Genetic Ascension

Chapter 2047: His Own

Sylas stood in silence, not moving immediately.

Right now, all he knew was what he would do, not how he would do it. Patience wasn’t something that he lacked, but it was something that he could kick to the curb at a moment’s notice whenever his Pride or something just as important was on the line.

As far as Sylas saw things right now, he was dealing with yet another ticking time bomb.

If this material was the very same one that the obelisk was carved out of, then it might very well be the secret to reaching even higher Race Grades.

All things considered, the obelisk hadn’t been of great use to Sylas in a while, so much in fact that he had left it on Earth. He had already pushed the Genesis Forge to the highest possible level he could and reaped everything there was to reap from it.

After gathering all of the pieces of the Genesis Forge, he had already had it to thank for how he had improved his Race Grade as quickly as he had.

Honestly, right now, Sylas wasn’t pressed to improve his Race Grade, especially not after seeing those dinosaurs. The reason was simple.

They weren’t even A-Grade. Sylas had confirmed this for certain after taking their Blood Essence.

He hadn’t known it was possible to have a Demi-God that wasn’t at least of an A-Grade level. But maybe that just meant that reaching the pinnacle of the A-Grade was the only way for a Mortal to become a Demi-God. But that didn’t mean it was the only way for a Demi-God to be born.

This didn’t seem like a huge deal, but to Sylas it was enormous. It meant that there was something quintessentially special to Demi-Gods that went beyond just Grade alone.

If it wasn’t just a measure of pushing your Race Grade higher, then it meant that he had misunderstood the status of Demi-Gods.

This was all to say that the real reason Sylas wanted to climb this mountain wasn’t because he wanted to reach the S-Grade. It was because it was likely the very reason Demi-Gods could exist on Earth right under his nose all this time.

However, how would he protect his life?

Sylas crossed his arms, standing in silence as he stared ahead at the mountain. His body seemed to have vanished into the void. Though he was present in the Real Plane, none of these lower level Demi-God beasts could sense him at all.

After a full hour, Sylas began to walk forward again. But his steps almost looked like they were moving through a dense slurry of syrup.

Every step was labored and slow, almost like he was pulling at the fabric of spacetime itself.

By the time he reached the mountain, he weighed almost as heavily as the enormous structure itself. Beads of sweat fell down his brow, heavy and relentless. Every breath he took steamed, vaporizing the water vapor in the air until it smoldered like the embers of a volcano.

Then he took a step onto the mountain.

BOOM.

The entire plane shook and the cry of beasts filled the air.

The forest quaked, the skies and clouds splitting as one flying reptile after another soared toward his location.

BOOM. BOOM.

Sylas took another step, and then another.

It wanted to stop him from using his Rune Mastery? Fine. He would just create another Plane around himself.

In this last hour, Sylas had put in a great deal of effort. He had even split his intention down one lane in an attempt to rebuild his Rune Mastery through another thought process. But it went about as slowly as one might expect.

If Sylas had a guide, maybe it would only take him a short while. But because he didn’t, from his calculations, it would take him nine months to reach Hell Rune Creation.

This was just an estimate, but from his deductions, it was probably close to the truth, give or take a week or two.

And this only assumed that his current Rune Path could be perfectly translated. If he ran into any hiccups, or had to create a new Rune Path, it would take about as long as it had taken him with Fathomless Rune Creation-that being about double that time.

By that time, the First Race might already be on Earth and taking advantage of what should rightfully be his at this point.

After all, it wasn’t the First Race that succeeded in the Summoning, it was he who had. And it wasn’t the First Race that saved Earth, that would also be him. It also wasn’t the First Race that managed to reach the level of Progenitor.

That was, once again, just him.

Maybe the First Race would claim that they had a large role in these matters, that they deserved a piece of that pie. And Sylas wouldn’t deny that they did.

But if they thought they could leave after laying out their little contingency plans and their “decoys”, just to return when it suited them best and still believe that they could dictate things… It seemed they didn’t understand him as well as they could.

Sylas had been frustrated for quite a while now. Ever since the matters with Nosphaleen, it felt like he hadn’t been able to take control of anything for a long while.

In that case, it was about time he had a battle where he could just let loose.

It was a good thing that Gogo was angry with him and not asking or wanting to come out.

Because Sylas had no intention of letting his partner out in the first place.

This battle was going to be his own.

The Thryskai and their enemies had been too weak. He hadn’t truly seen the limits of his Fathomless Rune Creation.

And maybe these restrictions would finally allow him to see if there was anything left in the Mortal Plane that could push him a little bit.

Sylas unleashed a roar and his palms slammed down.

Two reptile birds with beaks of shimmering blades were slapped down by emerald gold palms that blotted out the skies.