Crunch!
The razor-sharp fangs of an ancient black dragon pierced through the near-indestructible carapace of a legendary voidspawn. Its teeth sank deep into flesh, tearing off a massive chunk of meat. A spray of dark blood, tainted with diluted god-corruption, splattered through the air.
But this tainted blood didn't fall to the ground. Instead, a force greater than gravity itself pulled the drops into a gaping maw—a ravenous ancient black dragon whose insatiable hunger had driven it to madness.
Without chewing, the black dragon swallowed the chunk of voidspawn flesh whole. Not content with just that, it lowered its maw to the wound it had torn open and gulped down the torrent of blood gushing from the creature's body.
For most beings, consuming the flesh and blood of voidspawn—even diluted with weaker forms of god-corruption—would have been suicidal. The corruptive essence was a deadly poison, capable of destroying the minds of weaker entities or mutating their very essence into abominations. Yet, for this ancient black dragon, it was no more harmful than drinking water. On the contrary, every swallow seemed to invigorate the beast, causing its already terrifying aura to climb higher.
Dragons were born to dominate the food chain. Even as hatchlings, they could digest nearly anything, including earth and stone. As they aged and grew stronger, this capability only expanded, transforming them into walking furnaces of consumption. This ancient black dragon, however, was no ordinary dragon. It had been blessed—or cursed—by its master, a higher being of epic power, and had evolved to levels no wild dragon could hope to achieve.
Using its monstrous digestion as a weapon, the black dragon tore into its prey with ferocious abandon, wholly unbothered by the legendary voidspawn's attacks. While the creature thrashed and struck back with feral desperation, the dragon ignored the pain, focusing solely on devouring its enemy.
Nearby, a much younger black dragon watched the scene unfold, frozen in awe and horror. This was no longer a battle—it was a grotesque display of feeding, a one-sided slaughter. The elder dragon, bloated with newfound strength, had entered a frenzy. Its gaping maw tore chunks from the voidspawn's body, swallowing them whole as it drowned in the ecstasy of its feast.
The younger dragon involuntarily shivered. It had seen its share of combat and gore, but this was different. It was almost... primal.
He'd heard tales of such feeding frenzies before—stories passed down among dragons of how their ancestors, in times of great hunger, had turned on their own kind. Dragons were creatures of immense pride and intelligence, but hunger, extreme hunger, had the power to reduce even the most noble of them into mindless beasts.
Thank the heavens for these voidspawn, the young dragon thought grimly. If it weren't for the steady supply of these monstrous enemies, his elder kin might very well have turned on their allies.
The younger black dragon smirked bitterly as he continued observing the carnage. His elder kin's behavior bordered on absurd. No matter how ferociously the voidspawn fought back, their attacks were met with only one response: the dragon opening its jaws wider to consume them.
For all its grimness, the scene had an almost comical quality to it. The elder dragon was more of a living black hole than a warrior, devouring everything in sight without a care in the world.
But as the young dragon watched, a flicker of envy crept into his heart. The sheer power his elder kin now wielded was intoxicating to behold. He longed for such strength, and he knew exactly how it had been achieved.
"The Star of Martial Strength," he muttered under his breath, the concept finally crystallizing in his mind. He now understood exactly what it was and what it offered—a temporary but enormous boost to power, turning even the most experienced dragons into monsters of legend.
The young dragon's eyes gleamed with ambition. He had seen enough to know that whatever price one had to pay for the Star of Martial Strength, it was worth it. After all, to dragons, power was everything.
"His Highness Muria wouldn't lay traps for his loyal servants," the black dragon reasoned. "If there's anyone we can trust to grant us power without hidden costs, it's him."
Meanwhile, in the heart of the battlefield, the frenzy continued. The elder black dragon's ravenous feeding left even its fellow ancient dragons wary. None dared approach too closely, even those battling alongside it. A single misstep could easily result in being mistaken for prey—a costly mistake when dealing with a dragon driven by hunger.
This unspoken distance allowed the other ancient dragons to observe the scene from a safer vantage. And like their younger counterpart, they too were envious.
Ancient dragons, having already reached such exalted heights, faced tremendous difficulty in advancing further. Every step forward required a hundred times the effort of their youth. But now, here was a shortcut—a path to power far beyond their wildest imaginations.
They knew there might be limitations, perhaps even restrictions, tied to receiving such gifts from Muria. But to these dragons, such conditions hardly mattered. Whatever bonds or obligations they might owe to their benefactor paled in comparison to the raw power he offered.
Elsewhere, near the edge of the battlefield and close to the world's boundary, Mikaela observed Muria with a mixture of curiosity and awe. The dragon's humanoid form radiated a steady stream of golden energy, which coalesced into a vast cloud above him. Within this luminous cloud, countless radiant stars took form, their gravitational pull distorting the space around them.
"This..." Mikaela began, her voice tinged with surprise. "What is this technique?"
"It's the Martial Dao Manifestation," Muria replied with a smile. "A little something I picked up in one of the worlds I visited."
The manifestation wasn't an unfamiliar concept to him. As a Titan, he had always embodied destruction and brute force. Yet through his exploration of other worlds, he had discovered a path of refinement—a way to channel his destructive potential into something more precise, more deliberate.
Mikaela's eyes narrowed as she studied the stars forming within the golden cloud. Moments ago, she had witnessed Muria pluck one of these stars and hurl it onto an elder dragon, transforming it into the frenzied powerhouse now rampaging across the battlefield.
"You can grant power to your subordinates through this technique?" she asked.
"Exactly."
"Doesn't this deplete your own strength?"
"Temporarily, yes. But in the long run, it strengthens me as well."
Muria's confident tone carried the weight of a profound truth. He explained how the Martial Dao Manifestation not only allowed him to empower his subordinates but also created a feedback loop that enriched his own strength over time.
Mikaela listened intently, her expression unreadable. On the surface, it seemed like an act of generosity. But upon deeper reflection, it was clear that Muria was the true beneficiary. His method of distributing power was calculated to ensure loyalty while consolidating his own dominion.
"Fascinating," Mikaela murmured. "And yet, you make them earn it through battle. Why not simply grant it freely?"
Muria's golden eyes twinkled. "Because freely given power is rarely valued. Only by fighting for it, struggling for it, do they truly cherish what they receive."
Far away in the dark void between worlds, a colossal presence stirred. This entity, vast enough to dwarf entire continents, had been watching. Its form was wreathed in an ashen mist of curses—manifestations of the countless souls it had destroyed in its endless hunger. These curses did not harm the entity; they fueled it, making it an even greater blight upon existence.
A guttural, inhuman sound reverberated through the void. The Evil God had noticed the dwindling numbers of its servants. What was once destined to be its feast had now been stolen from its grasp.
And so, it began to move.
From the shattered husk of a ruined world, countless voidspawn surged forth, filling the surrounding void with their writhing forms. Leading them was the Evil God itself, a vast and nightmarish shape radiating death and despair.
With a final, deafening roar, the god of annihilation surged forward, dragging its monstrous horde behind it. It would reclaim what was rightfully its—and crush the insolent thief who dared to oppose it.
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