The snake's body jerked upright, only to be smashed back into the pit. Throne caught the swirling glow of the Devourer's Scepter in his periphery but didn't bother to evade.
"Life force? I've consumed more than enough of that. Let's see if you can absorb it faster than I can kill."
His fist shot forward, crashing into Rykard's half-formed face before he even thought to draw his weapon. The impact echoed like a thunderclap.
Again. And again. And again. His fists fell in a relentless storm, each blow splattering blood that painted his silver armor a vivid crimson. Bones cracked, scales shattered, and what remained of Rykard's face became a mangled ruin. Throne's hand-blade gouged out an eye, his knee crushed the bridge of the nose, his elbow smashed through facial bones.
"Damn you!"
Rykard's roar was guttural, raw.
A meteorite fragment pinned Rykard's back, trapping him. Desperate, he swung the scepter downward. Throne crossed his arms above his head, his body compressing like a coiled spring. His legs dug shallow pits into the ground, but he didn't kneel. He didn't retreat.
Muscles straining, he pushed the scepter upward inch by inch, his grin sharp and bloody.
"Still… not enough."
With a final heave, he forced the half-snake body upright. He lunged forward, palm outstretched, and the Dark Moon Greatsword tore free from Rykard's chin, flying into his grasp.
He leaped like a predator, pinning the bloodied, mangled snake head beneath him.
"Don't move. How else am I supposed to make this quick?"
The greatsword slashed down, embedding itself in snake bone. A foul wind hissed behind him. Throne glanced back to see the mangled head lunging, its greed-fueled desperation keeping it alive.
"I said, don't move."
Without turning, he drew the Sword of Night and Flame from his waist and thrust it backward. The blade hadn't even reached its target when a torrent of scorching light erupted, illuminating the cavern. Rykard tasted it—not steel, but searing magic. The head swelled momentarily before the blade pierced through completely.
As Rykard's head recoiled, Throne gripped the greatsword, legs braced on either side of the gaping wound. Blood burned. Dragon Heritage surged. The blade descended, severing bone harder than steel. With a final stomp, he tore through the last layer of flesh. The sound was sickening.
The snake head thudded to the ground, rolled twice, and sprayed blood before going still. Throne knelt in the crimson rain, dragging his sword as he approached the fallen head. He leaned in, whispering into its ear, "Even if you could devour the sun, you couldn't devour me. Any last words?"
The head hissed weakly, its voice blurred beyond recognition. Beaten to a pulp, Rykard's ability to speak was a miracle. He felt his life force draining, but something else pulled at him—a force absorbing his essence. Who else could it be but the knight standing before him? Rykard understood then. 'This world doesn't need two devourers.' So that was it.
The greed faded, replaced not by despair or fear, but an eerie calm. A glimmer of light in the darkness. An infighting between devourers? Whoever won would grow stronger. That bone-deep obsession drove him to gather his remaining life force. His mangled face began to repair itself. Throne didn't move. He didn't see Rykard's reconstructed face as a threat—not with the greed gone from those eyes. For a moment, it was as if the hero had returned.
Rykard didn't move. His burning gaze fixed on the knight as if trying to sear that bloodstained silver armor into his memory. At last, his eyes locked onto the Dark Moon Greatsword.
"Ranni... I've found it. A good resting place."
Throne stiffened. He'd expected curses, not this quiet acceptance. The surprise hadn't settled when Rykard spoke again.
"Walk my path to the end. Devour that tree. Burn it. That's too kind for it."
"Fine. I'll carry your obsession forward."
This wasn't the mindless devouring beast—this was Rykard himself. The irony burned. Their first meeting was their last. The cavern held its breath.
The half-face's presence flared. Pupils dilated to black pits.
"Then strike! Now!"
For that instant, he wasn't some defeated abomination but a warrior meeting death standing. Throne raised his greatsword in silent salute. No last words. Just the blade falling like judgment.
Light condensed. Flesh dissolved.
A desiccated head hit the stone with a dry crack. Rykard was gone. Only rubble and the serpent's bisected corpse remained. Throne stood motionless in the settling dust.
'This obsession runs deeper than I imagined.' His sigh stirred ash as he surveyed the wreckage. Closing his eyes, he felt power coiling in his veins.
Godrick's rune had prepared him—this surging energy was a demigod's essence, raw and hungry. It would take time to digest. But something else prickled beneath his skin. Unlike Godrick's clean transfer, this left him feeling... changed.
Soil. He was becoming soil. Something took root inside him.
His eyes flew open. Visions of an Ancient Great Serpent coiled behind his eyelids. He wouldn't become another Rykard, another ravenous horror. His pulse hammered against his ribs before gradually steadying. No aggression remained—just dormant potential. A seed.
What would sprout? He couldn't know, but the serpent's nature whispered to him.
"When two devourers merge..."
The possibilities slithered through his thoughts. Physical mutations. Enhanced traits. Dragon Heritage evolving into something new. Absorption efficiency skyrocketing.
He finally understood Sellen's obsession. The unknown pulled like gravity.
"The rune's concrete power is mine. Whatever the serpent left behind is just... bonus."
His lips curled. Rykard's final vision intrigued him now.
The so-called Elden Lord? Just another sacrificial lamb. True freedom meant facing the Greater Will itself. The strongest in the Lands Between were insects before that cosmic gaze. There was another way. All in One. Devour everything. Shatter the lines between king and god. Let quantity forge quality.
A sudden impulse welled up in Throne: eat Melina, devour the Nights Cavalry, then go on to devour every demigod, every Ancient Dragon, every Outer God, growing stronger like a snowball, eventually becoming an existence capable of devouring the Erdtree. Devour this agent of the Greater Will, along with the crucible of life.
That's not all—devour the starry sky, become an unstoppable existence, and in the very end, devour the Greater Will and eat every life in the starry sky. The veins on his forehead bulged, as if a voice was roaring in his heart: You were able to reach this point, to go from a mere cannon fodder to a hero revered by others, all because of power, and power comes from devouring.
This path is the right one. Quickly let go of all moral constraints; in this world, besides you, there is only food left! Self-restraint is unnecessary; morality is just a pale, ridiculous thing. Only power, power is the existence that suppresses everything.
"Eh, Rykard is dead?"
Amidst this silent roar, a cool voice suddenly cut in.
Throne turned his head, his bloodshot eyes causing Melina to take a step back.
"W-what are you doing?"
She instinctively reached for the Black Knife remaining at her waist. Throne's gaze was full of aggression. Fortunately, he immediately closed his eyes, his lips trembling, as if talking to himself.
"No, this obsession has also been inherited by me. It's completely different from the time with Godrick. It's like I ate something unclean."
His expression suddenly froze, and he couldn't help but cover his forehead. The Ancient Great Serpent was indeed completely different from ordinary demigods. It possessed an 'immortal' characteristic, and this immortality did not refer to the physical body, but to the soul and obsession.
"Throne, what's wrong with you? Are you too tired?"
Melina sensed this struggle, and her expression became tense.
"No, it's the will of that snake. I was a bit careless this time; I didn't expect its obsession to be so heavy."
"It's not dead yet?"
Melina looked around, but there was only a vast expanse of flesh.
"It died, but not completely. It wanted to tamper with my will, and greed stems from despair—despair for an invincible existence."
Throne breathed heavily; he understood why the impulses had appeared. The reason was simple: the serpent's path of devouring made sense. Throne had once discussed with Ranni that unifying The Lands Between was far from the end. The real mastermind behind the scenes could neither be seen nor touched.
Coincidentally, his plan was similar to Rykard's. Except for the fact that he couldn't devour lifeless objects like the Erdtree, he also wanted to gather the power of the great runes, Radagon, and even the Elden Beast into one, thereby exceeding the upper limit of this world.
"So you're going to become a man-eating monster too?"
Melina was stunned for a moment, and quickly, she punched Throne directly in the face: "Spit it out, quickly!"
Bang! Even with the helmet blocking, Throne spun around in place. Clutching his face, he roared at the aggressive Melina: "What are you going crazy for??"
"I'm telling you to spit out the dirty thing, quickly."
"Then why didn't you punch my stomach?"
"Oh, your armor is too thick, I can't punch through it. How about you take it off first, then I'll punch you."
Looking at the serious Melina, Throne's blood pressure almost skyrocketed. He didn't know whether to call her stupid or smart, but as his blood pressure rose, his head miraculously cleared up.
"Alright, it's not like I ate raw snake meat, and it's fine."
Melina clenched her small fists, leaning forward: "How is it fine?"
"I've experienced similar feelings; I can handle this kind of influence."
"Are you really sure it's fine?"
"Nonsense. If you hit me again, I'm going to fight back." Throne roared viciously, feeling a bit strange for a moment. In the tropes, aren't people supposed to be calmed down by a maiden's gentle embrace?
What's with this punch to the face? Is she trying to use this chance to get revenge? Melina still had that blank look, making it impossible to tell if she was serious or not, so she slowly lowered her fist.
"Similar feelings, what do you mean?"
"The Path of Shura and the Path of Devouring are essentially the same."
Throne patted the dust off his armor.
The Path of Shura burned deep within him, a force more potent than any power this world could muster. That thing couldn't be killed, yet the Ancient Great Serpent and Rykard had fallen by his hands. What right did losers have to arrogance? But caution was necessary now. Some things weren't meant to be consumed without thought.
Greed was a serpent swallowing an elephant whole. If he tried to devour Radagon in this state, that impulse would consume him entirely. Was this a side effect? Power always demanded a price. Throne shrugged it off. He wasn't the type to hesitate or second-guess. If he had been, he'd never have taken the first step.
Power's origins, its flaws—why waste time worrying? Winners stood tall; losers crumbled to dust. The world was simple like that.
"One last promise to keep," he muttered, turning away from the carnage. His boots crunched over rubble as he stooped to retrieve the blasphemous blade from the ground.
He eyed the divine artifact with disdain, tore a strip from his cloak, and wiped away the dried remnants of its blood-red flesh buds. Rykard was dead; the once-living growths had long since withered. Throne inspected it briefly before tucking it away. His collection of divine relics was already bloated.
Besides, the weapons of his foes now offered little more than minor enhancements. No longer decisive. Still, there was a satisfaction in looting treasures, useful or not. The blasphemous blade, imbued with the power of lava, was a greatsword—no overlap with his Sword of Night and Flame.
Then there was the scepter. He rummaged through the serpent's flesh, his fingers closing around the coiled serpent devouring the world. He held it up, examining it closely. Up close, it was impressive—the serpent lifelike, the center more than just a sphere. From a distance, though... it looked like a piece of shit.
"From now on, you're the Poop Scepter," he murmured. Whoever claimed divine artifacts had spirits was wrong. Otherwise, it would've smashed his skull open. He stashed it with the rest and stepped over the rubble, stopping before the latter half of Rykard's grotesque remains. Nestled within the scarlet serpent flesh was half a woman's body.
Her figure was still striking, her face pale as death. At the sound of footsteps, her head jerked up stiffly, zombie-like.
"It's you," Tanith rasped. Her face was corpse-pale, but Throne had to admit she was beautiful—gentle yet stunning. Her next words killed any admiration.
Her trembling hand reached out, her voice dripping with seduction.
"My Lord, favor me. I offer everything to serve you."
Necrophilia at its peak. Gelmir truly was a den of lunatics. Throne shook his head, thoughts wandering to the Hermit Village and Rykard. He tilted his head back and roared at the cavern ceiling.
"Rya! Didn't you want to see him one last time? Why are you hiding?"
His voice echoed. Moments later, a small head peeked out from the shattered cavern above. Rya had always been obedient, but not as much as he'd thought. She'd crept closer despite the danger—foolish. If she'd been caught in the crossfire, they wouldn't have found enough of her to bury. Throne's glare sent her head ducking back.
As if realizing she had already been exposed, Rya's head carefully reappeared, eyes wide and nervous. She didn't speak.
"Since you're here, stop hiding," Throne said, his tone softer now. "Come down."