Genetic Ascension

Chapter 1642 Limb From Limb

Nosphaleen took a breath and closed her eyes.

[Fleeting Caress].

A line of silvery telekinesis took shape in the air, forming as though it had been massaged into being by Nosphaleenʼs own variation of Aetherflow, compressed into a palm, and then pressed onto Sylasʼ back.

The spike of pain was immediate. There was a familiar push and pull of desire and horror-the sort of addiction one knew one should kick because it was slowly killing you on the outside, and yet you still couldnʼt have enough of it.

Sylas felt desire more clearly than he had maybe ever in his life. He was someone who had known how to control his more basal instincts from the time he was very young, conforming with the society around him and fitting into the mold others expected of him.

But at this moment, that desire to chase after pain was too real. It was as though it was truly him seeking after it, and there was a part of him deep inside that desired it in earnest.

Maybe he was a bit of a masochist. He took pride in being able to suffer through what others couldnʼt. His discipline, he was starting to realize in that moment, wasnʼt just a function of him wanting to be better for himself, but also a measure of doing something that others couldnʼt measure up to.

For a long while now, Sylas had always told himself that his only measuring stick was that of himself. And in most aspects... that was true.

What he hadnʼt realized until now was that there were some matters that he very much did compare himself to others in.

His pain tolerance, how much he could suffer and endure, how good he was at suppressing his basal instincts and acting how he wanted to act rather than allowing his body to dictate how he acted instead... That was something he did allow himself to compare and contrast.

Until this pain began to course through his veins, Sylas didnʼt register this reality for himself. And it wasnʼt until now that he realized just how effective this method would be because of that.

Part of him had been worried that his Will would be too strong, that even an E-tier Mesmeryx wouldnʼt be able to manipulate his mind to the level it needed to for this plan to work.

But now he knew that he had thought too much.

Who knew-maybe all of these thoughts, his attempts to rationalize things, were all fake. Maybe he never cared to compare himself to others even in this instance, but Nosphaleenʼs Gene Beast Form had made him believe it to be

So.

Whatever the truth was, right this moment, it didnʼt matter.

All he could feel was pain-and the desire for more of it.

Veins raged across his body, lining his forearms and jawline. His eyes turned bloodshot, his blood pumping wildly.

BADUM.

The sound of his heartbeat was practically like roaring thunder in his ears, a rampaging violence of oozing life, steaming with such heat it billowed out from his lips, his nostrils, and even his ears. It seemed barely shy of opening his pores themselves, turning the world around them into a hotbed.

As this happened, Sylasʼ aura seemed to teeter, pulsing between increasing and weakening, as though it couldnʼt decide whether it wanted to improve or regress.

Sylas exhaled a breath that sparked with emerald lightning, his neck cracking, as a halo of gold appeared around him.

The Hibernation Halo wasnʼt for him at all. He hadnʼt fused with Gogo. This was for Nosphaleen.

He needed it for one reason and one reason only.

He didnʼt want her to stop for even a single moment.

Water rippled beneath him and then began to boil.

Sylas wanted to taste that edge of life and death. He wanted his body to peer into a dark abyss and realize that it had no choice but to improve if it wanted to survive.

The problem was that if he did this without Nosphaleen... his own mind was too sharp, too rational. To others, this was an impossible battle. To him? He had too many things to take advantage of.

The ground rumbled as though in response to his thoughts, one wave of Demons after another surging toward them from the outside.

Chi. Chi. Chi.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

One after another, bits and pieces of Sylasʼ Scorpion Warlord Armor shaped around him. But it looked different than it once did, seeming a lot darker than its previous bold emerald green.

Sparks of silver and black radiated off of it in kind, a radiant aura blooming from him as the water began to churn into a maddening cadence.

”Your face pisses me off.”

The words came from the most unexpected of sources. Sylas spoke candidly, and for the very first time, a deep resonance rode the gathering winds as they grew faster and faster.

”You look every bit the part of a stupid ape.”

Amendeʼs pupils constricted into pinholes, his aura growing so furious it actually stopped moving altogether, the rampaging of the crimson ape-shaped aura freezing in place.

”What did you just say to me?”

Mixed Demonic Arts.

Sylas didnʼt reply, the world around him going from rampaging to deathly still in a flashing instant of time. It was as though his palm had descended from the skies, forcing the earth to stop quaking.

He raised a foot and then stepped forward. In an instant, he was already in front of Amende. But he didnʼt attack at

all.

Their noses were separated by barely a quarter of a foot, the cold light in Sylasʼ eyes becoming more and more radiant with every passing moment.

”Stupid. Ape.”

Sylasʼ canines flashed as he spoke slowly, stretching out his syllables so that there would be no confusion at all.

Amendeʼs own canines flashed, fur growing from his shoulders like pauldrons and his back splitting with power and muscle.

”Iʼm going to enjoy ripping you limb from limb.”

BANG.