Chapter 179: The Last Strike
The night after the ritual was a deep, dreamless void.
I woke not to the gentle sunlight of Selorn, but to the feeling of being scraped.
My mana core, which had been pushed to its absolute limit channeling Drakerlor's divine, abyssal power, felt raw, like an open wound.
Every muscle in my body ached, a protest against the violent surge of energy I had forced through it.
And then, there was the other new sensation.
...hungry... Master... hungry... feed...
It wasn't a sound. It was a persistent, telepathic itch at the back of my skull. A low, constant, primal need radiating from the [Awakened Abyssal Wyrmling Egg] nestled in my dimensional storage.
It was no longer a dormant object; it was a conscious, bonded, and very demanding life form.
The 30-day timer had begun, and the countdown was being punctuated by this incessant, needy whisper.
