Rearing Demons
Chapter 54: Narrow Escape

Chapter 54: Narrow Escape

Seeing Jisvruul finally escape, Velmira released her full form.

A grotesque monstrosity of festering filth and writhing flesh, the embodiment of everything disgusting.

Her power surged, now at the demi-Valgath level, surpassing the Husked Lords by a small margin.

Despite her massive, swollen body, she was unnaturally fast.

Her legs blurred, almost invisible, as she lunged forward, her bloated arms stretching outward, snatching multiple Gralith who glared at her with a mix of fear, revulsion, and rage.

They could smell it—

The stench of exile.

A putrid scent that marked her as an outcast, triggering an instinctive need to eliminate her presence.

Come! She growled, her distorted human face stretching grotesquely as she bared her yellowed fangs.

"RAA!"

The Husked Lords reacted violently, their decayed arms slashing forward in anger.

Unlike before, they didn’t rely on brute strength—

The ground beneath them blackened, the air thickening with an aura of corruption and rot.

Velmira’s warped face twisted in displeasure. BIRTH!

From her translucent stomach, the Gralith she had devoured convulsed violently, its muffled screams of agony echoing through her bloated flesh.

The Husked Lords’ decay spread further, but its expansion was slow, moving only a few centimetres at a time.

Velmira took her chance.

A deep gash tore open her stomach, releasing a wave of foul stench and blackened bile.

Something shifted within. Then—

A pile of rotting flesh dropped to the ground.

"YRRAAA!"

The putrid mound convulsed, then began to shift.

Three grotesque figures slowly rose, twisted and deformed, yet undeniably powerful.

Their bodies resembled Weeping Lords, covered in bulging, unblinking eyes and festering boils, but they were something more.

Born from Mawstrider corpses, their hulking frames were twice the size of normal Weeping Lords, their mutated limbs grotesquely large.

Where their heads should have been, there was only a single massive eye, its surface veined and pulsating.

Their arms, disproportionately long, were covered from shoulder to fingertips in countless blinking eyeballs, twitching with every movement.

And unlike their predecessors; They were no longer demi-Gralith. They had fully evolved.

Weeping Striders—attack!

Without hesitation, the newborn horrors lunged forward, their grotesque limbs smashing into the Mawstriders.

The weaker demons shrieked, attempting to overpower them with sheer numbers, but the Weeping Striders were stronger.

The battlefield erupted into chaos.

With the Gralith occupied, Velmira turned her focus back onto the Husked Lords, who continued spreading decay.

The ground beneath them crumbled, stripped of life, turning into a dead, desolate wasteland.

Velmira knew she couldn’t allow it to spread any further.

Decay was her weakness. She was the opposite of it. She didn’t destroy. She created.

Festering Resurrection!

The same move that had given birth to the Eyes of Dripping Blood. A technique she had spent a hundred years refining, slowly twisting a part of the Land of the Mother into her own domain.

Bile seeped from her flesh, sinking into the desecrated land. The earth trembled. From the pools of rotting pus, something began to emerge.

Veins crawled through the soil, thick and bulging, spreading like roots of disease.

The decay of the Husked Lords clashed against the festering life Velmira brought forth.

One sought to erase.

The other sought to infest.

"AHH!"

A screech tore from her throat as she noticed... two of the three Weeping Striders had fallen. The Mawstriders had overwhelmed them.

Though several of the enemy had died, the numbers against her were still too great.

I have to escape!

She had pushed too far. If she stayed any longer, she would be trapped.

Still—she refused to run without taking one last risk.

Her bulging eyes locked onto a Husked Lord, momentarily exposed.

Its decay spread outward, but its focus was entirely on the land.

Now or never.

She lunged. Her massive form barrelled forward, her arms splitting open, forming thick, oozing tendrils.

The Gralith scattered in surprise, not expecting her to attack head-on.

The Husked Lord twisted its withered face, sensing her approach!

Its decayed mouth slowly unhinged, and from its rotting throat, a wave of blackened mist spilled forth.

A breath of decay.

Velmira felt it the instant it touched her. A burning sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Her limbs locked. Her nerves ignited in agony.

"ARRRRRRR!" A hideous, bone-chilling screech tore from her lips.

Her entire form spasmed violently, her bloated body convulsing uncontrollably.

Then—

She collapsed.

A thunderous crash shook the battlefield. Everything went still.

The Mawstriders and Husked Lords hesitated, their eyes fixed on her unmoving body.

A moment passed.

Decay slowly crept over her flesh, sinking into her swollen form. Her limbs twitched. Jolted. But she did not rise.

One of the Husked Lords cautiously approached, its decayed arms outstretched. It pressed its clawed fingers against her flesh, its rotting nostrils flaring as it inhaled the sickly scent of pus and bile.

It sensed her life fading. She was dying.

The Husked Lord turned its head, about to signal its partner—

It never saw the disgusting mouth appear behind it.

————————————————————————

Jisvruul ran as fast as he could. One of his arms was missing, blood pouring freely from the torn limb, leaving a trail of crimson behind him. He needed to find a place to hide and recuperate—quickly.

Jisvruul, I will be busy sealing the new Graliths, so find a place to hide—fast.

Yes, Master!

Yur had his own problems. He had already sealed the previous five Gralith that Jisvruul had consumed, but now, with four more added to the mix, the strain on him had intensified.

The only saving grace was that most of these rank five beings were severely injured or weak, making them easier to suppress and control.

But even then, it was a task that demanded his full focus.

Jisvruul didn’t dare to disturb Yur.

He kept running, his keen senses scanning his surroundings as he avoided every group of Mawstriders and Husked Lords in his path.

The land stretched endlessly, the flesh-covered hills pulsing faintly beneath his feet as he bolted through the desolate region.

After nearly an hour of nonstop movement, his eyes finally locked onto something promising.

An Antic Tower.

It stood untouched, unlike the others that had been partially or fully destroyed.

Not hesitating for a second, he rushed inside.

The moment he entered, the Antics within turned to face him, their writhing bodies emitting sickly screeches.

Jisvruul didn’t slow down. Bloodied but relentless, he tore through them.

His massive claws cleaved through flesh, his fangs crushed bones, his single remaining arm ripped the creatures apart with ease.

Even injured, his power as a Gralith was overwhelming—an Antic Tower posed no real threat to him.

Even Mawstriders wouldn’t struggle against these creatures.

Back then, Brune and Karo had cleared these towers with ease, their main purpose being to assist weaker disciples in their training.

But now—Jisvruul was alone. And he had no time for restraint. Every Antic and Weeping Lord he slaughtered was swallowed whole, their blood and essence devoured without hesitation.

Each bite restored a fraction of his vitality, though the true benefits would only come after proper digestion.

A full tower should be enough to restore most of his strength.

With the tower fully cleared, he finally reached the top level.

The space was expansive, wide enough to accommodate even his true form.

Without hesitation, he settled in the middle, his massive frame folding into itself as he shifted back to his natural size.

The weight of exhaustion settled over him. For the first time in hours—he closed his eyes.

His body began its slow process of digestion, his tattered flesh writhing as the stolen essence fused into his being.

The tower fell silent.

For now, he could finally begin to recover.

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