SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer

Hearing Niomi's calm, reasonable words, Violet's eyes slowly returned to normal. The wild edge faded, replaced by a glint of weary clarity. A moment later, a self-deprecating smile curved her lips—thin, bitter, and almost ashamed.

Viol

Who would have thought that someone as seasoned, as battle-worn as her, could be so easily overwhelmed?

Yet in truth, no one could fault her for it. In her place, most would have crumbled far sooner.

After all, the very first news she'd heard upon returning from her year-long mission had been a double blow: her husband was paralyzed… and her youngest son had gone to war with their greatest rival.

And that was only the beginning.

Soon after, she learned of the situation with Roan—how he and his family of three had simply vanished without a trace, as if swallowed by the earth itself.

Every time Violet thought about it, a tremor of worry rippled through her chest. The uncertainty gnawed at her, whispering worst-case scenarios into her mind when she tried to sleep.

Her husband lay in deep, healing slumber now, but she knew him too well. Once he awoke and learned of this, his heart would not take it lightly. The bond between those two brothers was unshakable, forged over years of blood and shared burdens.

She could almost see the storm that would break when he found out.

Violet shook her head sharply, forcing the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on it. Not now.

Her priority was clear—she needed to get out of this palace.

But just as resolve began to harden in her, her mature, battle-trained body betrayed her. A sudden shiver coursed through her limbs, growing into a violent tremor.

Her knees buckled.

She fell, hitting the cold floor hard, her breath catching as spasms seized her frame.

"What happened, Mother?"

Niomi's voice was sharp with worry. Seeing Violet collapse so suddenly, she rushed forward from the sidelines, skirts brushing the cold stone floor.

She dropped to her knees beside her, not caring about the chill that seeped into her legs, and gently pressed a cool, fair hand against Violet's furrowed brows.

Niomi closed her eyes. A moment later, a faint golden radiance began to bloom from her palm. It shimmered like liquid sunlight, pulsing with warmth, and then—like a living thing—flowed down into Violet's body. The glow wove through her skin and into her veins, spreading slowly, deliberately, as if seeking out the source of the affliction.

With each passing heartbeat, the tension in Violet's face eased. Her spasms quieted. The harsh lines of pain began to soften.

Minutes passed—long, heavy, and silent except for the faint hum of the golden light.

By the time Niomi withdrew her hand, her own body was trembling. Sweat beaded along her brow and rolled down her temples, dampening her dark hair. Her plump chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath ragged from the strain.

Five minutes later, Violet's eyes fluttered open. Her breathing was steady again. She shifted slightly, then fixed her gaze on Niomi.

"Are you okay, little Niomi?"

Niomi didn't answer immediately. Relief softened her features, but there was a flicker of exhaustion behind her eyes.

Violet sat up with effort, the calm in her expression almost too controlled. "Damn those bastards," she muttered under her breath. "What did they use to restrict my powers so much?"

Outwardly, she kept her tone even—almost conversational—but inside her thoughts churned like a raging tide.

They had reached Riverfall City without incident and completed their task as planned. But just when they were about to return, the ambush came—swift, calculated, and merciless.

At first, she hadn't been concerned. Yet it became clear far too quickly that this was no ordinary group. The enemy's strength was staggering—most of them at gold rank, their movements crisp and coordinated.

Overwhelmed before they could mount a proper defense, mother and daughter were subdued and taken alive. The next time they opened their eyes, they were here—inside this strange, suffocating prison.

What made it worse was the insidious restriction buried deep in Violet's body. It wasn't just a seal on her Amma—it felt carved into her very bones, a lock she could neither break nor weaken. The sensation was maddening, like being trapped inside her own flesh.

Niomi exhaled slowly when she felt Violet's life force stabilizing. The golden glow had faded, leaving only the faint warmth of her touch behind.

At least she could help her mother-in-law for now.

The two women shared a quiet moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken questions. Neither was in the mood to fill the silence.

Violet's thoughts were spiraling, turning over escape plans in a frantic, silent loop.

Now that the pain in her body had eased, her mind sharpened, able to properly take in her surroundings.

The air carried a faint fragrance—violet chrysanthemum, subtle yet persistent. Beneath it lingered the faint grit of charcoal particles, scratching faintly at her throat with each breath. The humidity was higher than she expected; it clung to her skin, dampening her hair, and made the cold stone walls seem to breathe with moisture.

Her gaze swept the dim cell. Rust crept like reddish veins along the metal bars, eating away at their strength. Following them upward, she caught sight of a narrow window—a sliver of the outside world—where fresh, moisture-laden air filtered through. Slowly, that same dampness was corroding the iron from within.

A faint spark lit in her eyes. She pieced together each clue with the precision of a seasoned operative, and one name surfaced in her mind:

Mesarith City.

One of the largest cities in the Boundless Wasteland, and home to the Yellowlock family—an old, prestigious bloodline famed for producing elite experts for nine consecutive generations.

But fame had given way to whispers. Their decline had been slow at first, then suddenly steep. Rumor held that the current young master had awakened only a C-grade talent, a humiliation that had shaken the family's foundations.

Desperate, the Yellowlocks had scoured their lands for an answer. It hadn't taken long before they uncovered the truth: their vaunted ancestral bloodline was thinning. The solution was obvious, cruel, and ancient—bring in fresh blood.

Violet's expression darkened. Her lips thinned, eyes narrowing to razor slits. A cold, heavy dread began to coil in her chest, rooting itself deep in her bones.

Niomi, who had been silently watching her, caught the change. She leaned forward, about to speak—

Tap. Tap.

The sound of measured, unhurried footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond, each step ringing softly against the stone.

Instinctively, both women's heads turned toward the shadowed corridor, their attention snapping to the source of the sound.

The dim torchlight in the prison chamber wavered, as though it too sensed something approaching.

Violet's gaze narrowed into thin, dangerous slits. A quiet, icy gleam flickered in her eyes, the kind born from decades of surviving predators both human and otherwise. Every instinct screamed at her—the one responsible for stripping away her power was drawing near.

The footsteps grew clearer. Tap… tap… tap… Each one deliberate, unhurried, and echoing faintly against the damp stone walls. There was no rush in that stride, only the measured pace of someone who believed time—and the people before him—belonged to him.

From the gloom, a figure finally emerged.

A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, stepped into view. He wore a white robe so pristine it seemed immune to the dust and grime of this place. His silky, black hair swayed gently with the faint currents in the air, the strands catching the light like dark silk threads. At first glance, his smile was disarmingly charming—smooth, almost boyish. But beneath it, something coiled and hungry lurked in his eyes.

When his gaze fell on them, a strange heat kindled in those irises.

Niomi felt it immediately—a slow, creeping chill crawling up her spine, the same primal warning that animals feel when a predator's shadow passes over them.

Violet noticed it too. The instant that hungry stare lingered on Niomi, a violent pulse of killing intent surged within her. She clenched her fists, the tendons in her hands straining, and for a heartbeat she nearly stepped forward. Only sheer control kept her still, her mind already working like a blade, rifling through her memories in search of this man's identity. The familiarity was maddening—she had seen him somewhere before, she was certain—but the recollection slipped away each time she reached for it.

The man's tongue flicked briefly across his lips, an almost absent gesture that made the air in the cell feel heavier. His steps closed the distance, each one scraping softly against stone until he stood just beyond the rusted iron bars.

The faint smell of violet chrysanthemum oil drifted from his clothes, masking something subtler—an undertone of cold metal and something sharper, almost like blood.

Niomi swallowed and forced the question past her lips. "Who are you?"

The man paused, as if her voice had broken through a pleasant daydream. His brows lifted faintly, then the reaction passed, replaced by a smile—slow, knowing, and deliberate.

His gaze traced over her, unhurried and invasive, before finally meeting her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was a low, smooth drawl that seemed to curl in the air between them.

"That's quite a rude thing to ask… your future husband."