{Chapter: 97: Taste of A Lizard's Brain}
The artificial confidence he'd worn earlier was cracking at the edges. His movements, once sleek and precise, now showed tension. Subtle tics. A shiver in the wrist. A shift in the heel.
Grenvar knew he was running out of time.
Every second wasted here inside enemy territory tilted the odds against him. Whatever mission he'd come for, whatever purpose had drawn him into this place, it was unraveling by the moment. Time was no longer an ally—it was a dagger at his back.
"Damn... barbaric species," he muttered in his native tongue, thinking it safe to vent his frustrations aloud.
But Dex, being a demon—an entity forged in the crucible of ancient chaos and bound by infernal contracts—was no stranger to languages. He didn't just understand them; he absorbed them. Demonkind were born to communicate across realms, across dimensions. No language was foreign. No tongue was lost to them.
And so Dex grinned.
He responded in the same guttural dialect, voice thick with sarcasm and mockery:
"The wielders of technology sneer at those who command supernatural might, branding them as uncivilized brutes. In turn, those gifted with power scorn the technocrats, dismissing them as feeble and dependent on their tools. It is an endless cycle of arrogance, an ancient chain of contempt where every hand that points forgets it too can be broken."
Grenvar froze. His eyes narrowed. He hadn't activated his translator—so how...?
Dex stepped forward, his talons clicking against the hard stone beneath them.
"Strength," he continued, his voice rising slightly, "is not in what you wield, but in how willing you are to wield it."
Grenvar's mind raced. This was not the dumb brute he had expected. This creature was intelligent. Dangerous. And far more perceptive than he'd assumed.
Dex could smell the change—the subtle shift in Grenvar's scent, a sour undercurrent of adrenal fear rising beneath the musk of sweat and machine.
He chuckled darkly.
"Fear..." he whispered, tasting the word like a fine wine. "I caught the faintest scent of it just now. You're afraid, aren't you? Afraid of being hunted, of being overwhelmed, of facing the people waiting outside. But you can set those worries aside—because I won't let them have the pleasure. Your end belongs to me."
Grenvar shifted into a defensive stance, claws twitching with latent energy, but Dex kept coming. Calm. Unhurried.
"I wonder..." Dex mused aloud, "what does a lizard's brain smell like when it's torn apart? You struck me once, crept through my defenses like a thief in the dark. That insult lingers in my blood, and I cannot allow it to go unpaid."
His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, but laced with venom:
"And I always collect my debts... with interest."
The torches flickered as Dex's presence surged—an invisible pressure filling the chamber like a rising tide. The air grew heavy. The walls seemed to lean inward. It was not magic. It was not science. It was simply power, raw and unfiltered, pressing down like a storm about to break.
Grenvar's instincts screamed at him to retreat.
But there was no retreat.
Then, with a low, rumbling chuckle that echoed like distant thunder, Dex leaned closer to his prey and added in a voice that dripped with menace: "The strong don't fear death. They fear irrelevance. So allow me to grant you one last moment of significance—by making your demise unforgettable."
He paused, drawing a slow, measured breath, as if savoring the moment. His eyes glimmered with sadistic curiosity. "I want to kill you with my own hands," he continued, his voice lower now, like a predator whispering to its quarry.
Realizing now that Dex had no intention of holding back his murderous intent, Grenvar tensed. The lizardman's slitted pupils contracted as he hissed, trying to maintain composure. "You can try..."
But Dex merely offered a mocking smile, one that danced on the edge of disdain and dark amusement.
He had already learned all he needed. Their earlier exchanges were not in vain. They were tests—not of strength, but of structure.
Under the precise lens of his plague-sense, Dex had uncovered something fascinating. Grenvar wasn't truly organic. Not in the way most life was. His body, though shaped like a lizardman's, was in fact a colony of countless microscopic machines besides the flesh and blood. A swarm given home. They moved, shifted, and synchronized so perfectly that, to the naked eye, they mimicked a perfect creature only made of flesh and blood.
Nanomachines? Dex thought. Like Bloodshot? Or something even more advanced? Something alien?
He didn't care.
Every time his tail or claws came close to landing a fatal blow, the nanomachines would separate, letting the strike pass harmlessly through an empty pocket of space, then reform instantly. To an outside observer, it created the illusion that Grenvar had simply dodged with supernatural speed.
Fission and recombination. Mimicry. High-speed repair. Kinetic and thermal resistance.
Dex observed it all. He had memorized the rhythm, the latency, the interval at which the nanites responded. Fascinating, yes. Dangerous, potentially. But invincible?
Hardly.
He raised one hand, and the air around them shifted. The barrier formed by his Death Flower domain began to constrict, pulling in around them like the closing petals of some monstrous bloom.
Then the temperature began to rise.
At first it was subtle. A shimmer in the air. A ripple of discomfort. But the heat surged with terrifying speed.
10,000 degrees. 20,000 degrees. 40,000 degrees.
Molten red began to bleed into the cracks in the floor. Even the ground, hardened and blessed by energy fields, began to ripple and twist under the strain. Dex, calm and centered, held the heat close, containing it with sheer will. He did not let it vent or explode. He compressed it.
All the energy was drawn inward, forming a singularity of burning pressure. A pinprick-sized sphere of blood-red light hovered above his open palm, glowing with intensity so fierce it could barely be looked at.
"I hope you like it," Dex said, his voice now echoing with eldritch resonance.
He moved forward, the molten sphere hovering before him like the eye of a sun. And then, with deliberate, almost surgical precision, he pressed it directly into Grenvar's chest.
Space itself shuddered.
The flexibility and speed of nanomachines meant nothing against the dominion of spatial force. Space did not discriminate between molecules and machines. It acted across the entire field.
A burst of light.
Then heat.
The thermal energy, under the absolute command of Dex's will, dispersed evenly across Grenvar's form. Not a single mote was wasted. Every nanomachine received its due.
At first, Grenvar remained still, his systems struggling to compensate, attempting to reform. But within seconds, his body began to unravel. The advanced technology that made him a terror among mortals now worked against him—they conducted the heat faster, helped destroy him more efficiently.
From every pore and seam, fire and red light burst out. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came. His core was boiling.
Even the automatic high-speed repair was no match for the speed of destruction, and flames and light flowed from all of Grenvar's pores.
Before his destruction was complete, Dex reached out with one fluid motion, gripped the lizard man's neck, and twisted sharply.
Without waiting for the other party to be completely burnt.
With a sickening crack, Grenvar's head was removed. Dex turned the charred skull in his hand, inspecting it with curiosity.
"I said I was curious about the taste of a lizard's brain," he murmured, holding the severed head like a trophy. "Let's hope you don't disappoint."
The Death Flower barrier dispersed, its petals fading like mist into the void.
From outside, Hosorn had sensed the shift in energy. He stood at the edge of the scorched clearing, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Dex, still in human form, strolled toward him carrying the blackened lizard head casually over his shoulder.
Hosorn frowned. "What happened? That energy signature... it felt like a second sun was blooming inside the stronghold."
Dex grinned, tossing the head up and catching it again with casual flair. "Just an interesting intruder."
He raised the head. "He brought a gift. I thought it rude not to return the favor."
Hosorn raised a brow. "Did you get what you wanted?"
"I did," Dex said simply. "Did you bring what I messaged you for?"
Wordlessly, Hosorn reached into his dimensional satchel and withdrew a small bag and a silver spoon. He handed them over with a strange look.
"Barbecue seasoning," he said, deadpan.
Dex's face lit up. "Perfect. Thank you."
Then, almost as an afterthought, he flicked his wrist and tossed a glowing crystal toward Hosorn, who caught it instinctively.
"What's this?" he asked.
"His memories," Dex replied, licking his lips and walking away toward the nearest cooking station. "I extracted them before the end. I think you'll find them... illuminating."
Hosorn remained standing, staring at the pulsing memory crystal in his hand.
He had questions. Many of them. But in the presence of Dex, it was best to let answers arrive in their own time.
Instead, he looked down at the lizard headless corpse still steaming in the distance.
"Unforgettable, indeed..." he muttered.
And behind him, the scent of seasoned meat began to rise in the air.
*****
You can support me by joining my Patreon and get upto 60 chapters in advance.
patreon.com/Eden_Translation