From Consumable to Conqueror

Boundless void.

A colossal black mist, large enough to span a star field, Unceasing in the void like a living nebula.

This is a destructive entity formed after the Black Tide devoured the nutrients of countless worlds.

Within the Terror Black Tide system, it has a unique name: Black Tide Branch - Tadu Legion.

The legion is under the command of "The Lord of Corruption," one of the highest rulers of the Black Tide.

Since the Lord of Corruption initiated the ascension trial to the God Realm, broke away from the main body of the Black Tide, and was granted permission to establish an independent legion, this black mist has continued to expand in the endless conquest of the void, devouring countless starlight and Annihilation countless civilizations.

The size of the Tadu Legion also expanded to an astronomical scale.

The independent Evil Spirit spirits gestating within the legion are boundless; the number of titled monarch-level Evil Spirit alone is measured in tens of thousands.

Like queen beetles ruling over a region in a beehive, they lurk in the core nodes of the boundless black fog, interconnected, together constructing this relentless machine of destruction.

The gaze pierced through layers upon layers of dense black mist that obscured billions of Stars, passing countless colossal shadows and twisted, darting Evil Spirits figures along the way, finally focusing on a corner deep within the black mist.

A hall of imprints forged from the pure power of the Black Tide.

Inside the hall, eerie green runes swam in the air like tadpoles. Each rune was a concrete manifestation of the Black Tide Linkage Rules System, a cruel mark that granted newly emerging Evil Spirit the "qualification to Conquest."

In the center of the main hall, a burly and sinister figure knelt on one knee.

Its bare upper body muscles bulged and twisted like braided steel chains, enduring the excruciating pain of the baptism of advancement with extreme willpower.

Laugh!

A wandering curse mark suddenly swooped down, like a red-hot branding iron from hell, and slammed into its shoulder blade.

Its flesh instantly turned black and charred, black smoke billowed and rose, and an incomparably violent force of rules penetrated straight into its bone marrow, the excruciating pain almost tearing its soul to pieces.

Immediately following, the second and third incantations—several eerie green incantations—appeared one after another, branding themselves onto its chest, back, and arms.

With each strike, the corresponding part of its body would glow with a dark luster, its muscles would spasm uncontrollably, and its veins would bulge, yet it would suppress them with an iron will.

Amidst this extreme pain and oppression, transformation is underway.

The Blackie at the branding site did not rot. Under the eerie light of the Black Tide incantation, it quickly solidified and hardened, transforming into a matte black crystal texture. This made the originally knotted muscles appear even more explosive, with every inch exuding the domineering texture bestowed by the rules of the Black Tide.

Its bones emitted dull popping sounds, and the power within its body was continuously purified and strengthened.

It transformed from chaotic destructive power into a Conquest force worthy only of Evil Spirit Warrior.

The pain continued to intensify, crashing against the depths of my consciousness like a tidal wave.

But it had long been accustomed to excruciating pain.

His face was expressionless, and his pupils did not contract even slightly.

He simply stared intently at the surging black mist ahead, silently enduring the baptism.

Compared to its experience of the "Abyss Trial," the physical burning pain and the stinging sensation on the level of consciousness were insignificant.

It clearly remembers how it crawled out from among billions of confused "newborn Evil Spirit".

It was a "Young Spirit Abyss" devoid of hope, filled only with endless slaughter and devouring.

To survive there, one must devour other members of their kind, absorbing their energy and fragments of consciousness.

The pain from the promotion ceremony continues to escalate, like a sharp blade cleaving open the floodgates of memory.

The image imprinted deep within its soul exploded with a deafening roar, carrying with it a thick stench of blood and decay, instantly dragging its consciousness back to that dark and hopeless Young Spirit Abyss.

There was only thick, blood-red, dark mud, and omnipresent, violent creatures of their own kind.

In its nascent stage, it was a chaotic, Evil Spirit spirit clinging to a fragile body.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw the "infant Evil Spirit" beside me suddenly pounce on me.

The sharp mandibles instantly tore open the flesh on its shoulder, and warm, evil energy mixed with viscous fluid gushed out from the wound.

The excruciating pain caused it to instinctively curl up and struggle.

At that moment, a strong emotion rose in its heart: to live.

It gave up struggling and let the other eat it.

Then, in the instant the opponent relaxed their guard, they used all their strength to plunge their sharp claws deep into the opponent's soft skull.

With instinctive ruthlessness, he tore and ripped wildly, swallowing the opponent's evil core and flesh whole.

The scalding energy swallowed surged and tore through its body, yet it also rekindled life in its dying form.

After the devouring ended, the wound on his shoulder scabbed over and healed at a visible speed, and his claws became even sharper.

At that moment, it understood a principle.

To survive in the abyss, ruthlessness is the only passport.

The years that followed were one of endless fighting and devouring.

It had seen its kind who were many times stronger than itself.

They have thick bodies and sharp claws and teeth, capable of tearing a weak young spirit to shreds in a single bite.

I have also seen groups of young spirits using their numerical advantage to surround, kill, and devour individuals stronger than themselves.

It was there, with neither overwhelming power nor any companions to rely on.

They could only rely on forbearance to survive in the cracks and grow stronger through the fighting.

During this period, it didn't even know why it was born.

The only clear piece of information was a message in my mind: offspring number 2938 of the Underworld Curse Monarch.

I know nothing else.

In the endless killing, it first learned to hide.

I remember once, it was huddled under a pile of corpses, watching two powerful young spirits fight to the death for a piece of energy-rich area. When the victor dragged its broken body and was smugly preparing to enjoy its spoils, it appeared silently and precisely severed the opponent's last remaining hamstring.

Then it took a few steps back and just watched quietly.

Watching the once invincible victors struggle and roar in the mud, their anger turning to fear, and then to despair.

It only stepped forward when the other had exhausted its last bit of strength, and slowly slashed open its throat with the tip of its claws.

"The howl is the lament of a defeated dog."

This is a piece of inherited information unlocked through growth, and it deeply agrees with it.

It also learned to anticipate, and from anticipation, it learned to plan.

By observing their body movements and aura fluctuations, we can detect their aggressive intentions and greed.

They would also deliberately drag several still-warm corpses to the edge of dangerous areas, using the smell of blood to lure their greedy and careless kin.

When they gather to fight for food, it, which has been lying in wait nearby, will push the sharpened bones it had prepared in advance, blocking their only escape route.

Then, it stood in a safe place, listening to the desperate scratching sounds and the gradually weakening hisses coming from inside.

Slaughter can also be a meticulously orchestrated drama.

Once, it encountered an Evil Spirit three times its size.

Its claws could easily pierce its body.

It didn't fight head-on, but deliberately exposed an opening, allowing the opponent's sharp claws to tear open its abdomen.

The moment the other creature lowered its head to devour it, it endured the excruciating pain of its intestines being torn apart and crushed the evil core of a Abyss Poison Beast.

It was poured into the other person's mouth.

Watching the other person convulse wildly in the energy chaos, then explode and die.

It lay on the other's remains and began to devour them.

Even though the wound in his abdomen was still bleeding and every movement was excruciatingly painful, he never stopped.

With each devouring, it consciously collects the most extreme emotional fragments of its opponent before death.

Despair, rage, resentment—then these are sealed away like trophies deep within the consciousness; they are proof that the loser ever existed, and the fuel for its power.

At this stage, it learns how to think effectively and is no longer a mindless infant spirit that fights based on instinct.

It discovered that those of its kind who blindly charged forward were often the first to perish.

Those individuals who know how to observe, leverage resources, and make choices are the ones who can go further.

It constantly summarizes the experience of each battle.

Remember the weaknesses of the different young spirits nearby.

They even learned to utilize the environment of the abyss.

He once lured a volatile young spirit into a canyon filled with sharp bone spikes, watched as the spirit was pierced by the spikes, and then calmly devoured it.

It also used the poisonous fog in the abyss to conceal its presence, then used homemade tools to poison those careless members of its kind, and then devoured the parts of their bodies that were not completely eroded by the poison.

Every step of growth is stained with the blood of oneself and one's fellow human beings.

During this period, the inherited memories are unlocked layer by layer.

With each of his own kind he devoured, and each time he survived a near-death experience, long-dormant knowledge would awaken from the depths of his soul.

Combat skills, growth methods, tempering techniques, and combat intuition—these unlocked memories make it increasingly powerful.

It also found the meaning of its birth in the information it inherited: to become Evil Spirit Warrior.

It, along with every young spirit in the abyss, is a "replica" of the life information of Evil Spirit Warrior of the Apostle level or above.

Each branch splits and regenerates from the source of power of the "mother".

It carries the primal potential and fighting legacy seeds forged by the mother through countless battles.

The abyss is a cruel testing ground created for them.

The process of a mother's growth may involve chance and luck.

The fighting styles, power application techniques, and even survival philosophies they have developed cannot be judged as either a highly efficient path that can be replicated, or a flawed and dangerous path that was only successfully navigated by chance.

The answer is proven by the bloodshed of these "replicated offspring" in the abyss.

The fact that it was able to survive the desperate situation of billions of its kind devouring each other means that the "path" it inherited has withstood the most brutal test and has been proven effective.

The losers are only fit to become nourishment for the victors, and are proven to have limited or even no value.

This survival-of-the-fittest process, which lasted for countless epochs, was an extremely ruthless path optimization experiment within the Black Tide System.

The entire Tadu Legion, and even the core of the Black Tide Tide's basic combat force system, is constantly eliminating weaknesses and selecting the most suitable Evil Spirit Warrior templates for conquest and destruction through this cycle of replication, deployment, fighting, verification, elimination, and absorption.

It was one of those kings, one of countless experimental offspring.

What they inherited was the knowledge passed down from that monarch.

It needs to prove the superiority of the "mother body" through the bloodiest means and brutal battles.

The unlocked memories act as a catalyst, accelerating its growth.

But all the billions of young spirits in the abyss are like this.

Among them are many top monarchs, and even clones of the "supreme monarch".

They too unlocked their heritage and grew wildly through fierce battles.

Each one harbors the obsession of surviving to become Evil Spirit spirit.

Only by becoming Evil Spirit can one completely break free from the mother body and become an independent Evil Spirit Warrior.

From now on, their growth will Shaping by themselves, without being tainted by any information from the "mother".

To stand out among millions of others, escape one's predetermined fate, and reach the top of the abyss, there is only one path: endless slaughter.

It once had its arm bitten off by its own kind.

Then they forcibly tore off the still-bleeding limb.

By absorbing the fel energy of its own kind that it had just hunted, it regenerated an even stronger arm amidst excruciating pain.

He was once surrounded and killed by a group of Evil Spirit, and half of his head was eaten away.

Consciousness was on the verge of fading away in the darkness.

But driven by an unyielding will to perish, he stubbornly clung to the remaining fragments of his consciousness.

In the boundless darkness, it slowly devoured the dissipating fel energy and the remains of its kind around it, reshaping its head and awakening its dying consciousness.

After waking up, it didn't catch its breath at all.

Following the scent of those who had surrounded and killed them, they tracked them down one by one, tearing them apart and devouring them.

Chew up their evil cores, devour their emotions.

They used their blood and suffering to commemorate their dying souls.

Through this carnage, it unlocked even greater power.

It gradually ceased to be a weak, ignorant, and helpless creature.

Its body grew increasingly robust, its muscles bulging like steel nooses.

Every inch of its skin had been tempered by countless battles and evil energy, making it hard enough to withstand the tearing of ordinary members of its kind.

Its thinking is becoming increasingly clear, and its way of thinking about problems is constantly evolving.

The extreme desire for power and the unwavering obsession with survival constantly fuel its growth.

No matter how powerful the opponent or how heavy the injury, it will not fall.

Even when it falls into a coma, its body will follow the fighting instincts honed through slaughter, tearing open its opponent's throat.

All of this is for the sake of being stronger than its kind.

In this battlefield of billions of killings, carve out your own path to survival.

Its own kind in the vicinity eventually became its prey.

It finally crawled out step by step from among billions of bewildered, newly born Evil Spirit.

The current ascension ceremony is the final step in its journey to becoming Evil Spirit Warrior.

The incantation on his shoulder was still burning.

The eerie green flames licked at his flesh, while the tyrannical power of the rules seeped into his bones and tore at his soul.

But its eyes remained cold, and not even its brows twitched.

As the final incantation, carrying a torrent of information, was branded onto its forehead, it made a frantic move.

Actively enhance your "Perception acuity".

Even pain must be "controlled" in its own way.

Compared to the life-or-death struggle in the abyss of the larvae.

Compared to the excruciating pain of near-death, such as having one's intestines ripped out and one's skull Shatter.

Compared to the despair and humiliation of being devoured by one's own kind.

The pain of branding is nothing but dust.

It's never been by luck that it's able to stand here.

It is an iron will forged through countless life-and-death trials.

It is the obsession of sealing away the emotions of the loser as fuel after each act of devouring.

It is an obsession etched deep in one's soul, one that has never been extinguished: to survive and crush all opponents in one's own way.

This unwavering belief sustained it through the darkest, most abyssal years.

Today, it will also support it through the baptism of advancement in the Hall of Imprints, and help it embrace a brand new future.

Consciousness detached from the brutal images of memory.

The Evil Injury slowly opened his eyes.

The branding is complete at this moment.

The emerald green light gradually subsided, transforming into subtle, flowing lines beneath the skin.

The muscles all over his body undulated like waves, eventually settling back to Immovable Rock stability.

His fierce aura, honed through countless trials, was no longer concealed and suddenly swept across the hall.

It slowly straightened its knees and stood up.

Suddenly, the bones made a soft popping sound, like popping beans.

The tall figure cast an oppressive shadow in the dimly lit hall.

It stretched out its arm, covered with newly born Evil Spirit spirit runes, and reached into the void beside it.

Clang!

A menacingly shaped blade was pulled from its own Spatial Rift.

The weapon was obtained, emitting a low hum.

It used the tip of its blade to slash its own palm.

The black blood seeped into the runes on the hilt, greedily absorbed, and the black light on the blade flickered, as if it were breathing.

After the weapon was stained with its blood, it was also branded with incantations, greatly increasing its strength.

From this point on, this sharp blade will become its extended organ.

The identification mark from the mother inside the body was also completely erased at this moment.

Now, it has finally completed its promotion.

He became a lowly soldier of the Black Tide, about to be sent to other worlds to carry out missions of conquest and devouring.

It raised its head.

Their eyes, burning with ferocity, pierced through the walls of the Hall of Branding and were directed toward the coordinates transmitted from the Legion's command center.

Based on the information displayed in my mind.

This is a Small World that has swallowed up the "282372361 Vanguard Blood Slave Legion".

Having clearly defined his mission, Evil Injury suddenly raised the killing blade in his hand and pointed it in the direction of the coordinates.

A powerful surge of Evil Spirit energy erupted from its body.

The black mist barrier of the Hall of Branding trembled, and countless thick, inky wisps of mist surged wildly from every crevice of the hall, like loyal servants summoned, swirling around its massive body.

The churning waters made it appear even more ferocious and terrifying.

Within the black mist, countless tiny particles stirred restlessly under its will, rapidly coalescing into shape.

They transformed into lowly Evil Spirits.

They have no self-awareness and are completely Control by its will. After they are born, they surround it in dense numbers, like suicide soldiers waiting for orders. Each one exists for its sake.

Immediately afterwards, an even more massive black fog swept in from afar.

Countless blurry figures appeared in mid-air above the palace.

As the black mist gradually solidified, legions of armored, bladed ghosts slowly appeared.

These are all blood slave Team Battle mass-produced by the Tadu Legion from countless battlefield wreckage; they are cannon fodder lives outside the mainstream system.

Even cannon fodder were imbued with the power of the Black Tide, granting them the ability to devour and evolve.

More and more Blood Slave Warriors appeared, filling every inch of space inside and outside the Hall of Branding.

The Evil Injury tightened his grip on the killing blade, and the black light emanating from its edge intensified.

The aura emanating from his body intertwined with that of Evil Spirits and the Blood Slave Legion, forming a destructive wave powerful enough to crush everything in its path.

The entire Hall of Branding was shrouded in darkness and shadow.

Its gaze swept over the legion, finally settling on its feet.

On the ground, jet-black spiritual patterns lit up at this moment, moving like serpents, and the Space Teleportation Array was activated.

A deep purple light emanated from the depths of the array patterns.

The light spread along the trajectory of the array patterns, growing ever brighter.

A Space Passage leading to the target world was grafted from the direction of the teleportation hub.

The Evil Injury stood at the boundary between the black mist and the light, its gaze focused on the Spatial Rift, and let out an excited growl, "Kill!"

An apocalyptic catastrophe sweeping across Small World is about to begin.

Its path of conquest after ascending to the Evil Spirit will begin with the destruction of this Small World.