A deep whoosh escaped Jack's lips as a torrent of scalding steam billowed from him, dispelling his transformation. In an instant, the terrifying aura that had saturated the underground lair receded like a tide.
But the exhilaration of power faded quickly, replaced by the familiar ache of want. He pulled up his status panel, his eyes fixed on a single, pitiful number.
[Origin Points: 2645]
The more abilities that filled his panel, the deeper the deficit in his Origin Points became. Upgrading his SSR abilities was a bottomless pit, and even the SR-level Monsterification, requiring one less evolution tier, demanded a fortune he simply didn't have. With a balance barely scraping two thousand points, maxing it out was a distant fantasy. Looking at the clamoring icons of abilities waiting to be fed, Jack let out a long, weary sigh.
"All I want right now is money…! No—Origin Points!!!"
...
Jack's Territory
The chief steward, Sharp Fang, sat rigidly with a group of Tiger-level Monster leaders. They were lined up in obedient rows, awaiting their boss's judgment.
After feeding Boqi, the stark emptiness of his metaphorical wallet spurred Jack into action. He needed to generate income, and fast. In the bottom layer of the Monster Association, a realm where the strong devoured the weak, the quickest path to profit was clear—
War.
From his debriefing the previous day, Jack learned that for low-level Monsters, daily life revolved around two things: serving their cadre overlords and, more importantly, seizing territory. It was their primary team-building exercise, a brutal stress reliefer that made their constant infighting look like child's play.
To Jack, however, this territorial squabbling was petty and low-class, the work of mere hooligans. If they were going to act, they'd do it right.
They'd start a war.
Didn't that scheming Psykos love her near-death evolutions? Fine. He'd just add more fuel to the fire she'd so carelessly ignited.
"Sharp Fang."
His deep voice echoed, cold and absolute, through the hollow chamber.
"Sir! Right here!"
A gray blur shot from the corner like a bolt of dark lightning, skidding to a halt at the foot of the stone throne. It was Sharp Fang. The rat-like Monster had been living well. After the initial feast of a Tiger-level corpse, he'd been gorging on a steady tribute of Monster limbs and organs, offered by lesser Monsters hoping to curry favor. His formerly scrawny frame was now sturdy, his grey fur thick and glossy. His small, dark eyes, however, gleamed with the same cunning and fanatical devotion as always.
"Sir, your orders?" He rose on his hind legs, front paws clasped in an obsequious gesture.
Jack's fingers drummed a slow rhythm against the armrest of his stone throne. "Tell me, Sharp Fang. Who are our neighbors?"
The rat's eyes darted shrewdly. He understood instantly. The boss was taking the pack out personally. Excitement surged through him. He immediately began sketching a rough map in the dirt with his claws, the words tumbling out in a rush.
"Reporting, sir! We're in a remote spot, near the Association's western edge. Most of our neighbors are clustered to the east."
"Closest is the 'Drilling Moles' territory. Their boss is a Tiger-level, with dozens of Wolf-level diggers. They're good at tunneling and ambushes. Their digging is almost as good as mine!"
"Further east, we've got the 'Mud Monsters' and the 'Iron-Winged Mantises.' They're locked in a nasty fight over an underground swamp."
"And beyond them…"
Jack listened in silence, his fingers a metronome of contemplation on the stone. Sharp Fang's chatter painted a clear picture of the local power dynamics.
The summary? Every ruler in this region was as useless as the Slime Octopus he'd crushed.
"Good." Jack's fingers stilled. He fixed his gaze on Sharp Fang. "How many fighters do we have left?"
Sharp Fang blinked, then quickly compiled the numbers. "Sir, exactly nine Tiger-level Monsters. As for Wolf-level… at least a thousand. It's the standard scale for most nearby forces."
Jack gave a short nod. In the Monster world, long-term stalemates only happened when power was balanced. When one side grew too strong, you got the current situation—a powder keg waiting for a spark.
"Pass the word. Gather every Monster that can still fight. We prepare for war."
"W-War?!" Though he'd suspected as much, the crisp, decisive command still made Sharp Fang's heart leap. "Sir, who do we hit first?"
Jack's gaze swept over the crude map etched into the dirt floor. His choice was casual, almost indifferent.
"The Drilling Moles. We'll start with them and carve a path right through."
The simple statement hit Sharp Fang like a shot of pure adrenaline. To be entrusted with such a pivotal role… His excitement erupted in a high-pitched squeak.
"Yes, sir! I'll see it done!"
Half a day later, the plan was set in motion.
BOOM—!
A thunderous explosion ripped through the entrance of the Drilling Moles' lair, shockwaves kicking up rolling clouds of smoke and debris. Leading the charge was Jack, his slender frame now sheathed in an onyx-black carapace, moving with the unstoppable momentum of a living battering ram. Behind him surged nine Tiger-level Monsters and a dense tide of Wolf-level cannon fodder.
At his current strength, Jack saw no need for parley. Once Sharp Fang confirmed the enemy's position, he'd simply unleashed a charged, enhanced Scorching Heat Bullet, blasting through the rock-and-mud seal the Moles had used to fortify their den.
*RUMBLE—! *
"Enemy attack! We're under attack!"
Panic erupted within the cave. Shrieks split the air as dozens of Wolf-level Mole Monsters poured from every crevice. Their Tiger-level leader, the Drilling Mole himself, burst forth, shock and fury twisting his features.
"Who dares—!"
He never finished the sentence.
A dark blur flashed past him.
Activating SSR Swift Wind, Jack's already formidable speed skyrocketed. Before the Drilling Mole could even track the movement, razor-sharp claws—capable of cutting through iron like mud—pierced clean through his skull.
[Killed Tiger-level Monster x 1 | Origin Points +25]
Silence. Then chaos among the enemy.
With their leader slain in an instant, the remaining Mole Monsters devolved into a leaderless rout. Jack's Tiger-level subordinates leer, ready to follow their master's lead and descend upon the panicking prey like wolves into a fold.
But then they stopped.
The dark figure who had just one-shot the enemy commander showed no signs of slowing. He didn't pause. He didn't turn. Instead, claws swinging in a relentless arc, he continued forward alone.
Before his own army could even take a step, Jack launched a one-sided solo massacre.
The scene was brutally efficient.
Within five minutes, it was over. Zero casualties among his forces. And hundreds of fresh Origin Points added to his balance.
Jack flicked the gore from his claw tips, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Next are the Mud Monsters and the Iron-Winged Mantises, right? Sharp Fang, lead the way."
Sharp Fang: "…"
All the Monsters: "…"
A collective, unspoken thought rippled through the horde: Is this… right? If this is war, what do they even need us for?
But despite the nagging sense of irrelevance, Sharp Fang snapped to attention and loosed a howl, leading the army forward—to, well, lead the way.
Deepest Part of the Monster Association
In a cavernous stone hall, a massive, throne-like sofa hovered ominously in the air. Upon it lounged a bloated, pinkish-purple creature. It was a one-eyed, four-armed abomination.
Dragon-level Monster: Great Eyes.
Eight small tentacles, identical to those of his subordinate Little Eyeball, swayed gently atop his head, emitting faint, incomprehensible psychic ripples. Two of his arms were crossed thoughtfully over his chest, while the other two rested casually along the arms of the floating throne.
Before Great Eyes stood a figure of imposing menace. A green insectoid Monster, its face dominated by three main eyes arranged in a triangle, with a smaller secondary eye on each side—constantly monitoring. Its body was encased in an exoskeleton that shimmered with a metallic, chilled gleam, promising immense defensive power. Its slender limbs ended in points sharp as surgical scalpels, and scythe-like mandibles flanked its maw. Beneath the carapace on its back, transparent wings capable of hypersonic vibration lay folded.
This was one of the Monster Association's elite Demon-level assets.
Bug God.
Despite his rugged shell, the creature radiated a steady, predatory aura—an unfathomable threat given form.
"So," Bug God's voice rasped, low and eager. All five of his eyes glowed with a dangerous crimson light. "Little Great Eyes wants me to go slaughter this upstart who doesn't understand the rules?"
For days, a single piece of news had rippled through the Monster Association's lower ranks, drawing eyes and whispers. A nobody, appearing from nowhere, had ignited a full-scale war among the low-tier Monsters. In just days, over a dozen small Monster factions had been systematically annihilated. Dozens of Tiger-level Monsters were confirmed dead. Wolf-level casualties numbered in the thousands.
For Great Eyes—or rather, for Psykos—this was becoming a headache.
She cared nothing for the lives of low-level Monsters. But even cannon fodder had to die with purpose. Being butchered on a massive scale by some lucky upstart denied them their only real value: the chance for a near-death experience, a final desperate evolution, the creation of a miracle.
A low, contemplative hum escaped Great Eyes.
"Hmm… Actually, there's no need to be so aggressive."
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