Chapter Seven: Evolution

The bodies of the Primordial Demons were unimaginably powerful and massive, reigning supreme over their era, casting fear across endless ages. From time immemorial until now, they had been invincible in the world; in this day and age, nothing could rival them—not even the Fat Infant Fish could match their might.

Yet, upon a careful survey, Fang Zhuowei was shocked to discover that the number of these Primordial Demons had not increased over the course of several millennia; on the contrary, their entire population had dwindled significantly.

If he remembered correctly, their numbers had always remained steady at around a hundred thousand, but now they had plummeted to just over ten thousand—a staggering loss of nearly ninety percent.

"Strange, what could have caused this?" Fang Zhuowei frowned in puzzlement.

Fortunately, after observing for half a day, Fang Zhuowei finally uncovered the reason.

These Primordial Demons, whose unknown mutations had already arisen from cannibalism, developed an irreversible hereditary habit over tens of thousands of years of evolution. Apart from their own kind, nothing else interested their appetites. When their desperate search for the remaining primordial species yielded nothing, the hungry Primordial Demons hiding within the silt erupted into a civil war.

The war raged for centuries, a storm of blood and slaughter that darkened the skies.

During these centuries of warfare, countless corpses piled into mounds across the muddy plains, their glaring blood pooling together, staining the very earth beneath.

In a certain corner of the aquarium, Fang Zhuowei discovered vast heaps of Primordial Demon corpses.

These carcasses floated in the water, stripped clean to the bone—some even had their shells gnawed to bits, a scene too grisly to behold.

“What’s this?” At that moment, among the pile of Primordial Demon remains, a speck of jet-black light, no larger than an ant’s egg, suddenly caught Fang Zhuowei’s attention. The dark glow was minuscule, hidden amidst the densely packed bones and blending perfectly with its surroundings—one would not have noticed it without careful scrutiny.

“What is it?” Fang Zhuowei focused his keen gaze on the black radiance, and gradually, relevant information appeared before his eyes.

As the Creator of the aquarium world, he could learn anything about any creature within it if he so wished.

[Formed from the unrelenting, inexhaustible evil thoughts that linger after the death of a supremely wicked being; its genesis requires extremely harsh conditions—an incalculable amount of evil thoughts as nourishment, and an expanse of time. Abaddon is innately evil and mighty, capable of spreading plague and disease, its terrifying power growing with time.]

“Since this is the first evil thought to take form, you may choose to name it.”

“Capable of spreading plague and disease? Not a bad little one—let it be called Abaddon,” Fang Zhuowei mused, raising an eyebrow. With a thought, the newly born evil spirit drifted before his eyes.

The little Abaddon was still slumbering, but the sudden movement woke it. Just as it prepared to see which fool dared disturb its dreams, it looked up and beheld a figure so vast it seemed to support the heavens and the earth. Even a single exhalation from this being became a boundless white mist, enveloping everything—one would be lost in it forever.

Abaddon was stunned on the spot, its mind a blank.

“Am I really that terrifying?” Fang Zhuowei touched his own face.

He had merely looked a bit longer, nothing more; yet this little creature seemed utterly stupefied.

So this was the majesty of a Creator—no matter how mighty or unrivaled one might be, in the end, they were but ants in the hand of the Creator, to be crushed at a whim!

For the first time, Fang Zhuowei gained a direct understanding of his own identity.

Along with the shock, there was even greater delight.

“The Evolution Source says I may name this little one—then so be it: Abaddon!” Regaining his composure, Fang Zhuowei murmured.

Abaddon, one of the most terrifying demon kings, the embodiment of plague and calamity. According to the Book of Revelation, when the trumpet sounds, a star will fall from the sky, opening the gate to a bottomless pit belching black smoke; a locust army led by Abaddon will emerge, tormenting those with the mark of the beast for five months.

Such a name suited this little one’s abilities well.

Stroking his chin, Fang Zhuowei returned Abaddon to its place and turned his attention back to the Primordial Demons.

After the brutal war, though their numbers had dwindled by more than half, the survivors were the elite of the elite.

Their forms were even more immense, reaching about a millimeter in length, their bodies covered with oval, dead-fish-like eyes patterned in red and black. At their joints grew sharp bone spikes, as deadly as spears.

Moreover, each demon’s head was densely veined with gray-black vessels that writhed with the current, exuding an unparalleled aura of evil—each one a towering giant shrouded in black mist, terrifying beyond compare.

If these Primordial Demons were to invade the side of the aquarium inhabited by the normal primordial species, it would be an unprecedented catastrophe.

As he made notes in his book, Fang Zhuowei thought to himself.

The sense of menace these Primordial Demons projected was overwhelming—each survivor was like a world-dominating demon.

In the thirty-two thousandth year of the Primordial Dark Age, hunger returned like a plague.

Without warning, the Primordial Demons once more broke out into war over food, a conflict even more brutal than before. It lasted a full millennium. Not only did the weaker demons fall, but even some of the most powerful half-kings perished.

The flames of war swept through the entire race; along the muddy shores, corpses lay everywhere, blood flowed in streams, devastation reigned—a scene of utter misery.

After the war, the Primordial Demons’ numbers again halved, plummeting from just over ten thousand to only a few thousand.

Having devoured all the corpses of their kin, the remaining demons grew even larger, nearly 1.5 millimeters in length; their murderous aura was more imposing than ever, each truly a demon king.

They became even more averse to sunlight, never venturing from the silt during the day, living forever in darkness. Each swelled like a balloon, as if filled with poisonous pus.

In the thirty-four thousand two hundredth year of the Primordial Dark Age, mutation struck.

All the evil eyes covering the remaining Primordial Demons abruptly ruptured without warning. Fetid, gray-black liquid burst from the wounds, gathering together...

And as the eyes burst, the once restless Primordial Demons seemed as if by prior agreement to fall into hibernation. They burrowed into the silt at the bottom of the aquarium, moving neither by day nor night, ceasing even to breathe, as if they were worms cocooning themselves for metamorphosis...