Ancestral Lineage

The Smith was bustling with activity as warriors prepared to march for war. The clang of metal and the hum of enchantments filled the air as dwarves and vampires alike suited up, their armor gleaming under the sun's light. Regardless of its shape or size, each piece bore the same deep crimson hue—a mark of the Smith Clan.

The new Patriarch was absent, having ventured out searching for artifacts to aid them in the coming battle. Yet, his presence was still felt. The armor they donned was crafted from materials Ethan had personally created, and any who wore it felt an undeniable surge of strength. It was more than just protection; it was proof of their Patriarch's power.

Weapons of all kinds were distributed, yet clear preferences emerged. The dwarves gravitated toward hammers and spears, their strikes carrying the weight of centuries of craftsmanship. The vampires, agile and precise, favored long swords and daggers, their combat style reflecting their lethal grace. Only a handful deviated from these choices, each selecting weapons suited to their personal combat style.

Among them stood the Grand Lord, Trevor—the second son of Princess Madeleine. Unlike the rest, he wielded a scythe, its curved blade reflecting the dim light with an ominous gleam. His choice was as distinct as his presence, a silent promise that he would carve through the battlefield like death itself.

Trevor stood at the center of the assembly, his scythe resting against his shoulder, its blackened edge humming faintly with suppressed energy. His white armor bore intricate engravings of the Smith Clan's insignia, yet it was the aura around him that truly set him apart. Though he was young compared to the elders of the clan, none questioned his authority. He was, after all, a Primogenitor and also an origin to them. He was like half of Ethan, being the vampire origin, the Blood Primogenitor.

He turned his gaze toward the assembled warriors, his piercing crimson eyes scanning the sea of crimson. "You've all been given weapons forged from our Patriarch's own creation," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the murmurs of the gathered soldiers. "That alone makes you stronger than any force you've faced before. But strength alone won't win us this war."

A deep silence settled over the hall as Trevor continued. "We fight not just for victory, but for our future. For our Patriarch, who has given us the means to stand against those who would see us fall. And we will not fall." His grip on the scythe tightened, and a faint ripple of energy coursed through the weapon. "Not today. Not ever."@@novelbin@@

A roar of agreement echoed through the war camp as warriors raised their weapons, their blood burning with anticipation. The dwarves slammed their hammers against their shields in unison, while the vampires unsheathed their blades with practiced ease. The Smith Clan was ready.

Trevor exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting toward the distant horizon. Ethan was still out there, searching for artifacts that could shift the tides of war. Trevor did not doubt that when their Patriarch returned, when Ethan returned, he would bring power beyond imagination. Until then, it was his duty to ensure that the clan stood strong and that they were prepared for whatever lay ahead.

With a final glance at his warriors, he turned toward the council. Plans still needed to be finalized, and strategies perfected. The war had yet to begin, but one thing was certain—when the Smith Clan moved, the world would tremble.

...

Huge aircraft soared through the skies of Anbord, their crimson hulls gleaming under the sun's golden light. The world was unusually silent, save for the deep hum of the war machines cutting through the sky with sonic speed. Their destination: Veryan City, the place where everything began.

Trailing behind them was an awe-inspiring sight. Ethan's family and closest warriors followed on the backs of colossal beasts, their presence nearly overshadowing the war machines.

At the forefront, a massive white eagle with deep blue eyes, radiating a chilling aura, soared gracefully. This was Pisces's beast, having grown to the size of a large plane, its wings spanning dozens of meters wide. Ethan's wives, except for Elaine, were seated atop it, their battle-ready figures exuding power.

Harley, Ethan's first, was clad in a breathtaking white and gold battle dress, her long golden hair tied into three elegant braids that swayed gently in the wind. Her golden eyes glowed with calm authority, her presence commanding respect.

Beside her, Clara sat in a white and blue battle dress, her four fox tails shifting mesmerizingly behind her. Her white hair, braided neatly, complemented her piercing blue fox eyes, which gleamed with a restrained yet immense power.

Lisa, in black armor with golden designs, crackled with raw energy. Her dark skin shimmered faintly with golden arcs of lightning, and her short black hair stood on end as if charged with electricity.

Andriel, dressed in a silver battle dress, had her silver hair braided in a single strand. Her violet eyes glowed softly, and floating silver constructs danced around her, reacting to the energy in the air.

Carmen sat beside Pisces, dressed in a sleek black and blue battle suit. Her feline tail swayed gracefully as she anticipated the battle ahead, while Pisces mirrored her colors—her spiritual connection with the beast made clear.

Christel, in crimson armor with intricate green designs, sat slightly apart, staring in awe. The sheer pressure emanating from Ethan's women, especially the first four—Harley, Clara, Carmen, and Andriel—was unlike anything she had ever felt. They weren't just powerful. They were legendary.

Beside them, Trevor and his women rode atop a colossal green drake, slightly larger than Pisces. Its once-green eyes now gleamed crimson, and its black horns shimmered ominously.

Emily, his first, wore a white battle dress with green designs, mirroring Trevor's own white-and-crimson armor. Her long hair billowed in the wind as she locked eyes with Sixtie, the second woman.

Sixtie's armor was a striking mix of white, dark yellow, and green. Her demon tail swayed rhythmically, her curved horns gleaming beautifully under the sun.

Trevor, ever composed, watched them with a resigned smile. They were nervous. So was he. Despite his evolutions and the knowledge of his past life, this was his first true war in this lifetime. No memory could prepare him for what was to come.

A massive brown serpent slithered through the sky near them, its golden eyes radiating an unnatural, petrifying presence. Upon its back, Lamair sat, his black armor laced with purple markings. His long purple hair swayed in the wind, while his black horns pulsed faintly with energy.

To his right sat Lusamine, her black-and-gold armor accentuating her muscular yet curvy physique. To his left sat Cassandra, her golden-brown horns glowing softly, her dark brown armor fitting her perfectly.

But the most breathtaking sight was the beast that flew at the very back, behind Jerry, Reginald, and Vlad's war beasts.

A phoenix.

A true beast of legend, its existence rarer than dragons themselves.

Its red plumage shimmered like molten gold, and its bright purple eyes glowed with an ancient, knowing wisdom. Its sheer size was overwhelming—it could carry every soldier involved in the war with ease. Yet only one person stood atop its head.

Madeleine.

Why?

Because this was not just any phoenix. It was a beast of destruction. A creature of devastation, not just in name but in nature. Its very presence made the air tremble.

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And yet, Madeleine herself was the very image of nonchalance. Clad in a simple grey shirt, a red fur coat, black trousers, and long boots, she looked as if she were heading for a casual hike rather than a war.

But her face told another story.

Her now glowing violet eyes, half-lidded in thought, carried the weight of someone who had seen far too much. Who had prepared for this moment long before it had arrived?

As the war machines pressed on toward Veryan City, the sky itself seemed to darken in anticipation.

The world was about to witness a storm unlike any before.

...

Back in the Beast Plane…

Ethan soared above a vast, desolate domain—a land of decay, rot, and absolute death. The air was thick with the scent of something long since perished, a place where time itself seemed to have surrendered to ruin. Everything here was dead. The trees, the ground, the sky… even the air felt devoid of life.

Everything, except him.

And Maverick.

His newly contracted spirit beast refused to enter the Spirit Beast Compartment, choosing instead to fly beside him, his golden eyes scanning the abyss with an eerie calmness. Ethan didn't blame him. This place was unlike anything they had encountered before. It was not just a wasteland—it was death itself, embodied in a landscape.

The portal had dragged him to the abyss beneath the ruined gargoyle settlement. Here was where the next beast resided. Unlike with Maverick, there was no shared past, no lingering connection to guide him. He had only cryptic clues, vague and fragmented, forcing him to scour the abyss blindly for the past week.

So far, he had found nothing.

And if not for his Necromancy affinity, he would have struggled just to remain conscious in this place. The very air here drained life, corroding anything living in an instant. It was a domain where only the dead could exist, a realm of absolute stillness.

It was hell—except hell had rules. This place did not.

Even more frustrating was that Asteria had suddenly fallen silent. His ever-chatty system had not spoken a word since they arrived, as if something in this abyss suppressed her voice. Zark, too, had gone quiet. It was unsettling. Ethan wasn't used to being left completely on his own—not that he feared it, but it meant that whatever lurked here was strong enough to interfere with even his system.

Fortunately, Maverick's bond with him granted certain perks. As Ethan's spirit beast, Maverick shared his resistance. He, too, was unaffected by the infection of death in the air.

As they glided past a jagged black mountain, its spiked peaks stabbing into the darkness, Ethan suddenly sensed something. A sharp, suffocating pressure swept over the abyss like a tidal wave.

Then came the roars.

A symphony of them.

A blast of black fire erupted from the heart of the mountain like an atomic explosion, consuming the sky in a swirling mushroom cloud of infernal darkness. The sheer force of it tore through the abyss, sending violent winds howling in every direction. The already dim world was plunged into an even deeper shade of black.

Maverick tensed beside him, his golden eyes flickering with wariness.

Ethan, however, only grinned. His eyes gleamed with raw anticipation, his golden irises glowing like embers in the darkness.

"There he is."