Ancestral Lineage

The sky above the Delafae region was a thick, suffocating grey. It wasn't clouded—it was tainted. As if the heavens themselves recoiled from the land below.

The two armored carriers, floating on anti-gravity arrays and powered by arcane turbines, hummed through the air, weaving low between jagged ridgelines and dead trees. Their glass fronts glowed faintly, casting rays of light ahead into the mist.

Inside the lead carrier, Special Force 1 sat in silence. Weapons secured. Gear locked in. The only sound was the occasional shift of armor plates and the low murmur of arcane detectors scanning the landscape below.

"ETA: Three minutes," the automated voice of the carrier's spirit-core announced.

Vorden stood at the front window, face calm, eyes narrowed as he watched the nothingness roll by.

They passed over what used to be a vibrant region—rolling green hills, tall forests, and scattered farming towns. Now, it was hollow. The land looked sucked dry of essence. Trees were either leafless or bone-white. Rivers had turned black and moved sluggishly, like blood caught in a dying heart.

Lisa muttered behind him, adjusting her gauntlets. "This place stinks."

Kyle glanced at a blinking rune display. "Stinks metaphysically, too. Mana density is fluctuating like crazy. I'm reading echoes—residual magic that's… old. Like, ancient pre-cataclysm old."

Radar's fists tightened slightly. "It's the land. Something's buried here—or something woke up."

The twins, Kira and Keira, sat side by side. Kira was leaning against the carrier wall, arms folded, while Keira stared straight ahead. They were always quiet before operations, like snakes waiting for the first scent of blood.

Rhoda's voice came softly, but clearly. "We're being watched."

Everyone turned to her. She pointed out the window.

They passed over a hill, and on it stood a figure.

No aura. No god-art signature. Just a black-robed silhouette with a tilted head, watching as the carrier passed by.

"Should we engage?" Lith asked.

"No," Vorden said immediately. "We're close. Don't stir it yet."

Moments later, they descended.

The carrier landed with a soft hiss. Mist coiled around their boots as the hatch opened and Special Force 1 stepped into Delafae.

The town was dead.

Stone houses lined the streets, all intact—no burn marks, no blood, no broken glass. Doors stood open, swinging in the soft wind. The silence was loud, pressing into their skulls like hands on either side.

Yet… the moment they touched the ground, they felt it.

Wrongness.

Like the town wasn't abandoned, but rather paused. Like someone had pressed a button and froze the entire place in time.

Lith knelt and touched the ground.

Heat traces. Someone was here… recently. But they didn't walk. More like they drifted."

Kyle's scanner beeped once. "We're surrounded by something not here but here. I know that sounds stupid, but…"

"Spiritual echo," Rhoda whispered. "There are memories walking beside us."

Lisa turned slowly. "Guys… look."

A single red ball bounced out from an alley and rolled to a stop near her feet.

A child's laughter echoed faintly in the distance, but there were no children. No voices.

Then the laughter was reversed. Played backward. Distorted.

Everyone drew their weapons.

"Radar," Vorden ordered calmly, "scout the rear and outer perimeter with Kyle and the twins. Don't stray beyond sight. Lisa and Rhoda, you're with me. Lith—rooftops."

Lith already leapt, landing silently on the edge of a broken chimney.

Radar nodded. "You heard him. Let's go."

The teams dispersed like clockwork, each member trained and drilled to near perfection. But even then… unease lingered.

...

Far behind, another carrier dropped from the sky.

Alma and her team stepped out into the same dead town, on a different street, opposite side.

She looked around with narrowed eyes, one of her swords already drawn. Her second-in-command, a tall beastcaller and a Forger named Bren, sniffed the air, his spirit-wolf pacing beside him.

"This place is cursed," Bren said softly.

Alma didn't respond.

But in her mind, one thought echoed with quiet certainty:

If something happens to Vorden's team, it's not my responsibility.

Yet… she too drew both her blades.

...

The sun should have still been up.

But in Delafae, it was as if time itself refused to pass. The greyness thickened, shadows deepened, and the mist no longer moved naturally. It slithered.

From the rooftops, Lith crouched, scanning with keen eyes. The buildings were like hollow shells, casting long, unnatural shadows. The silence was maddening—until he saw it.

Movement. Just at the edge of the eastern plaza.

"Something's there," he whispered, activating his Fire God-Art. His eyes lit with faint orange sparks as the Artim flickered behind him.

Down below, Vorden halted.

A breeze swept the square, but it was wrong—too warm, too wet—like a breath.

Suddenly, the air thickened.

The walls of the surrounding buildings warped. Windows wept black ichor. From the center of the plaza, the ground split open, like something had been pushing upward from beneath.

Lisa instinctively stepped back. "What the hell is that…"

A hand reached out. Long. Black. Boneless. It had too many fingers and no nails—just writhing tendrils where flesh should be.

A head followed, or rather something shaped like a head. No eyes. No mouth. Just a veined orb of pulsing shadow, and yet it looked at them.

Keira and Kira dropped from a rooftop silently behind it. "Whatever that is," Keira said coldly, "it's not mortal."

Rhoda took a shaky step back. "That… is not in any record I know."

The creature fully emerged.

Eight feet tall. Its limbs constantly shifting. Its body cloaked in strips of smoky skin. And behind it… was silence. True, absolute silence. Even the whispers of the spirit world vanished.

It didn't scream. It didn't growl.

It existed.

And the moment it fully did, everyone's mana surged out of control. Skills threatened to activate without consent. God-Arts pulsed in chaos.

Lisa clutched her head. "My magic… It's flaring!"

"It's distorting our affinities," Kyle said, mouth dry.

Radar grunted, lifting both hands. "I'll bury it—"

"WAIT!" Vorden barked, stepping forward.

Dark Mantle flared behind him, the beautiful black cloak of energy wrapping around his frame.

The creature twisted its head—if it had one—and focused on him.

Then it spoke. Not in words.

In memory.

"The soil remembers your blood…"

Vorden's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Let's see how it likes bleeding."

He activated Shadow Steps, blinking beside it in an instant, katana drawn—and sliced.

The blade passed through.

Not without damage—but not fully physical.

The creature flinched. Then its wounds rewound—the black flesh weaving itself back together.

From the rooftops, Lith hurled a Fire Fist. A massive burning arm struck the creature from above, and it shrieked, this time audibly—a thousand voices crying from inside a coffin.

The twins moved in next, their Blood Arts activating in tandem—blood ribbons dancing from their fingertips, slicing at the air around the creature to restrict movement.

It stumbled. Then hissed.

A new limb grew from its back. An arm made of teeth.

And from the shadows nearby… another figure stepped out.

Almost identical.

"No way…" Lisa whispered. "There's more than one?"

"They're… multiplying," Rhoda breathed.

"Negative," Radar said as he felt the tremor beneath them. "They're already here. They've just been waiting."

Vorden raised his katana as more emerged from the misted corners of the street, forming a circle.

"Kyle," he said calmly, "light signal."

Kyle pulled a silver ball from his pouch and crushed it. A column of golden light shot into the sky—an emergency beacon to nearby teams.

Far across the ruins, Alma looked up.

She saw the golden flare.

Her grip on her blades tightened. "He's engaged already…"

One of her teammates stepped forward. "Orders?"

She hesitated.

"…We move. Full speed."

Because for all her coldness… she knew.

Whatever they were dealing with—it wasn't natural.

And no team, not even Vorden's, could handle this alone.