I Can Copy And Evolve Talents-Chapter 915: Praises of The Mighty One

It was an appalling realization, really—to discover that the one enemy his first hell had gifted him had simply refused to die. It was almost traumatic.

But Northern felt that was all there was to it. In fact, he was rather glad Koll was back—or had been lurking in the Central Plains all along. He didn't know which was the case, but his guess leaned toward the latter.

There was no way Koll had survived all his previous encounters. Northern was certain of that fact, as certain as the cold beneath his skin. Which led him to only one conclusion—this must be the main body of Koll, the true one, who had somehow slipped through the imprisonment in the Dark Continent.

Whichever way it was, Northern found a grim satisfaction blooming inside him.

He had been craving a test—something, anything to challenge the peak of his power—and now, it just so happened that Koll was alive. What other divine intervention could this be described as?

Northern didn't like the gods, the tyrants, or the origins. But apparently, they liked him a great deal.

He regarded the Prophet with a cold, azure glint flashing across his eyes, sharp and brittle, like light skating across a shard of broken glass.

The Prophet returned the glare, his gaze colder, more bone-chilling—an abyss in human shape.

Then, once more, that twisted smile bloomed across his face. Then he murmured, voice scraping the air like a slow blade.

"You must assume you'll win again. You always have... but you see, Son of Void, I began making changes before the moment you defeated me and stopped the descent of my master. In fact, it was all a part of the plan."

He began to walk closer, his hands resting nobly in his pockets, every step measured with an unsettling grace.

"It was a difficult decision to make, but I had to... I had to destroy the organization I spent a hundred years building—one meant to herald my master's return. I had to place it in the hands of a mere human. And I gave myself willingly to the government. I became a prisoner for ten long years... because of you."

Northern frowned.

To him, Koll wasn't making any sense. It hadn't even been a year since he was killed.

The Prophet, catching the faint flicker of disbelief across Northern's face, scoffed lightly.

Then he pointed two fingers toward his own eyes.

"Chaos Eyes."

Northern's eyes widened sharply.

The Prophet's grin stretched wider, dark and gleaming.

"Of course you would remember," he said, voice brimming with cruel satisfaction. "Did you think it was mere coincidence that the rift my first incarnation occupied just happened to hold the vestige of that treacherous Chaos Prince?"

His tone slithered, heavy with disdain.

"Everything about you was perfectly molded by Chaos, with only Void being the unexpected flaw in my plan. But it matters not. You will still make satisfying food for my Master. The moment he descends upon your world, he will be weak—and he will feast on that seed of Chaos you've been nurturing so carefully."

Northern's eyes almost widened again—but his reasoning snapped into place, tempering the shock into a dark frown leveled at the Prophet.

Koll was right about one thing. It couldn't have been a coincidence. Everything seemed to align too perfectly: the mystery surrounding the Chaos Prince's death, Koll's relentless obsession with freeing his Master from that fragile boundary between war and peace where he had been imprisoned.

What rather baffled Northern was how Koll had obtained the Chaos Eyes.

He had always believed Chaos Eyes were simply an evolution—an extension of All Eyes, born from the fusion of his own abilities with fragments of Chaos. He thought they had manifested from his uniqueness, not as something inherited from the Chaos Prince.

But now... Northern realized he had been wrong.

It should have saddened him. Shaken him.

Instead, a strange, genuine happiness welled up inside his chest.

Because if Chaos Eyes were not merely a mutation born from All Eyes, then All Eyes still existed—still lingered somewhere inside him, untouched.

Still, he needed to confirm it for himself—how Koll had managed to possess Chaos Eyes ten years ago while he, Northern, had only been a six-year-old boy.

Across from him, the Prophet—Koll—was growing visibly displeased. His smirk twitched, fading into something far less composed.

This was supposed to be his grand moment.

It had taken him ten years to orchestrate this reunion, this unveiling.

So why... why wasn't Northern breaking apart as he had expected?

Was there something more to him that he wasn't realizing?

The Prophet was baffled—but doing a perfect job of suppressing it.

Northern gently shifted, moving Selis off his shoulder. A clone appeared at his side, took the young woman into his arms, and flashed away from the scene.

Then Northern turned fully toward Koll, his focus sharpening, a slow, villainous smile curving across his face.

"You look rather conflicted, Koll. What's wrong?" Northern said, voice casual, almost mocking.

"This isn't how you kept replaying it in your head for the past ten years, is it? I should be trembling in fear, paralyzed by the grand realization of your masterful plan—how you've so meticulously orchestrated this moment to turn me into food for your Master."

He paused, stopping just a few paces in front of the Prophet.

"But," His grin stretched wider, "I choose to see it a little differently."

A spark of pure joy flickered in his chest as he spoke, his voice ringing with a brutal glee.

"While I was only six, some guy, somewhere, who had spent a hundred years building and scheming, was already shivering at the mere possibility of my might. And then he spent another ten years planning how to use me to free his Master."

His words grew sharper, every syllable a knife.

"You were so pathetic you needed my help to release your Master—even after how many years of trying and failing? A hundred? Two hundred? Or maybe a thousand?"

Northern shrugged nonchalantly, his grin deepening.

"Your so-called meticulous plan—everything you've slithered and crawled through to reach this point—only sings praises of how truly fearsome and powerful I am, Koll. I don't know what you're expecting from me after taking ten whole years to reach me, especially when I've already defeated you three times during that span."

Northern's eyes gleamed wickedly.

"And I'm about to make this the fourth."

The Prophet and Northern stood face-to-face, an invisible tension crackling between them.

Northern tilted his head slightly, smiling from the corner of his mouth—a smile filled with pristine malice.

"And so you rendered yourself to the government. Ten years wasted in the future, foolishly crafting the path for Lieutenant Dante to cross with yours, laying out this war in the Central Plains where the people are plentiful, where the boundary of peace could be weakened... where Kryos could gain the strength to finally break free."

Northern's smile thinned.

"You are so damn predictable, Koll."