"Damn you, Daniel!"
Fleshheart cursed inwardly, its thoughts surging with frustration.
The current situation had forced it into an extremely passive position.
On the Flesh Continent, those so-called "vermin," even the ones who had reached the demigod rank, were never worth a second glance in its eyes.
To Fleshheart, they were ants, insignificant and unable to threaten its existence.
Yet now, things had changed. Fleshheart could not divert its focus, because it still had to deal with Daniel’s relentless assault!
What unsettled it the most was that Daniel’s attacks, while not overwhelming on the surface, clung to Fleshheart like sticky cowhide plaster, refusing to peel away. Every strike, every pulse of energy, pursued it with uncanny persistence.
The most frustrating thing of all was the strange ability Daniel was employing. Fleshheart couldn’t even categorize it properly.
It wasn’t exactly a domain, nor did it feel like a simple combat skill. Whenever Fleshheart thought it was on the verge of breaking it apart, the strange power would reconstitute itself, stronger and more resilient than before.
The Void Pearl was the clearest example. What had started as a tiny bead the size of a palm had now expanded to engulf the entire battlefield.
This wasn’t because Fleshheart had deliberately ignored it.
The truth was, it simply had no idea how to deal with such an anomaly. The phenomenon baffled it. What sort of disgusting ability was this?
And another thing gnawed at its mind: Daniel was only supposed to be demigod rank. How could he possibly wield something so similar to a domain?
Fleshheart couldn’t make sense of it, but one fact was becoming clear: if the situation didn’t change soon, if it couldn’t find a way to break free, then it might truly be in danger of falling here.
The thought that a Fake God-level entity such as itself might actually perish sent a chill of anger and disbelief through its very core.
"Damn you, Daniel! Do you really want to force me this far?" Fleshheart roared, its voice a thunderous growl of rage.
Even as it bellowed, a dangerous idea flickered in its mind.
What if... it began its ascension ritual now?
Every time a being of sufficient strength attempted to step into true godhood, the Supreme Will intervened. This mysterious force in the void would test them, subjecting them to bizarre, unfathomable trials before allowing them to ascend. Fleshheart knew this well. It had seen it happen countless times throughout history.
So, a bold thought took root in its mind: perhaps it could use this exact moment to begin its ritual, to trigger the tribulation of ascension, and to rise from the level of Fake God to the true demigod rank.
All the necessary preparations were already complete. What remained was simply for the calamity to descend.
Yet there was a problem. Fleshheart had recently taken a direct hit from Aurelia’s devastating strike. That blow had forced it to consume several of its hidden trump cards. Those resources were one-use only, and without them, initiating the ascension ritual now might become even more perilous.
If it proceeded, the risks would multiply.
So Fleshheart hesitated. Should it gamble its existence on this desperate move, or should it hold back and attempt to weather Daniel’s storm?
Its attacks slowed as indecision gnawed at its mind.
On the other side of the battlefield, Daniel was far from idle. Through his Psychic Perception combined with Mental Deduction, he began subtly tugging at the strings of Fleshheart’s thoughts.
He wasn’t trying to control its mind directly—such a feat against a Fake God-level entity that had lived for millennia was impossible. But control wasn’t necessary. Daniel’s aim was far simpler: to seed Fleshheart’s mind with noise, confusion, and contradictory impulses.
And it was working.
Fleshheart’s offensive rhythm faltered, breaking into irregular, chaotic bursts. Some of its fleshly tentacles even tangled themselves together, betraying the mess within its consciousness.
Should it initiate the ritual now?
"No... not yet. I must hold on a little longer! Daniel may be strong, but he is only demigod rank. His strange pseudo-domain cannot last forever. If I endure, I will outlast him. I don’t need to risk the ascension ritual."
Yes, that seemed logical. If it could drag things out, victory would eventually fall into its hands.
But those weren’t entirely its own thoughts. Daniel’s Psychic Perception was weaving insidious whispers into its mind, presenting them as natural flashes of inspiration. Fleshheart, proud and arrogant, couldn’t tell the difference.
This was the subtle brilliance of Daniel’s technique. He didn’t need to dominate the enemy’s mind. He simply needed to introduce doubt and distraction, creating a storm of mental "garbage" that diluted Fleshheart’s focus.
At this stage, even a fraction of hesitation could prove fatal.
Meanwhile, Daniel’s eyes gleamed with cunning. He observed every twitch, every ripple in his foe’s aura. He was hunting for weaknesses, for that single thread he could pull to unravel everything.
Then he saw it.
With deliberate calculation, Daniel allowed the Void Pearl to dissolve, letting Fleshheart lash out at the surrounding void. At the same time, he feigned exhaustion, pretending that he was nearing his limit.
It was bait, and he laid it with care.
He wanted Fleshheart to believe it still had hope, that if it persisted, the tide might turn. Because once that temptation took hold, it would cling to the thought of ascension even more desperately. And that, Daniel knew, would be its downfall.
The decision now lay in Fleshheart’s hands. Resist, or leap into the ritual and face certain death.
Daniel waited, calm in his deception.
Far away, on the surface of the Flesh Continent, the battle had already tilted in humanity’s favor. The armies of flesh, once overwhelming, were collapsing under the combined might of the human awakeners and their powerful allies.
The grotesque tentacles that had once blanketed the battlefield were now being shredded with ease. Human squads advanced like an unstoppable tide, cutting deeper and deeper into the corrupted land.
But just as the awakeners were preparing to surge into the heart of the continent, they froze.
Because what they saw before them was beyond belief.
In the cavernous depths, countless flesh-spawned creatures lay crammed together, motionless, as though they had all fallen into a deep slumber.
And the most horrifying detail?
These flesh creatures did not resemble monsters. No—each and every one of them looked exactly like human adventurers, down to the smallest detail. Their faces, their postures, even their battle gear were near-perfect copies.
The sight chilled the blood of every awakener present.
What kind of nightmare had they walked into?