Chapter 887: No.10: Beast King, What Is It?

No. 10: Beast King, What Is It?

"Are you... Aomo Lindun?"

A question broke the stagnant heaven and earth.

Although the voices of those ferocious, wicked beasts and the colossal statues were incredibly hoarse and terrifyingly inhuman, being able to ask in human language also meant that communication was possible.

No one here would be frightened by the sound, but compared to the person being questioned, the monster tamer whose consciousness still remained inside the Word-chewing Monster beside them would be surprised:

"Aomo Lindun? That isn't..."

"That black-armored guy was calling himself that back then."

The two pilots who had previously been controlling the Falling Flower Water Monster each turned their heads to look at their equally astonished companions.

"What do you think, Chen?"

The bespectacled youth lifted his head to gaze at the prisms surrounding him, and those prisms replied in the next moment: "Just watch and see..."

"Well, anyway, let Peng follow Burubayinde away from here; this black mist should also be harmful to the human body."

The youth nodded, and these words caused the half-red-haired youth to move his lips, as if he wanted to say something, but then an external announcement cut him off.

"If I say yes, what will you do?"

The massive, heavy dragon lifted its head; in its deep-blue pupils, the blood-red concentric circles of its mechanical structure kept flashing white dots.

Those were all information windows.

Nigikalis was processing on-site information while responding to the other party.

It was tallying legion numbers, analyzing energy detection, distributing each side's positions, and computing and swapping various breach plans.

"... Ceasefire, I will leave this place."

"?"

That was truly a unique answer; even though Aomo allocated computing power to simulate the other's possible reply branches, the simulation gave that reply only a 4% chance.

But now, that 4% possibility has become reality.

It will also raise the likelihood of a certain earlier guess to 70%.

Of course, we cannot rule out that this might be some kind of trap, even if the opponent has an astonishingly impressive puppet lineup but still wants to win without bloodshed—that possibility exists too.

So he remained tense, already prepared for the opponent's sudden attack.

Yet the black mist shifted back and retracted, disappearing at the end.

And those huge figures, in the suddenly liberated sunlight, dissipated one after another.

All that remained was the pitted earth that had been eroded by the black mist and trampled by the heavy figures.

And—

At the point where the black mist retreated and vanished, there remained a figure clad in black armor, with a dark red cape.

That outfit—only the chest was built with a pale-colored goat skull, and the metal fastenings for fixation were a series of pale moon rings forming dark armor.

Even in sunlight it remained pitch black, obscuring other details; the helmet topped with two sharp angles had eye sockets flickering with blood-red light.

Such a figure, gazing at Nigikalis from hundreds of meters away, then turned silently and walked off.

"Wait!"

Accompanying that shout, the huge dragon instantly dissolved into black mist, and beside the armored figure, small squares assembled into the form of a youth in a suit.

"Do you have time? I'd like to chat." Aomo asked.

His naturally hanging fingers also pressed the bracelet.

"..."

And that figure, including the helmet, standing over two meters tall in armor, merely looked down on him in silence.

Then it raised the similarly armor-attached sharp fingertip.

That fingertip emitted a familiar chaotic fluctuation, like when using the Abru Shuttle, yet from it came a sound that made him slightly widen his eyes.

"Oh! Connected! Really connected, Guinea Pig—do you plan to come back with those two women? It's actually ten or so minutes earlier than expected."

The familiar tone, intonation, and address—but before Aomo could speak, the figure had already retracted its fingertip.

The disturbed spatial fluctuation thus smoothed out.

"You heard... ten or so minutes." the figure said.

The hoarse, muffled tone sounded so unfamiliar, yet carried a certain expected familiarity.

"You only have... ten or so minutes..." he said, turning his head to look at the still-vigilant Gugula in the distance and the Falling Flower Water Monster that had just rushed into this ruin, then turning back: "Let's change locations."

"Any recommendations?" Aomo went along with it.

"... Come with me." he said, raising his hand; space fluctuated again, revealing a dark purple vortex about a person's height.

"To a subordinate's place..."

At the same time, before Gugula.

"Chen—! Ten-carriage Master!!"

The Falling Flower Water Monster Burubayinde, a powerful beast that required the monster tamers Gui She and He to operate together to be controlled, was at this moment being handled alone by the brown-haired, golden-eyed boy, who ran it to the side of the Word-chewing Monster Gugula.

"Is everyone okay?" the boy peered, supporting the fin-like ridge on Burubayinde's forehead, "I previously charged through the black mist with Burubayinde, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, and thought… thought everyone..."

"It sounds like that black mist really is as sinister as it looks," said the half-red-haired youth, not doubting him at all, crawling out of Gugula's wide-open mouth, "Can it even block sound?"

"That disgusting weirdo earlier must have deliberately focused on us and... that 'Aomo Lindun'." The female monster tamer called He, pulled by the bespectacled youth's hand, walked out of the bloody maw.

"No problem!" said the youth's Ten-carriage Master, pushing up his glasses, then slightly bowing and waving helplessly at him.

"Then it's you!" he shouted, "Are your human friends okay?"

"Peng."

——

A person can become silent and reticent for many reasons, but a person becoming unaccustomed to speaking has only a few causes.

Apart from the obvious possibility of illness, only the effectiveness of certain contracts remains, as well as — being in a state of long-term no communication.

Of course, generally speaking, even if a person loses their real-life social circle, they still have the internet.

And even without the internet, a person will develop a habit of talking to themselves in long-term isolation; although this may cause some pathology, it also serves as a safety net for communication ability.

But if one is accustomed to suppression, even the habit of talking to oneself is discarded—what then?

That is this presence before us.

Endless darkness, darkness that can no longer be confined within the body, fortified by the armor that houses the body, Aomo watches as he brings himself to this drink shop, yet clearly the other party likely will not drink the cup before them.

For him, removing the helmet is largely a luxury.

"Dark Armor?"

Sitting together at the bar counter with the other party, Aomo, contrary to his usual aversion to contact, proactively raised his hand and lightly tapped the other's distinctly layered shoulder armor.

"... Hmm, I've undergone a re‑forging."

The other party nodded, acknowledging that this armor was made by the Anpela Star People and once bore the title of the strongest armor in the universe.

It can to varying degrees enhance the wearer's abilities, also possesses its own consciousness, and will seize the user's spirit given the chance, once stirring up a bloody storm across the cosmos.

What's worth mentioning is that, although this armor was forged by the Anpela Star People, its final battle was not faced alongside them.

Afterward, it was successively possessed and used by the Leblondo Star People and Belial Ultraman, and also imitated by the Magemar Star People to show off and wield power.

The first two didn't even treat it as armor at all, simply regarding it as a sturdy flesh to carry the soul—such usage is quite bizarre.

But the one before us is even more heavyweight.

Using the Dark Armor as a prison, he incarcerates himself.

Such an existence appears overly dangerous to anyone; the darkness around them almost condenses into a terrifying demonic shadow, easily oppressing all surrounding life.

Merely staying nearby is hard to bear its weight, just like the bartender not far away who has lost his mind, entirely propped up by the fish‑shaped creatures 'supporting' him in the air.

Why are those supports in quotation marks?

Because the fish‑shaped creatures extend several tendrils from their bodies, linking to the bartender's back.

That position is likely the spine.

They not only control him but also strengthen him, so that standing nearby does not cause harm from that dark power's erosion.

And there are many such 'flying fish' in this bar; most of them cluster around the girl sitting on the other side of the armored figure.

From the moment Aomo first saw her, she has been there humming a tune to herself for amusement.

A mournful song, even capable of eroding the human heart.

When Aomo remained unmoved by her song and declined the help of the 'flying fish', her blood‑red eyes repeatedly fell upon him.

"He… retains a faint trace of blood‑kin scent."

When the two of them sat down together here, he heard the girl whispering to the armored figure.

And to that whisper, the armored figure gave not even a nasal response.

But Aomo paid slight attention to this, because he knows that girl.

Although she changed her attire, her appearance and build are exactly the same as the target of the first rescue operation in cooperation with Rhodes Island, and that seemingly drastic change he has also witnessed in the realm of consciousness.

Skadi…

No, she should be called Isamara.

Aomo once saw Him standing on the broken spine of a sea beast, reaching out toward himself.

At that time he paid no heed, merely 'welding' a layer onto that field of consciousness, never expecting to see Him here fully liberated.

Divinity, exuding a briny, sea‑like impression, emanates unhidden from Him, seeming to assimilate all around, yet precisely countering the darkness of the armored figure.

Given the case of Ace Ultraman, Aomo is not particularly surprised by this.

"Your subordinates?" he asked, then smiled, "I have once met His original form."

"Hmm… there's still one more, who might… appear at the last minute."

"Scouting, huh—just like a certain loafing acquaintance I know." Aomo rubbed the cup in his hand, nodding toward Isamara, who looked over his helmet at him.

He then turned back: "Still, time is pressing—let's get back to the main topic."

"Hmm…" the armored figure responded cooperatively, "What do you want to ask?"

"Let me think… when I think of it, I'll first confirm the address."

He raised a hand to rub his nose bridge, then Aomo turned his head to look at the one sitting upright with proper posture.

"Mr. Aomo Lindun, right?"

"... It's been a long time since anyone called me that."

"Then how do people call you now?"

"……King of Beasts."

"Why not add the word 'monster'?"

"Because…… it was those angels who shouted first."

"Oh, I see."