Ancestral Lineage

"Hear me out! We will be taking control of half the city. The movement begins tomorrow. Warriors, tend to the injured, rest, and fortify your ranks. At dawn, we move.

The subordinates of Ethan are positioned all across the city, from Terry's Hills to Rwod's Estates. You are to move immediately. Secure key locations, disrupt enemy formations and thin their numbers. When my husband returns, your efforts will not go unrewarded.

The Youkai forces, your Queen call for you. Gather at Gretch's Mall. That will be your stronghold. From there, you will strike as needed.

Warriors of Anbord, steel yourselves. A great battle awaits. May the Blessings of the Crimson-Terra Primogenitor guide you all!"

Clara's voice rang through the minds of every warrior from Anbord—members of the Smith Clan and allied families alike. Her words carried power, laced with unwavering authority. Every fighter in the city paused, their breath steadying, their grips tightening on their weapons as their resolve solidified.

The battlefield had not yet quieted, but a new energy spread through their ranks. The warriors of Anbord were no longer simply fighting to defend themselves—they were preparing to take the city for their own.

...

High above the city, Trevor let out a sharp whistle, his voice cutting through the thick tension below.

"Finally. We're making our move." His lips curled into a wicked grin, crimson energy pulsing beneath his skin.

"Please, darling," Emily said with a calm, knowing smile. "Try not to drown the world in blood." Her green-red wings flapped gently, her presence soothing yet firm.

"The Blades deserve annihilation," Sixtie added, her grin just as sharp as Trevor's. Her emerald energy-like hair shimmered, space cracking subtly around her.

Trevor threw his head back and laughed—a deep, wild sound that sent shivers through the air.

"Hahahaha! The Queen has spoken, my Queens. Let's give them hell."

A violent burst of crimson energy exploded from his body. His once-sleek white hair turned smoke-like, writhing as though alive, while the red streaks within pulsed like the heartbeat of a vengeful god. The glowing tribal tattoos on his skin burned brighter, illuminating the sky as it turned deep blood-red. Thunder rumbled ominously, and arcs of red lightning lashed across the heavens.

His wings—once solid and bat-like—melted into writhing crimson tendrils of pure blood energy, shifting and twisting like serpents. Trevor no longer resembled anything human. He was a nightmare incarnate, a being so beautifully terrifying that even the bravest warriors below hesitated, caught between awe and sheer dread.

Emily sighed, turning to Sixtie with a resigned expression. "Now look what you've done."

Sixtie chuckled, her sharp canines flashing. The air around her distorted as cracks formed in space itself, her energy warping reality. "I'm not sorry."

Emily shook her head, her golden eyes gleaming. "I guess I have no choice then."

Then—BOOM!

The air shattered as the three lovers shot forward, their combined power tearing through the sky. The city below trembled as their advance sent shockwaves rippling in all directions. The battle for Veryan City had begun in earnest.

...

In another part of the city, the air was thick with decay, dread, and the heavy stench of death. An army of undead marched forward, their hollow eyes glowing dimly with eerie purple flames. Their bodies, twisted and rotting, moved in unnatural unison, their footsteps creating a dreadful rhythm against the bloodstained streets.

Behind them, seated atop a massive humanoid spider, was Lamair. His obsidian-black skin shimmered faintly under the darkened sky, veins of violet energy pulsing beneath the surface like liquid amethyst. His long, curved black horns radiated a faint purple glow as he observed the battlefield with an air of calm authority.

Clinging to him like shadows to the night were Lusamine and Cassandra, their bodies pressed against him possessively. Lusamine, golden-eyed and radiant even amidst the gloom, rested her chin on his shoulder, while Cassandra, her deep blue eyes gleaming with mischief, lightly traced circles on his chest.

Suddenly, the undead army halted. Their bodies shuddered as if responding to an unseen force.

Lamair's lips curled into a knowing smile as he raised his gaze toward the sky. His violet eyes flickered with amusement.

"It seems the Queens have finally decided to take things into their own hands," he mused, lifting his arms gracefully.

A vast sigil of intricate purple runes materialized high above them, illuminating the darkness like a cursed sun. The undead below-released tendrils of black smoke from their rotting forms, their bodies convulsing as they rapidly disintegrated into swirling mist.

The entire army vanished, their remnants drawn into the sigil, feeding it with raw necrotic energy.

Lamair exhaled a relieved sigh as the sky above them lightened just a fraction, its oppressive weight lifting ever so slightly. He turned his gaze to his two wives, his smile deepening.

"You heard her, ladies," he said smoothly. "We have work to do. It's time for you to showcase your beauty." His horns darkened, then turned a deep, vibrant purple, their energy crackling with untamed power.

Lusamine smirked, her golden eyes glinting dangerously. "Don't worry, babe. I'll make sure you fall in love with me all over again." Her body pulsed with divine golden energy, her already muscular yet voluptuous frame shimmering with raw strength.

"That was my line, sister," Cassandra chimed in, her dark brown energy gathering at her feet, warping the very ground beneath her. Her blue eyes deepened into pools of possessive hunger.

Lamair chuckled, the hunger in their gazes setting his blood alight. "I'm already feeling it. Hahaha!"

Then Lusamine suddenly grinned, her sharp canines flashing. "How about a competition?"

Cassandra arched a brow. "Oh?"

"The one with the most kills takes charge of the family for a week." Lusamine's golden aura flared, wrapping around her like liquid fire.

"Oh, I'm in." Cassandra's lips curled into a smirk as dark brown tendrils of energy flickered around her fingertips, crackling like coiling serpents.

"Don't count me out," Lamair added, his eyes glowing fiercely as his once neatly tied hair unraveled, turning wild and flowing like ethereal shadows. The violet markings on his body expanded, writhing as if alive.

Then, in an instant—BOOM!

The three of them vanished, leaving only the trembling air behind.

From the distance, the slaughter began. Read the latest on My Virtual Library Empire

...

In another part of the war-torn city, standing atop a crumbling five-story building, Jerry and Reginald exchanged knowing smirks as Clara's voice resonated in their minds. The chaos below was a cacophony of war cries, shattering steel, and crumbling structures, yet for them, it was nothing more than background noise. Their eyes were locked on a distant point, something unseen yet utterly understood between the two of them.

Then, without hesitation, they jumped.

The moment their feet left the rooftop, the force of their leap sent cracks webbing across the already weakened structure. The wind rushed past them in violent gusts, whipping through their hair as they plummeted toward the ruined streets below. But neither of them showed any hesitation. If anything, the anticipation in their eyes burned brighter.

Jerry's transformation began first.

Mid-fall, the tattoos running down his arms pulsed with life, intricate patterns of red and silver light weaving through his skin like molten metal spreading through cracks. The symbols twisted and rearranged themselves, forming something even more profound, more ancient. A strange humming noise resonated from him, like an energy awakening from slumber, growing louder with each passing second.

Then—RIP!

The back of his trousers tore as a long, thin silver tail burst forth, adorned with glowing red runes that flickered like embers dancing in the night. The moment it fully emerged, it coiled in the air behind him, twitching slightly as if tasting the battlefield below.

His fangs elongated, sharp enough to glint in the dim light of the war-ravaged city. His once-short nails stretched into obsidian-black claws, each one razor-sharp. His hair, already wild, darkened slightly at the tips as short, curved dark silver horns erupted from his forehead, streaked with glowing red veins.

His mismatched red-silver eyes flared, brimming with unrestrained power.

But Reginald's transformation was something else entirely.

The air around him shuddered. It wasn't just energy—it was something deeper, more primal. A presence. The atmosphere seemed to bend, and distort, as though reality itself was rejecting the very essence of what he was about to become.

Then—CRACK!

His human form shattered apart like a shell breaking open. His flesh rippled, twisted, and expanded, stretching in unnatural ways as it erupted outward. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his throat, not one of pain, but of something far worse—release.

Flames burst from within his body, not wild and chaotic, but controlled, flowing in elegant patterns that weaved around him as if embracing his transformation. His form exploded outward, shifting from man to something far more terrifying.

A colossal red fox took his place.

His fur was not just red—it was fire itself, flowing and flickering like liquid flames, the tips curling into embers that never died. Each movement of his massive form sent heat waves rippling through the surroundings, warping the air in his wake.

His once-human eyes were now a piercing, ethereal blue, glowing with an intensity that rivaled the very flames consuming his body. But the most striking feature was the two massive tails that lashed through the air behind him. Each tail burned with an unearthly blue fire, hotter than anything natural, leaving streaks of light in the sky with every movement.

Then—BOOM!

Their combined landing shook the entire district.

The ground beneath them splintered and ruptured, sending massive cracks snaking outward in all directions. Chunks of debris shot into the air, entire buildings buckling under the force of their impact. The shockwave blasted outward, a ripple of destruction that sent enemy soldiers and structures alike tumbling, crashing, and crumbling.

Windows exploded from the sheer force. Weak structures, already damaged from the ongoing war, collapsed like dominoes, sending plumes of dust and smoke spiraling into the sky.

And then—BANG!

Before the debris had even settled, they moved.

The instant their feet—or in Reginald's case, claws—touched the shattered earth, they exploded forward with an impact so fierce that the very sound barrier shattered in their wake.

A deafening sonic boom split the air apart.

The shockwave tore through the battlefield like an unstoppable force of nature. Buildings folded inward, walls collapsed, and enemies unfortunate enough to stand in their path were either obliterated on impact or sent hurtling through the air like ragdolls. The force alone left massive trenches in the streets, deep scars of their passage.

They were a storm-given form, a catalyst of destruction that nothing could halt.

They weren't just moving through the battlefield—they were reshaping it.