"Are the boss and its master really going to try destroying the Níemogrs’ nest?"

  As Oliver and Ygg’s souls drift away, the plants on the scene are still reeling, too stunned to snap out of it.

  "I still can’t believe it. Can this Oliver Stark guy actually pull it off? This nest has over 100,000 Níemogrs—tens of thousands at level 7, hundreds at level 9, several at level 10, and that’s not even counting the leader with level 12 deity power."

  The star tree can’t help but chime in, still convinced Oliver’s doomed to fail.

  After all, if the Níemogrs weren’t this strong, how could they have captured all these plant deities, forcing them to surrender and live meekly in their nest?

  "I think they’ll fail too, but no big deal—if the boss surrenders to the Níemogrs afterward, we can all root and grow here together. Isn’t that pretty nice?"

  The starlight grass sways its roots as it speaks.

  This guy’s so naive it’s almost cute.

  Meanwhile, on the other side—

  Outside the massive nest, in the dark chaotic world, hordes of Níemogrs pour out like a black tidal wave, ready to drown everything in their path.

  Oliver’s enormous body, hidden in the darkness, has been spotted. The swarm charges toward him, their razor-sharp teeth practically itching to rip him to shreds.

  "Everyone, stay sharp! This big bastard’s got the curse aura of our kin on him—he must’ve killed tons of us. He’s a level 11 deity, so don’t underestimate him!"

  A leader-like Níemogr barks out, standing out from the rest. Unlike the others, its horns aren’t just huge—they glow with a striking red light.

  Among these Níemogrs, black horns mark the common ones—around level 7 or 8 deities. Red horns signal stronger ones, hitting level 9 or 10. Rumor has it level 11 and 12 Níemogrs sport yellow horns. The more powerful they are, the lighter their horn color gets.

  "Squad A, head east! Squad B, go west…"

  Finally, a level 11 Níemogr steps up, its commanding voice booming through the chaos as it issues orders.

  Its size is monstrous—level 7 and 8 Níemogrs look like ants next to it. This mountain-sized beast’s strength is obvious at a glance.

  Of course, compared to Oliver, it’s still puny. Oliver’s closing in on 800,000 kilometers now, while this guy’s maybe 40,000 at most!

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  For context, this super-nest of the Níemogrs is only a few million kilometers across.

  Oliver’s real body is just too massive—that’s why he shrank into soul form to sneak inside earlier.

  "This giant snake’s so huge, the chaos energy in it is like a damn flood. If we kill it, our clan won’t need to hunt for decades—maybe centuries!"

  The level 11 Níemogr eyes Oliver greedily, directing its locust-like minions to surround him from all sides, terrified this big snake might slip away.

  As they close in, its excitement spikes.

  "We’re this close, and this thing hasn’t budged an inch. Did you notice? There’s no soul aura on it—is it just a giant corpse?"

  The level 11 Níemogr’s thrilled but puzzled.

  The confusion doesn’t last long. It quickly rallies its swarm with glee. "All of you, bare your teeth! Tear this bastard apart—rip its flesh to pieces and haul it back to the nest chunk by chunk!"

  Like oversized ants, the Níemogrs prepare to dismantle Oliver’s “corpse” and cart it off.

  Too bad for them—right as they move in, Oliver’s soul rockets back into his body.

  His massive, shut serpent eyes snap open.

  Boom!

  A savage light explodes from his eyes, practically a weapon in itself. Lower-level Níemogrs caught in his gaze drop instantly, convulsing and unable to move!

  There’s no helping it—Oliver’s too strong, too colossal.

  His eyes alone span nearly 100,000 kilometers. Wherever his gaze lands, swaths of Níemogrs feel a primal life-or-death dread. The tougher ones barely stay upright; the weak ones pass out cold from fear!

  "Damn it, this snake’s alive! But don’t panic—I’ll slaughter it myself. Today, this general’s delivering its corpse to Her Majesty the Queen!"

  Signs of civilization peek through the Níemogr ranks—titles like “general” and “queen.” Interesting setup.

  Right then, the level 11 Níemogr general roars and charges Oliver head-on.

  Same level 11 deity status, but it doesn’t see Oliver as a real threat, boldly claiming it’ll kill him. That’s because Níemogrs are pack animals.

  It’s not just a level 11—it’s got countless minions. Together, they push its combat power way beyond a typical level 11 deity.

  At that moment, the swarm spits out venom in unison. A black ocean of poison forms instantly, so vast it threatens to swallow even Oliver’s 800,000-kilometer frame whole.

  For a regular level 11 deity, this’d be game over—the venom sea’s horrifying, corrosive enough to melt anything.

  Too bad they’re up against Oliver.

  "This level of venom? Useless against me."

  Oliver’s voice is cool and detached. A deathly aura seeps from his massive body, and in a flash, he’s cloaked in a black mist of death.

  He’s unleashed the power of the death rune!

  "Die!"

  With a thunderous roar, waves of black mist crash down on the Níemogrs, spreading like a plague through their ranks.

  Wherever the mist sweeps, Níemogrs drop dead in droves!

  Their venom ocean? Oliver swims through it like it’s nothing, unscathed.

  The mist-shrouded Níemogrs fight back like mad—some try biting, others spit more venom, a few even wield faint elemental powers.

  But it’s useless. Against Oliver’s overwhelming death rune, their attacks mean nothing.

  The death mist pierces everything, delivering equal doom to every Níemogr in its path!

  "Damn you, what the hell did you do?!"

  The yellow-horned level 11 Níemogr bellows in rage.