion, their gazes drawn like iron to the angel and fallen angel. For a moment, time itself seemed to pause, the battlefield frozen under the weight of forces far beyond mortal comprehension.

Whoosh!!

A ripple tore through the dark liquid, distorting the air around it. Slowly, a figure began to rise, dripping with the black-red ichor, eyes gleaming with otherworldly light.

The spectators froze. Vashno’s breath caught in his throat. No one had ever seen this before. Even the angels and fallen angels hovered tensely, sensing the unimaginable power emanating from the transformation.

The figure was becoming a Messenger of Gluttony.

The process was both horrifying and majestic. The dark liquid surged and writhed around the figure, fusing with its flesh. Bones reshaped, veins glowed with malevolent energy, and a crimson aura began to envelope its body, as if the very essence of Gluttony was being distilled into a living form.

”So that’s how it is...” Vashno murmured, his eyes narrowing. The mystery behind the Gluttony Army had finally become clear. They had been waiting for this moment, aware that the emperor’s fate would trigger the birth of a Messenger of Gluttony.

And the reason they hadn’t acted before? Vashno understood now. There was a backlash, a force so potent it could even threaten the Ninth Shackle Realm angels and fallen angels. No one dared intervene until the transformation reached a critical point.

The dark liquid convulsed violently, hissing and bubbling like a cauldron of blood and fire. The figure’s body was no longer fully human—it twisted and elongated, muscles and sinews reshaping themselves as if obeying a malignant architect. Black and red veins glowed under the skin, and jagged protrusions tore through its body, forming a grotesque, yet regal, silhouette.