Ancestral Lineage

The battlefield lay in ruins, the stench of blood and burning flesh clinging to the air. The Smiths moved swiftly, their discipline evident as they set up camp amidst the carnage.

Their tents were erected with practiced efficiency, forming a temporary war base in the heart of the fallen stronghold. Fires were lit, illuminating the bloodstained ground in flickering light, and soldiers worked tirelessly to tend to the wounded, reinforce defenses, and burn the remains of the abominations Uriel had unleashed.

Veteran warriors sharpened their weapons in grim silence, their faces hard as stone. Scouts and intelligence officers moved between tents, exchanging hushed words about their findings. Everyone knew something was wrong.

This war had never been easy, but now—something far worse loomed on the horizon.

The war was just starting and the Blades, although they lost in the first clash, had one-upped them.

...

Inside the largest tent, a heavy silence hung in the air.

A massive round table stood at the center, its polished surface now covered in war maps, scouting reports, and fresh intelligence gathered from Uriel's corpse.

Seated around it were the war's most powerful figures.

Madeleine sat at the head, her violet eyes cold and unreadable. Nyxfang rested beside her, still pulsing with residual energy.

To her left was Vlad, whose mere presence commanded respect. His long red hair framed his sharp features, and his red armor bore the scars of countless battles. His fingers tapped against the table, his gaze locked onto the holographic maps before him.

Trevor lounged in his seat, one leg draped over the other, his usual grin replaced with a contemplative look. His wives sat beside him, their expressions unreadable, but their eyes never leaving the discussion.

Lamair leaned back in his chair, his black eyes narrowed. His wives sat close, their sharp gazes mirroring his own. A shadow curled around his fingers—a subconscious reaction to his growing irritation.

Jerry and Reginald sat across from each other. Jerry, always the cold one after the, looked uncharacteristically grim. Reginald was running a hand through his hair, deep in thought.
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And then there were the 8 Big Families—leaders of the mightiest houses allied in this war. Their presence alone spoke of power and influence, but even they could not hide the unease creeping into their expressions.

The room was tense.

Finally, Madeleine broke the silence.

"Uriel's death gave us answers."

Her voice, steady and ice-cold, cut through the heavy atmosphere.

"But not the ones we wanted."

She tapped a finger against the table, and a crimson projection appeared—a gruesome recreation of the abominations they had fought.

"Uriel confirmed it. These creatures were made from the remains of civilians."

A ripple of unease swept through the room.

"Sacrifices," Vlad muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "How many?"

Madeleine exhaled slowly. "Thousands. Maybe more."

Lamair clenched his fists, his shadows twisting violently. "Fucking disgusting."

Emily, her red eyes glowing slightly, frowned deeply. "How long have they been doing this?"

Reginald adjusted his stance. "If they've perfected the process, this isn't recent. This has been in motion for years."

Jerry cursed under his breath. "So, this entire war… this whole damn time… They've been using people as fuel?"

Madeleine's grip tightened on Nyxfang.

"They didn't just use their own," she said darkly. "They used ours."

The room froze.

Vlad's fingers stopped tapping. Lamair went completely still. The 8 Big Families shared horrified looks.

Trevor's easygoing expression vanished, his crimson eyes glowing with cold rage.

"…Repeat that," he said, his voice dangerously soft.

Madeleine didn't hesitate.

"Our people—our civilians, our warriors, our fallen—they've been harvesting them."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then—

CRACK.

The armrest of Lamair's chair shattered beneath his grip. "Those motherfu—"

Vlad's voice cut through his anger. "If this is true, then we are facing an enemy far worse than we imagined."

One of the Big Family leaders, Lord Steil, clenched his jaw. "If they've had years to develop this… then who's to say they haven't perfected even stronger variants?"

Jerry slammed a fist onto the table. "Then we need to move now. We can't let this continue."

Madeleine nodded. "We will. But we must be precise. If they've truly perfected this method, then we are running out of time."

The war council sat in heavy contemplation.

This war had already claimed millions of lives.

But now, it was clear—

The Blade Clan was preparing something monstrous.

And if they weren't stopped, the cost would be unimaginable.

Ethan's women sat silently as they listened to what was going on. They've seen it and most of them were very shaken to the core. All they hoped for was for Ethan to return quickly and end everything. This was something even the two Emperor Realm beings among them were powerless to stop.

...

The Blade Clan's fortress stood tall, a looming monolith of black stone and enchanted steel.

Within its highest chamber, the remaining leaders gathered.

The air was thick with tension.

A long table stretched before them, where generals, strategists, and the Blade Clan's highest-ranking nobles sat, their expressions grim.

At the head of the table sat Veylan Blade, the acting commander in Uriel's absence.

His dark blue armor gleamed under the candlelight, his sharp features contorted in rage. His blue eyes, identical to Uriel's, burned with fury.

The room was silent.

Then—

SMASH.

Veylan's fist shattered the table's surface, splintering wood and sending documents flying.

"Uriel is dead," he snarled, his voice barely contained rage.

The gathered warriors remained still.

"One of our finest commanders—slaughtered like an animal."

His gaze swept across the room, filled with undisguised fury.

"And what do we have to show for it?" He gestured to the scattered reports. "A complete fucking disaster!"

One of the generals cleared his throat. "We have gathered intel on what happened."

Veylan's eyes snapped to him. "Speak."

Haemon hesitated for only a moment before he began.

"Our spies confirm that the Smiths have uncovered our… methods."

Veylan's jaw tensed.

"They know about the experiments," Haemon continued. "They know we've been using both our people and theirs."

The room stilled.

Several of the nobles paled. Even the hardened generals looked uneasy.

"…Impossible," one of them whispered. "Uriel wouldn't have—"

"He did," Haemon said grimly. "Or rather, Elmira forced it out of him."

Veylan's fingers curled into fists.

Silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.

"…Then it changes nothing."

A few of the nobles looked up, stunned.

Veylan exhaled slowly, his golden eyes glowing with unrelenting resolve.

"They now know the price of this war. But so what?" His lips curled into a wicked grin.

"It's too late to stop it."

A dark chuckle spread through the room.

Because deep within the fortress, beneath layers of arcane seals and enchanted steel—

The true horror of their experiments was already awakening.

...

Beast Plane… Two Days After Ethan and Stygian's Battle

"So, you can talk," Ethan said dryly, his golden eyes boring into Stygian's deep purple ones.

"You didn't allow me to speak," Stygian shot back, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.

"It seems little brother is still temperamental," Maverick teased, perched on Ethan's shoulder with a gleeful grin.

"I'm older than you, stone bird," Stygian growled, his massive claws scraping lightly against the wooden floor.

Ethan exhaled, shifting his position on the plump sofa he had crafted from the surrounding beast's energy. His body still carried the fatigue of over a week of near-constant travel, and this moment of rest was well-earned.

Galeno, ever the embodiment of laziness, was sprawled on the floor, his massive form shrunk to the size of a motorbike. Ethan's feet were propped up on the tortoise's shell as if it were a natural footrest.

Angitia lay coiled beside them, her sleek crimson scales catching the ambient glow of the Beast Plane. Her blue eyes held their usual unreadable depth, but her gaze remained fixed on the two newest additions to Ethan's team.

Tia rested comfortably in Ethan's lap in her full form—a faceless woman with silvery-blue hair cascading down her slender frame. Her deep blue skin shimmered faintly in the light, and the air around her seemed to hum with an otherworldly resonance.

"You attacked me before I even had the chance to make introductions," Ethan pointed out, his tone neutral.

Stygian huffed, six nostrils flaring, releasing faint wisps of black fire. "That doesn't mean you should beat me down into a puppy."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "If you come at me trying to bite my head off, I'm not going to pat you on the back and let it slide."

"Easy there, kid… don't burn down the house," Maverick added mischievously, his stone wings rustling slightly.

"I'm not a kid!" Stygian snapped, flames licking at the edges of his fangs.

"You act like one," Maverick countered, his beady golden eyes glinting with amusement.

"Do not," Stygian grumbled, his ears flicking back.

"Do too," Maverick shot back instantly.

Angitia finally uncoiled slightly, her voice smooth yet firm. "Enough. If you two wish to bicker like cubs, do it outside."

Stygian and Maverick both quieted, though Stygian let out one final huff of irritation.

Ethan smirked, running a hand through Tia's cool, silky hair. "It's good to see you're all getting along," he muttered sarcastically.

"Debatable," Stygian grumbled under his breath.

"Ugh!"