Genetic Ascension

Chapter 1220: Plump Rouge

Ansla’s uncle’s meaty hand immediately trembled when he heard the words. They were so simple, and seemingly said so very casually, and yet the weight of them was so very sinister.

It was the sort of accusation that might not have been levied at all in most situations—the sort of thing the host might look the other way for…

Until someone pointed it out.

In an instant, the blood had already drained from his face, and in an instant later, he lost his head.

Sylas felt very clearly where the power came from—a surging might from one of the shortest curved tables, but one that took center stage nonetheless.

There were only five people at the table. Draped in cloaks, only their irises, glowing in the darkness, were visible. Well, other than the longer, pale hand that stretched from the sleeves of one.

It was a hand that could only be described as beautiful. It was ashy pale, but it had a certain glimmer to it that caught one’s attention—almost as though beneath a real layer of flesh, there was a crystalline mesh that formed their bones, radiating out a reflective light.

It was the sort of hand graceful enough to be a woman’s, but radiating enough power to be a man’s. As for which it was, it was impossible to tell with a single glance alone.

However, it did radiate something that caught Sylas’ attention—something that reminded him of his \[Chaotic Menace] Gene Skill, a skill that he was only growing more fond of as he tested out its limits and powers.

An even harsher silence fell over everything. The only sound was just the slightest shifting in clothing from none other than Sylas raising his hand.

The blood that would have spurted out, ruining the dining table, was caught by him once again, and a familiar scene played out.

Neat and tidy, a second Demon was filleted and chopped to pieces, laid out on the table as though it was only the most natural thing to do in the world.

“It seems you’ve found an interesting one,” Ansla’s father said slowly. “His tastes are a bit heavy, though.”

Ansla blinked innocently. “Father, are you calling your daughter ugly?”

She played every part of the innocent little girl, but the calmness in her demeanor—the elegance to it—made it so the façade could never truly take full root.

Ansla’s father, Elevatein Avadavonic, knew that his daughter was purposely misunderstanding him, but he also didn’t seem to care enough to correct her. If Ansla wanted to protect Sylas, then so be it. At the very least, Sylas had proven himself capable of protecting himself as well.

The problem was that Sylas’ actions, while they seemed to only be provocative to their gang, weren’t exactly that. It would only take a little nudge for something quite terrible to happen to him.

If Sylas thought that the hands of those people were so easy to make use of, he had another thing coming entirely.

Sylas, though, didn’t seem to care.

The festivities continued even with their late arrival, and Sylas only continued his provocation. There was perfectly “acceptable” food available, but he directly began to eat away at the two corpses he had prepared himself.

Every one of his movements was refined and unhurried. Yet, he devoured them with a shocking amount of speed.

The etiquette he used in eating was one matter. Demons didn’t really care for this. There were savages around that had blood dripping from their jaws and down their clothes even now.

However, there were two factors at play right now.

The first was that Sylas’ method of eating mirrored that of the cloaked figures almost too perfectly.

When the cloaked figures moved, their bodies seemed to always leave afterimages—like they were permanently imprinting themselves into space… like their Wills themselves were so powerful that the world was continuously forced to acknowledge them.

The second was that… Sylas was devouring the corpses of E-Grades as though he, himself, wasn’t an F-Grade. It made little to no sense at all.

And then he was suddenly done.

*Odd.*

Sylas finished eating, but he had never stopped paying attention to his surroundings. The conversations had started up again, but there was little to nothing of real substance.

He had come here for information, and he had yet to find anything. Though, logically, the person he could get the most information out of was Ansla’s father. Even if he got nothing out of the rest, having a chance for Elevatein to give them the length of rope they needed to act as they pleased would be most important.

However, Sylas didn’t like betting on such uncontrollable factors. There was definitely something better that he could do here—he just had to find the right buttons to press.

Then, he realized the best button was right next to him.

His earlier actions had certainly saved him a lot of trouble, but maybe they had saved him too much. He had forged himself as someone that wasn’t easy to deal with, but what he really wanted was to become someone only a certain caliber would mess with.

Sylas slowly stood to his feet, looking down toward Ansla and stretching out a hand.

Ansla’s eyelashes fluttered into a beautiful smile, her eyes and lips connected in a mysterious sort of way.

She took Sylas’ hand and stood as well.

After some observation, Sylas somewhat understood the dancing methods of the Demons. It was almost like a slow and passionate salsa, containing the usual bravado and abruptness of the dancing form, without the speed and sharpness.

He had seen enough.

There was a change to the color of Sylas’ eyes as he let a little bit more of his Charisma leak. Ansla’s eyes became misty, her self-control slipping a bit before she could understand what had happened.

And then they began to dance.

As though falling into the strangle of a Demon, Ansla’s body spun and twisted out of her control—her legs, his waist, her arms, and even down to the delicate tilt of her head following his pace.

All culminating in a feverish sort of momentum that ended with a kiss to her neck.

Ansla couldn’t control her lips in the slightest, a low, vibrating moan coming from their plump rouge.

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