One Day Later…
Sylas didn't even bother to meet the monster head-on this time, he simply flicked his wrist and a shockwave tore through the creature's torso, splitting it in two clean halves.
The others rushed him all at once, claws tearing at the air, eyes blazing red with feral bloodlust.
A pivot, heel drop, elbows through skulls, knees snapping through vertebrae. His movements blurred and a storm of red and black mist spread out around him, his power carving through the monsters like paper.
Each demon evaporated into mist, leaving behind chaos cores that floated lazily around him like morbid fireflies.
As soon as he finished off a group of monsters, he would head off for the next one, in the beginning when he took off to fly he crashed a few times but soon he got the hang of it.
Sylas wiped a smear of evaporating blood from his cheek and approached the first orb.
He reached out, letting the Chaos curl around his hand.
Again and again orbs dissolved, and with each one, he felt something inside him stretch growing more potent. His Crest pulsed hotter on the back of his hand, reacting to the influx of chaos.
Minutes passed.
Hours.
He lost count of the monsters, lost count of the Chaos orbs he consumed. His body moved on instinct, clearing wave after wave of creatures that a normal Lord would never stand a chance against.
In the beginning, it was a simple, modest sigil of an Esquire Crest, the lowest possible rank for a crest. He remembered the way crests evolved in the series. There was what he was doing, killing monsters and absorbing their chaos from the cores they dropped, or the other way which is absorbing the crests of other lords.
The ranks went like this:
Esquire → Knight
Knight→ Baron
Baron→ Viscount
Viscount→ Earl/Count
Earl/Count→ Margrave
Margrave→ Duke
Duke→ Archduke
Archduke→ Emperor
Only those who ruled massive territories usually possessed an upper rank crest. They were typically nobles that had their crests passed down within their families, generation after generation.
After absorbing his thirtieth orb or maybe his fortieth, he didn't know anymore, the crest on his hand flickered like a heartbeat and began to reshape.
Lines extended. The symbol sharpened, becoming more intricate, and radiant.
Knight rank.
As more chaos swelled under the earth and more cracks opened up. More monsters crawled through, snarling and hungry.
Sylas welcomed them with a tired sigh.
"The grind doesn't stop."
He tore through them like he was brushing aside tall grass. Every impact shook the ground. Every kill birthed another orb that flowed into his crest.
Soon hours turned into days.
Lucky for him, he didn't need to worry about food or water for a couple of months at least, Viltrumites can go months or years without sustenance as long as they don't overexert their energy supply.
By the time he stopped again, the Crest on his hand pulsed wildly and shifted once more.
Knight → Baron
Another leap.
He stood there, breathing steadily, staring at the glowing mark. He raised his hand, letting the red light play across his fingers.
An idea crept into his mind. A dangerous one. Viltrumite cells were monstrous in their ability to resist destruction, he knew that from the show.
If Chaos was a force from another dimension…
If Crests acted like anchors to control it…
Then maybe, just maybe…
"If I gather enough Chaos…" he whispered.
His pulse quickened.
"…I could tear a hole through dimensions and go to different universes possibly."
For the first time since he arrived in this world, he looked forward to the unknown, to discover things foreign to him.
Sylas clenched his fist, "Alright then…" he murmured.
Lifting his eyes toward the horizon where more Chaos storms brewed. He said a few words before taking off, "Off we go."
Launching himself into the air, he flew toward the next wave of monsters.
<><><><><>
Three months later…
Suspended in the air, arms crossed in front of his chest, dark black hair blowing gently in the cold unnatural wind was Sylas.
And on the back of his left hand…
His Crest was almost unrecognizable.
Once a Baron sigil, had now evolved into something vast, intricate, and impossibly beautiful, spiraling like a living flame.
Baron → Viscount → Earl/Count → Margrave → Duke…
He closed his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, a new symbol burned atop his hand:
Archduke.
The second-highest Crest rank possible in this world. Achieved alone, through raw, merciless, unending slaughter.
Sylas exhaled slowly. A plume of warm breath spread out into the cold air.
"…Finally."
He looked down at the world he had spent months erasing monster by monster. He felt different inside now, his mind was calmer. The more he fought, the more alive he felt and the more he began to understand the Viltrumite cells in his body.
His body and senses were far beyond his human life back on Earth. He could hear storms forming miles away, see objects from miles away, he could even feel the subtle gravitational pull of this world's planet.
"After all this fighting, I'm really craving something to eat."
Sylas hovered in the sky, letting the wind curl around him as he gazed over the barren landscape below.
His stomach growled.
He tilted forward and kicked off the ground gently, drifting through the sky rather than blasting across it. After months of nonstop slaughter, the quiet felt…pleasent to him now, no longer consuming him.
He wondered how the food would taste like in this world? He hadn't eaten since he arrived in this world.
After flying for some time, he could finally see that far in the distance, the sky no longer resembled the purple one he was used to, it was just the normal dark sky, containing stars hovering above the night sky.
He drifted closer, keeping his altitude. This was still unfamiliar territory, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally obliterate the place, especially if there were people nearby.
As he approached, he saw it, a small village enclosed by crude stone walls, barely tall enough to stop a horse, let alone a demon. Wooden watchtowers leaned like they were tired of existing.
The people inside moved with an anxious urgency, carrying buckets, repairing barricades, tending to livestock that looked half-starved.
Chaos lingered at the edges of the village like fog.
Sylas landed silently a few yards outside the wall. His boots touched the dirt without a sound.
Then—
"Hold it right there!"
A shaky voice rang out from the nearest watchtower.
Sylas slowly looked up. A guard—young, barely older than him—had an old crossbow aimed at his head. The man's hands quivered so badly, the bolt rattled in place.
Sylas raised both hands slowly.
"I'm not here to fight," he said calmly. "I'm just here looking for some food."