Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 439

Chapter 439: Primord Against Fae. Order Against Chaos

The battlefield shivered at the unspoken shift.

Leon’s wings unfurled into their full, terrible span. The runes etched across his cyborg skin blazed like constellations shattering under pressure. His pupils narrowed to pinpoints of winter blue, and the very air around him turned razor-cold. The Saint Power he had been restraining, barely a trickle until now, flooded outward without mercy.

His voice came low and sharp.

“You aren’t breaking. Even now… You still stand there with that calm face. That infuriating calm. Ethan…”

Light and shadow twisted around him, his armored form stretching, refining, no longer simply mechanical. The cold glow along his body warped into something fae-like, alien, and ancient. Draconic-insectile wings of metallic ice rippled as his silhouette mutated into a dark fairy knight forged from agony and vengeance.

“You always rise. Every time the world punches you down, you rise. And everyone cheers for you. The miracle child. The chosen heir. The one who is allowed to keep everything.”

The greatsword in his hand deformed, its blade, splitting like jagged ice grown from a glacier’s heart. White runes crawled across the metal like frostbite veins.

“You even regressed… and you’re still strong enough to force me into this.” His grin cracked and trembled, more a snarl of buried anguish. “Fine. Let’s finish what fate started.”

He raised his sword, and the sky answered. Storm clouds froze mid-swirl, suspended like paintings on glass. Reality pulsated around him, the hallmark of a Saint who had stepped deeper into enlightenment than he should have survived.

Second Epiphany.

Ethan didn’t waste breath. He had none to spare.

The aura pressure alone threatened to crush him into the mountainside. Bones creaked, skin split where the white fur began to surface from beneath. His heartbeat thundered, no longer human, no longer gentle.

His hair spiked upward, catching divine silver light. His ears sharpened, angling like a predator listening to every vibration in the universe. Gold-white claws burst through the skin at his fingertips, gleaming with restrained ferocity.

But the true change, the one that made hearts falter, was the mark.

Three interlocking golden rings ignited upon his forehead, circling and rotating in a rhythm that defied logic. Creation. Boundlessness. A forgotten authority awakening behind his mismatched eyes. The pupils slit like twin beasts stirring inside a single soul.

He grew taller; 7.7, maybe 7.8 feet; his muscles coiling with a power far older than epiphanies and cultivation ranks. White fur patterned his forearms, shoulders, and cheekbones, while a long tail lashed behind him, striped in dark gold like a monarch’s decree.

A Primord.

Even partially awakened, reality itself seemed to give him space.

Ethan inhaled. The earth beneath his feet rose in answer, fragments of stone orbiting him slowly. Psychic threads shimmered around his body, bending sound and sensation. A subtle field of stillness, Stagnation, spread from him, warping motions that approached.

Where he stood, Order tried desperately to reassert itself.

He met Leon’s gaze. No hatred. No rage. Only a deep, sorrow-laden disappointment.

Leon’s wings snapped once, sending a shriek of spatial pressure across the valley.

“Don’t you dare pity me!”

His roar cracked the frozen clouds, shards of ice-sky breaking free like glass under a hammer.

Ethan’s voice rumbled with a beast’s timbre, yet carried painful clarity.

“I never wanted to be your enemy.”

Leon flew… no, launched, like a missile of wrath and desperation, sword raised high.

And Ethan lifted his clawed hands, ready to meet him in the center of the sky.

Two forces, one who believed fate stole everything, and one who never asked for any of it, collided so hard the heavens stuttered.

The battle truly began.

…

Reality convulsed around their clash.

Leon’s strength came like a tidal wave made of knives. Every beat of his wings carried runic explosions of cold energy that sounded like glass screaming. Ethan could match his speed for a heartbeat or two, but the difference in their current realms was merciless.

Leon pressed his palm forward. The temperature didn’t drop; it evacuated. Breath turned to powder. Clouds crystallized so fast they burst into glittering dust.

His voice carried through the storm of ice and power, each word vibrating like a chime forged from suffering.

“Let me show you what it means to transcend.”

The world answered.

Not frost. Not winter. Something far older. Concept Ice. The absence of motion. The death of momentum. The memory of cold before creation.

Everything within miles slowed to the crawl of a dying heartbeat. Birds frozen mid-wingbeat. Debris hung stubbornly in the air. Even the roar of the wind became a silent sculpture.

Leon moved freely through that unnatural stillness. A Saint who had seen the second truth of his element.

He appeared above Ethan, hand gripping the hilt of that monstrous greatsword of ice-metal. One clean arc and Ethan was sent crashing into a ridge, the rock shattering like fragile pottery on impact.

Ethan forced himself upright. His claws dug into the cracked earth, his chest rising and falling like a caged predator refusing to bow. His tail lashed once, redistributing kinetic force. Psychic energy wove around him in frantic currents, stabilizing his stance.

Leon didn’t give him even a breath.

Spears of concept ice manifested in the sky, each one humming with a silence so absolute it devoured sound. They fell toward Ethan like jagged laws rewritten to erase him.

Ethan reacted on instinct. Order wasn’t a spell or an attack; it was nature bending around him. The earth surged upward, condensing into a barrier reinforced by alchemy’s transmutation and psychic threads binding every molecule together.

The first spear hit. The shield fractured. The second tore it open like thin ice over a lake. A dozen more spears rained down, driving Ethan further into the earth until his knees buried into the crater.

Leon hovered above, wings stretched, breath wild and uneven.

“You feel it now, don’t you? What you refused to accept! You can’t save everyone. You can’t protect everything. You were always destined to fall!”

Ethan’s vision swam. Blood, bright silver-gold, slid down from the corner of his mouth. His muscles trembled under the weight of an element that wanted him erased from time.

He stared up at Leon.

“You carry that pain like a crown… but all it ever did was blind you.”

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It radiated through the ground beneath him, a soft yet terrifying steadiness that made even Leon’s sword waver for a moment.

Ethan’s eyes, those slit irises of stormlight and moonfire—glowed against the crushing forces around him. Psychic energy surged. Sound vibrated. A shockwave rolled from him as his claws sliced through the frozen air, shattering the spears that tried to pin him further.

Ethan stood.

Staggering. Bleeding. But standing.

Leon’s breath hitched. Not from fear. From fury.

“How do you keep rising? How do you still fight me?”

Ethan answered simply.

“Because you are suffering. And I won’t let the world take you from me too.”

For a moment, the ice in the air shimmered. Not melting. Not cracking. Just… pausing.

The clash wasn’t slowing. It was only beginning its cruel climb to the impossible.

Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.