Ancestral Lineage

The ground beneath Ethan's feet shuddered, and the shadows that stretched along the land pulled away as if retreating from something unseen. The air thickened with a strange, suffocating pressure—not hostile, but expectant.

Then, the whispering returned.

But this time, it was not many voices speaking at once.

It was one.

"We were the first."

The earth groaned, and something beneath the ruins shifted.

"We are the last."

The cursed figures, the wretched souls twisted into silent watchers, all froze in unison. Their formless bodies quivered, and then, without warning, they bowed.

Ethan narrowed his eyes.

Something was rising.

The cracks that had spread across the ruined land widened, spewing out dark mist that shimmered like liquid void. Ethan felt the weight behind it—a presence that had long since been buried, sealed, and forgotten.

But now, it was waking up.

And it was aware of him.

A skeletal hand—large, gnarled, and wrapped in decayed silver bindings—pierced through the ground, clawing its way up from the abyss below. The bones hummed with ancient runes, glowing in eerie violet light, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then, the whispering voice changed.

It was no longer distant, no longer a mere presence floating through the air.

It was here.

"The weight of the past cannot be carried by the weak."

A second hand rose from the cracked terrain, its fingers twitching as it grasped at the cursed air. The ground split further, and then, from the darkness below, something began to emerge.

A throne.

It was made of bones—some human, some unrecognizable. The structure looked ancient, with symbols carved into every inch, glowing softly with the same violet energy that coursed through the skeletal hands.

And upon that throne… sat a figure.

Or what remained of one?

Its body was draped in tattered robes of black and deep crimson, stitched together from materials Ethan couldn't identify. A metallic mask cracked and partially shattered, covered most of its face, revealing only a single hollow eye socket that seemed to drink in all light.

It was not alive.

But it was not dead.

And it was watching him.

Ethan took a slow step forward, his golden eyes locked onto the figure. His beasts remained on high alert, the energy of the cursed land pressing against them like an unseen tide.

Stygian's fur bristled, his six nostrils flaring with black flames. Maverick, still in the sky, circled above cautiously. Angitia remained eerily still, her tongue flicking out as if tasting the presence before them.

Even Tia, who had never once feared anything, tilted her head ever so slightly.

The throne-bound figure slowly lifted its head. Read new adventures at My Virtual Library Empire

And then, it spoke.

"You are not of the Old Blood."

Its voice was layered—not one, but many.

Ethan felt something press against his mind again—an unseen force, searching, testing. But this time, he did not resist.

He let it see.

The whispers rose into a low, rhythmic hum, vibrating through the ruined land. The cursed figures remained bowed, unmoving, as if they did not dare interrupt.

Then, the voice spoke again.

"Yet… you have walked the path of the Forgotten."

Ethan smirked slightly. "You're going to have to be more specific. I've walked a lot of paths."

The skeletal figure was silent for a moment. Then, it moved.

A slow, deliberate tilt of the head. A shift of its withered fingers, drumming lightly against the armrest of its throne. The action felt almost thoughtful.

"You seek power."

Ethan let out a small chuckle. "I seek many things."

The ground trembled once more. The cursed realm seemed to pulse, reacting to the exchange.

Then, the Forsaken King stood.

It was slow—not out of weakness, but out of purpose.

Even bound in decay, the figure's presence was immense. It towered over Ethan, standing at nearly ten feet, its skeletal frame wrapped in what looked like cursed chains, binding it to the throne that had held it for eons.

Its single hollow eye socket burned with unseen power.

"Then let us see… if you are worthy of what lies beneath."

The throne shattered.

The world screamed.

And the true test began.

...

Ethan didn't wait.

The moment the Forsaken King spoke of worthiness, he acted.

A pulse of dark energy exploded from him, rippling through the cursed land like a shockwave. His golden eyes burned with a cold brilliance as he extended his hand, fingers curling as the very fabric of the plane twisted at his command.

The Forsaken King flinched. Something was wrong. The test had not begun, yet the land—the very entity that had awaited the ritual—was screaming.

Ethan smirked.

"I don't have time for tests."

He clenched his fist.

The sky split open.

Dark chains, made of writhing curses and raw Creation Magic, erupted from the air, crashing down onto the Forsaken King and the throne's remnants. The ground beneath them cracked as the runes inscribed on the throne shattered, breaking the cycle that had once dictated this forsaken place.

The whispers turned into shrieks. The cursed figures that had once bowed convulsed violently before collapsing into dust.

And then, the land moved.

The shadows that had always slithered at the edge of Ethan's vision merged together. The cracks in the ground widened, and something vast began to rise from the darkness beneath.

Not a monster.

Not a king.

But the plane itself.

A cursed, sentient land.

The entire realm twisted, forming limbs of living shadow and eyes of violet fire, stretching across the sky like storm clouds. A mouth—wide, gaping, endless—opened beneath Ethan's feet, seeking to consume everything.

But Ethan grinned.

"Now that's more like it."

Tia, still seated in his lap, rose. Her faceless head tilted toward the behemoth, her silvery blue hair flowing like mist. Her hands extended, long fingers dripping with raw psychic energy.

"You have lingered for too long," she whispered. Her voice was quiet, yet it resonated through the entire plane. "You should have faded into nothingness, yet you chose to remain."

The Forsaken King's shattered mask reformed in an instant. It lifted its hands to the sky, and from the broken remnants of its throne, chains of binding magic surged forth—attempting to contain the beast.

But Ethan snapped his fingers.

And the chains broke.

The Forsaken King stumbled back, its hollow eye socket flickering. "You—!"

"You're a relic," Ethan cut him off. His voice was calm. "And you're standing in my way."

"MOVE."

Ethan's voice rang through the plane, and his beasts answered.

Stygian roared, his six nostrils erupting with black flames that turned the very air into fire. The flames surged forward, scorching through the monstrous land as it shrieked in fury.

Maverick, still high above, flapped his wings once. The wind twisted, condensed, and collapsed, forming razor-sharp gales that tore through the shadowed limbs of the beast.

Angitia, uncoiling her massive form, slithered into the dark mist, her body vanishing as she weaved through the cursed air. And then—she struck.

Fangs dripped with venom as she lunged at the core of the beast's form, her crystalline red horns glowing like molten embers. The moment her fangs sank into the cursed flesh, the venom spread, corrupting the corruption itself.

Galeno, despite his usual lazy nature, stood. His massive shell hummed, and the very laws of existence bent around him. He was immovable, an anchor of reality against the ever-shifting chaos. The land tried to consume him, but the moment it touched him, it was as if it had struck the very foundation of the world itself.

And then there was Tia.

The Faceless One stepped forward. Her presence was unnatural—a living enigma even within a plane of curses.

She did not fight with raw force.

She did not attack with physical strength.

Instead, she erased.

With a single wave of her hand, portions of the cursed land simply ceased to exist. No explosion. No destruction. Just void.

Ethan, at the center of it all, lifted his hands.

Curse Energy.

Creation Magic.

He twisted them together, forging a power that should have been impossible. And then, without hesitation, he plunged his hand into the ground.

The land screamed.

The Forsaken King fell to its knees.

The entire plane shuddered, cracked, and began to break apart.

Ethan was rewriting it.

The beast howled, its form breaking apart under the sheer weight of existence collapsing in on it.

Ethan stood tall, his golden eyes reflecting the dying realm. He took a deep breath, then closed his fist.

And the plane shattered.

The dark mist that had ruled this place vanished, the cursed figures reduced to nothing but forgotten remnants. The once-living land crumbled, until nothing but a flat, silent expanse remained.

And in the center of it all, where the Forsaken King had once sat…

A new throne emerged.

Forged from dark stone and lined with streaks of gold, it was Ethan's creation. No longer cursed. No longer bound by forgotten relics of the past.

Ethan exhaled slowly, then turned to Tia.

She tilted her head. "You rewrote it."

He smirked. "Well, it wasn't really a test if I could break it, was it?"

She let out a soft, melodic hum. "Then sit, my king. You have claimed this realm."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You just want an excuse to sit on my lap again, don't you?"

Tia merely smiled—a faceless smile, yet somehow utterly knowing.

With a quiet chuckle, Ethan stepped forward. He sat upon the throne he had forged, gazing at the new land he had reshaped.

And then, the whispers returned.

But this time… they spoke in reverence.

"Rise, Onyx, the Formless One, and be my companion forever."

The land trembled as if acknowledging its new master. Shadows coiled and surged, gathering at the center where Ethan stood. From the remnants of the cursed plane, a single symbol of infinity began to form—etched onto Ethan's left eyeball.

The darkness pulsed.

And then, it shifted.

The monstrous presence that had once been the cursed land condensed, shrinking into a swirling vortex of pure curse energy. The air crackled as a new form took shape—a being born of shadows, corruption, and boundless power.

A creature without a definite form. A beast of pure curses.

The Formless One.

Its body flickered, constantly shifting between shadows, mist, and an unrecognizable abyss. Its presence was unnatural, yet it belonged to Ethan now. Bound by the pact of infinity, it no longer existed as an enemy of this world—but as Ethan's spirit beast.

A deep, rumbling voice echoed in Ethan's mind. "I am yours… Master."

Ethan smirked. "Welcome to the family, Onyx."