Ancestral Lineage

The house they camped in was old—its wooden frame warped from moisture, its roof half-caved in, and the scent of mold clinging to every corner. But after the battle, it felt like luxury.

A large circular Artim sigil, drawn in silver chalk, shimmered on the ground, providing a protective barrier around the perimeter. Vorden sat at the edge of it, cross-legged, his katana resting across his lap. A soft blue light radiated from a small crystal orb levitating above their communication circle.

"Special Force 1, reporting in," Vorden said into the crystal. "Creature terminated. Unknown classification—possibly corrupted spiritual entity. Target's Artim patterns were reversed and fragmented, with psionic bleed. Signs of… possession."

Professor Felicia's voice responded after a moment, calm and composed.

"Confirmed. Good work. We're detecting similar Artim distortions in two nearby towns. Be prepared to redeploy at dawn. Also, we've received full diagnostics on the corrupted runes. You were right—they bear fragments of demonic influence."

The team members exchanged glances.

"Demonic?" Lisa asked, her cat-like eyes narrowing. "Here?"

Kyle, sitting cross-legged beside her, chewed on a rice cracker. "This just went from a weird ghost story to full-blown doomsday."

Lith's expression darkened. "So we've got demons now…"

Radar shifted on his haunches, adjusting the weight seals on his training clothes. "No big deal. We've fought worse."

"No," Vorden said quietly. "We haven't."

Silence fell. In the flickering light of the protective sigil, their shadows stretched unnaturally long.

The orb pulsed again.

"Continue gathering intel. Team 2 has set up camp on the western end of town. Coordinate if needed."

"Understood," Vorden replied. The crystal dimmed.

As they relaxed, the team naturally fell into their usual rhythms. Kyle passed out rations. Lisa sharpened her claws. Kira and Keira, seated side by side, whispered inaudibly—probably sharing telepathic messages only nobles of their bloodline could comprehend. Lith sat close to the fire, flames dancing in his irises.

Rhoda, the most quiet of them all, stood by the broken window, watching the forest.

That's when it happened.

A sharp crack.

Not wood.

Not wind.

Something far deeper—like the world itself had hiccupped.

Everyone stood instantly, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the sigil.

A wave of oppressive heat spilled through the broken walls. Not normal heat. This heat smelled of blood, sulfur, and malice.

And then—he appeared.

Not crawled.

Not run.

Appeared.

Like the shadows themselves had coughed him out.

A humanoid figure, tall and slender, dressed in black robes stitched with crimson symbols that pulsed like molten veins. His skin was pale gray, almost ash-colored, and two curved black horns jutted from his skull. His eyes—pitch black, with red runic rings swirling endlessly—locked on them like prey.

Floating behind him were four crimson Artim, kite-shaped and shimmering with the unmistakable hue of the Demonic Art.

He smiled, sharp teeth too long for any normal mouth. His voice rang out smooth and ancient.

"So… these are the little Paladins the Empire sends now?"

Lith's flames surged around him instantly. "Get back."

"Don't cross the line," Vorden ordered, drawing his katana.

The demon chuckled, stepping forward—and the sigil screamed in protest. A portion of it shattered, flickering out like a dying star.

The protective field was broken.

"You shouldn't be here," Alma's voice rang out suddenly. She had arrived, sword drawn, her team forming behind her. "This territory is under Empire protection."

The demon gave a lazy shrug. "Oh, but I was summoned. Can I help that your mages were stupid enough to open a gate without knowing what waited behind it?"

He lifted his hand. One of the red Artim symbols behind him pulsed—

BOOM!

The ground beneath Rhoda erupted, sending her flying back through the rotting wall. Lisa dashed out to catch her before she hit the rubble.

"Enemy confirmed!" Vorden barked. "Engage at will!"

Lith let out a roar, Fire Fists activating—two flaming arms igniting above his own.

Kira's and Keira's eyes glowed, crimson vampiric Artim appearing behind them.

Kyle's smile disappeared, replaced by icy focus.

Radar pressed his palm to the floor, activating Sand Storm, the ground shifting in waves around him.

And Vorden…

Dark Mantle rose behind him, his body flickering into shadow.

But even as they prepared to fight…

…the demon smiled wider.

This wasn't a fight.

This was a test.

And the true war had only just begun.

The air grew heavy, warped by the malevolent pulse of Demonic Art. All eight members of Special Force 1 stood ready, a wall of magic and discipline. Team 2, led by Alma, had joined them in a half-circle, forming a united front.

But the demon… was smiling.

The four crimson Artim rotated behind him like predator eyes, casting distorted shadows across the crumbling house. The sky above darkened unnaturally, thunderclouds forming without a storm, as if the heavens themselves hesitated to witness what was about to happen.

Then the demon raised a single finger.

A twitch.

One of the Artim behind him flared—and a blood-red beam shot out like a lance of pure malice, slamming into the protective formation line.

BOOM!

The impact sent Lisa, Kyle, and Rhoda flying backwards. Rhoda crashed through a wall and didn't rise. Kyle groaned as he tried to sit up, blood trailing down his forehead.

Radar instantly slammed his palm to the ground, activating Mud Pit under the demon's feet. But the ground cracked instead of sucking him in.

"I forge realms," the demon whispered.

And then he vanished.

FLASH.

He reappeared right in front of Radar—a black hand plunging through the Forger's stomach.

"Radar!" Lith yelled, dashing forward. His Fire Fists erupted, all four arms swinging with blazing fury.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

Flame and rage collided into the demon, who took a single step back.

Only a step.

His robe was singed.

His body, untouched.

His fingers flicked—and Lith's flames imploded, detonating inwards.

BANG!

Lith was sent flying into a broken support pillar, coughing blood, his ribs cracked.

Alma charged from the side. Her twin Wind Sabers blurred with speed, summoning cyclones that sliced trees clean in the distance.

She screamed as she struck.

The demon blocked with his arm.

The blades slid against his skin, producing not a cut but sparks.

"You're the elf girl who hates humans," he said coldly. "You think you're strong. You're not."

He slammed his hand into her chest—a red sigil appearing instantly on her uniform.

CRACK.

Her body bent like a ragdoll as she was thrown across the sky, crashing through three buildings before vanishing from sight.

The vampire twins appeared in tandem—Kira from above, Keira from behind. Blood swords in hand, their Artim flared crimson.

"Vampiric Art: Blood Snare!"

Chains of blood shot out from the earth.

The demon snapped his fingers.

The chains evaporated midair.

His body blurred forward—he kicked Kira in the ribs, shattering them instantly and sending him spiraling into a mound of rubble. Keira screamed, slashing forward—only for a spike of Demonic energy to pierce her thigh. She dropped to one knee, gasping.

"You are insects," the demon murmured, stepping over her.

That's when Vorden struck.

Shadow Steps.

Dark Mantle.

His katana moved in silence.

He appeared behind the demon—no sound, no sign. Only shadow.

A single slash.

SHIIING!

His blade dug into the demon's back—halfway through—before it stopped. Black blood hissed, evaporating on contact with the air.

The demon didn't flinch.

He turned his head, eyes glowing.

"So you're the leader."

Vorden narrowed his eyes and vanished again.

SLASH.

From above.

SLASH.

From below.

THRUST.

From the side.

But the demon kept grabbing—blocking—redirecting.

And then—

WHAM!

A devastating elbow caught Vorden mid-fade, breaking his shoulder and sending him skidding across the ground, cloak in tatters.

Only Kyle and Lisa stood now. Barely.

Kyle raised his claws. "We're not done."

Lisa bared her fangs. "We never started."

The demon looked at them both—almost disappointed.

"You are. Now sleep."

His four Artim aligned.

A hum rang out. Deep. Ancient.

Like a heartbeat of the underworld.

And then—a wave of demonic force flooded the entire street like a tsunami of despair.

BOOMMMMM!!!

Buildings crumbled. The protective sigils died. The trees outside blackened. And every member of both Special Forces teams was thrown into darkness.

The demon stood alone now—atop the wreckage.

"Not bad for children. I can see why they watch you so closely."

The demon had turned his back.

He was done.

His words—"They're not ready"—still echoed in the blackened, ruined square. The ashes of buildings swirled in the demonic mist. No pulse of magic remained. No heat from fire. No whisper of wind or blood.

Only silence.

But then—

SSSSSHHRRRRRRRMMM!!!

A light—not of this world—pierced through the rubble.

It was blinding, yet soft.

Warm, yet overwhelming.

Divine, but not holy in the conventional sense. Not the Light God-Art. No—this was something older. Purer. Beyond elemental classification.

The demon froze.

His eyes widened.

"What…?"