SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer-Chapter 116: Ignored

From disbelief came a silent, burning rage.

Her protector—the man she called uncle, the one who stood beside her all her life—was just gone, reduced to nothing right before her eyes. And she had done nothing. Could do nothing.

Felicia stood frozen, her chest heaving. Her trembling hands curled into fists at her sides, and her elegant features contorted ever so slightly as a storm brewed within her. She wasn’t supposed to be helpless. Not her. Not Felicia Etternburgh of the Divine Sun Empire.

Yet... in front of that creature, her existence hadn’t even been acknowledged.

She was nothing.

And that realization—bitter, acidic, and choking—began to corrode her rationality. A surge unlike anything she had ever known coiled in her chest, tightening with every breath. Fury. Shame. Desperation.

Just as she was about to release the torrent of emotions clawing at her insides, a pair of cold, indifferent compound eyes slowly turned toward her.

Ricky.

Those eyes—void of humanity—rested on her with all the interest one might give an insect crawling across the floor. There was no hatred. No glee. Just that eternal, suffocating emptiness.

But Felicia met them, her own gaze ignited with defiance.

She didn’t want to be ignored.

She didn’t want to be powerless.

She didn’t want to feel like a helpless child abandoned by the world.

And yet...

The moment her gaze locked with his, her breath caught.

Her lips trembled.

Her skin, fair and radiant, paled ever so slightly.

Because what she saw in those alien eyes wasn’t power—it was death.

Not the kind of death that comes with swords or spells.

It was a slow, suffocating devouring. A presence that eroded the soul, not just the flesh. A predator who didn’t kill out of malice or revenge—he killed because it was nature. Because he could.

The kind of death that froze fire itself.

A chill like ice-cold needles raced down her spine, and before she could stop herself, her foot moved—one step back.

It was small. Subtle.

But in that step... everything was lost.

That single motion shattered her façade.

She had retreated. She had accepted her fear.

She had, unknowingly, conceded defeat.

And Ricky—who had only spared her a glance—turned his gaze away, as if she no longer mattered. As if she’d failed a test she didn’t even know she was taking.

After all, her body was already completely saturated with his sleeper cells. He could deal with her whenever he wanted. There was no urgency.

In fact, just moments ago, he had considered ending her. But right then, he felt it—that gaze.

A heavy, suffocating gaze that seemed to descend from beyond space and time itself. Like an ancient being, unseen but ever-present, had fixed its attention on him.

An instinct born from countless life-and-death encounters screamed in his mind:

Don’t.

He hadn’t hesitated. He knew—if he took one more step toward her, he would be erased from existence.

So for now, she would live.

But the look in his eyes as he turned away said it all.

Only for now.

"Burned to ashes, huh!"

Ricky scoffed, the sound like dry wind scraping over bone. His mandibles curled upward, forming what might have passed for a smirk in his monstrous form.

"We shall see in the future. For now, let’s focus on more important things."

His tone was casual, but the weight behind his words pressed into the atmosphere like a blade against flesh.

Forty-Two, still reeling from the failure of her illusion magic, suddenly felt a new danger bloom against her skin—a frigid, merciless gaze that sliced through her act like a knife through silk.

Her petite figure stiffened instantly.

Then, like a reflex, her expression shifted—eyes glimmering with a soft sheen of unshed tears, lips slightly quivering, shoulders subtly hunched. She became the very image of innocence—vulnerable, wounded, pitiful.

It was a flawless performance.

But Ricky?

His gaze didn’t soften.

In fact, she could feel it growing colder. Sharper. As though the very act of watching her feigned fragility disgusted him.

Still, Forty-Two didn’t flinch. The innocent expression remained. She’d already committed to the act, and she wasn’t the type to back down. Not without trying to twist the outcome in her favor.

Besides... he hadn’t killed her yet.

That meant something.

If he had truly wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have waited. He wouldn’t have hesitated. The moment her illusion magic cracked, her body should’ve followed.

He wants something.

Her sharp mind whirred beneath her childish façade. If this monster—this Venom Fang Overlord—had a use for her, then she just needed to play the right role until she found a way to escape. Or better... turn the situation in her favor.

Ironically, if Ricky had heard her thoughts, he would’ve been impressed.

Because he did have plans.

The kind of plans only a madman—or a visionary—would dare make.

After all, who better to extract secrets from than the undead princess herself? She might not look like a monster now, but he knew what lurked beneath that porcelain skin.

And what better weapon than information?

Just then, Ricky’s cold voice echoed, not from his mouth, but directly into the minds of everyone present—like a divine decree passed down through space itself.

"Darius, go. Calm the forest. I’ll deal with this so-called daughter of mine."

The voice snapped Darius out of his stunned trance. His body jolted upright, spine straightening as if pulled by invisible threads. He gave a sharp nod and launched into the air without hesitation.

A trail of shimmering white light followed in his wake as he disappeared beyond the forest canopy—leaving only three behind.

Ricky.

Felicia.

And the undead princess who looked far too alive.

Ricky’s gaze lingered on Darius as the prince vanished into the distance, a blur of disciplined light streaking through the trees. Only when the final ripple of mana from his departure faded did Ricky shift his focus.

His compound eyes, glowing faintly with crimson hunger, turned toward the girl before him.

The air thickened instantly, the forest holding its breath.

"Now, my precious daughter..." he said, voice like a blade sheathed in silk, "why don’t you introduce yourself? I, your father, am not really a good father, as I’ve completely forgotten about your existence."

It wasn’t just sarcasm. It was bait.

Forty-Two immediately understood.

Her shoulders loosened ever so slightly, and a knowing gleam flickered behind those wide obsidian eyes. His words were hollow, a prompt—and she understood what he was really asking.

Information.

The monster wanted answers.

And she could give them.

So she stepped forward, her face transforming into one of genuine sorrow and soft affection, like a daughter who couldn’t bear to see her father suffer from guilt.

"No, father..." she whispered sweetly, voice trembling just enough to tug at heartstrings that weren’t even there. "It’s not your fault at all... You didn’t abandon me. You just... forgot for a little while."

Then, with tear-bright eyes and a pitiful smile, she began speaking.

She poured out details—ruthlessly, efficiently.

The location of the closest undead rift. The number of spiritual beasts infected before her descent. The name of the commander overseeing this invasion wave. The fact that she wasn’t even the first princess dispatched to this plane—and that many of her "sisters" had failed and perished in silence.

To any outsider, it would seem like she was a traitor to her kind.

But Ricky knew better.

She wasn’t loyal to him.

She was loyal to herself—and right now, self-preservation meant cooperation.

---

A few steps away, Felicia stood rooted in place.

Frozen.

Not by magic. Not by force. But by sheer emotional collapse.

The priestess—daughter of nobility, agent of divine will, a woman revered across the northern empires—was being ignored.

Not feared.

Not respected.

Ignored.

Her lips quivered as rage swelled in her chest, twisting like fire trapped beneath ice. Her eyes widened in disbelief, watching the undead princess whisper her secrets to the insectile abomination like a doting daughter spilling bedtime stories.

She clenched her fists, then lifted one trembling hand and pointed it at Ricky, as if to demand an answer—anything to shatter the humiliating silence.

But no words came out.

Her throat constricted, like invisible chains were wrapped around it.

The air near Ricky was so heavy, so oppressive, that even her indignation struggled to survive in its wake.

She opened her mouth.

Nothing.

Just a shallow, broken breath.

The mosquito and the undead girl hadn’t even looked her way.

To them, she didn’t exist.

And somehow... that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Meanwhile, the two figures made their way toward the wooden castle—one walking with quickened steps, the other floating effortlessly through the air.

The girl’s footsteps crunched softly against the earth as she tried to match the pace of the being beside her. Each of her strides was determined, but just a little too long, just a little too forced—as if she were constantly chasing a presence that hovered just out of reach.

Ricky, on the other hand, glided forward without a care, the slow flap of his wings pushing him ahead in smooth, controlled bursts. There was no urgency in his movement—only the quiet, assured grace of a predator who had already secured the hunt.

Their contrasting motions created an uncanny rhythm—flutter and step, flutter and step—echoing faintly in the stillness of the forest.

Above them, the sun filtered through the ancient canopy, casting long, interwoven shadows that stretched across the dirt path. The two silhouettes—one tall and human-shaped, the other alien and hunched with twitching antennae—moved side by side, black shapes dancing in the golden light.

Though they were together, the space between them spoke volumes.

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