An echo ripples through the wide cosmos.
"Die!"
It came from afar. Two titans are currently engaged in battle. One is a mighty dragon—tall and wide as a small planet. The other, a demon. Eerie and blood-drenched. His twisted body just as towering, stitched with black flame and bone.
"You're the last one standing."
The demon's voice slithered through the void, metallic and sharp, like blades grinding over bone. "The other seven of your lineage are dead. Hihihi… dead…"
Crimson eyes gleamed with madness as they locked onto the black and gold dragon. And those golden eyes—ancient, burning with fury older than time—met the challenge without fear.
"You will join them soon, you filthy demon."
The dragon's roar cracked across the stars. And with it came a pulse of energy—raw and unrelenting—that shook the cosmos itself.
After all, he is no ordinary being. He is one of the eight Firstborns of the universe. The one who carved structure from emptiness. The one who shaped the silence of the void into flame, wind, stone, and soul.
The Dragon Progenitor—Primarion.
The clash that followed was devastating. Space and time cracked under the sheer pressure as the demon met the attack, crimson fire wrapping his blade like a cursed inferno.
Stars shattered into dust. Winds, as violent as exploding suns, tore through the void and annihilated everything in their path. But it was a price he had to pay.
"I have failed all of you. I failed to protect this world..."
A whisper escaped the dragon's throat—low, broken, almost ashamed. And then, teeth as large as mountains clamped down on the demon's neck.
In that moment, it ended. The battle. The invasion. The threat. The universe survived. The last Firstborn had won.
And yet… not all stories end with a happy ending.
The dragon's massive form shrank rapidly. From a world-sized titan to the size of a mountain. His broken body crashed into the ruins of a dying star.
The impact split the star nearly in half.
And yet… it held.
It held for him.
I'm dying…
A thought as cold as true ice flashed behind his golden eyes.
He knew his fate better than anyone. But even in the jaws of death, he hoped. His sons. His seedlings. They were near.
Five figures flew through the void, fast and sure. They rushed toward him.
Or so he thought.
"Father…" the eldest son spoke. The tone was wrong—too calm. Cold. Off.
"Your blood… please… quickly…"
Primarion's vision blurred. His time was burning away. And more than that, so was the universe.
Only he could sense it.
As the Firstborn, he was bound to the heart of creation. He felt the crack in the core—the place where mana itself bled away like spilled lifeblood. Balance was fracturing. Mortals would not notice. But soon, even gods would fall. The universe would rot. Collapse.
And he did not have the strength to fix it.
Not alone.
He needed help. He needed time. He needed his sons...
"Of course, Father…" the second son said, his voice smooth—too smooth. His green eyes glinted with something unreadable as he drifted closer.
And then...
Something Primarion had never imagined—not even in his darkest nightmares—happened.
Rip...
A scorching pain tore through his belly.
A golden pool of blood spilled across the broken stone. The purest mana in existence—his lifeblood—dripped from the jaws of his own son.
"Dig in, boys. This is our chance. It's time we rule, not the old man. This power… this taste… it's intoxicating. I can feel myself getting stronger already…"
The other four hesitated for a breath. No more.
Then five mouths opened. Five mouths devoured the flesh of the one who gave them life.
How pitiful…I can't even move anymore. I can't defend myself. And those I raised, those I trusted, have turned their fangs on me.
Hahaha… is this fate?
The pain in his body was nothing. Nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
Primarion blinked a few times. Eyes dimming. Too weak to rise. Too broken to resist. He didn't scream. He didn't beg. He simply watched.
It was pointless.
"RRROOOAAARRR!"
A feminine roar, powerful as a supernova, erupted across the void. The five dragons were blasted backward, sent flying like insects caught in divine wind. Their faces twisted with fear. For a moment, they hesitated—reluctant. But they ran. Of course they did. There wasn't much left to consume.
Primarion's body was a bloody ruin. A golden masterpiece—beautiful, yet broken. Tragic.
Velmyra…
A pair of fading golden eyes blinked toward the sky. They landed on her—the one he once called beloved.
She descended with grace, her silhouette glowing against the cosmic fractures above. Her form powerful, yet slender. Seductive. Divine.
She landed beside him, and in a blink, her body shifted, becoming humanoid and graceful. Yet the horns remained. The wings curled softly behind her. Her tail coiled, shimmering with mana. And those violet eyes… as striking as ever.
"My dear…" she whispered, voice laced with sorrow and something colder beneath. "To think I'd ever see you in this state. The world bleeds and cries with your fall."
What… is she saying? I haven't died yet…
Her soft hand brushed against his jaw. Slid gently up his face. And then, agony and darkness knocked on his door.
An unbearable pain exploded across his vision. And then… nothingness.
"You won't need this treasure in the afterlife, will you, dear?" Her voice was the last thing he heard.
Emptiness. Loneliness. And that crawling feeling of doom. That was all that remained of him.
Abandoned by my own…
No words could carry the weight of the pain. Not even now. Not even here.
CRACK
A sound. No. A sensation tore through his fading soul. Not from outside. From within. A fracture. A rupture. The final layer of the universe had cracked.
If it broke completely, everything would die.
I should die with it…
No.
I can't do that to my brothers… to my sisters… They died to protect this world. This isn't just mine. It was never just mine.
Vengeance is not the answer.
Then...
Let my heart, filled with the purest mana, fill the void.
Let it patch the wound.
And let my soul… stand eternal as the keep. Anchoring the sixteen core worlds. Guiding them… until they can rise again.
The universe rumbled.
Primarion trembled. His broken body, bloodied and torn, began to dissolve slowly and steadily into golden mist.
I am grateful for this life… For the chance to grow and fall beside my brothers and sisters... And for that, I shall repay you. One final gift. One final breath. Take me, oh universe. Take all of me. I shall protect you… even in death's embrace.
His form faded, agony etched into every particle, until only a single thing remained:
His heart.
Still beating. Still burning. Suspended in the vast emptiness, that heart pulsed with raw, boundless mana. A spiral of ancient energy curled around it, forming a living seal. It anchored itself across the cracked dimensions, mending the fractures in space and time—stitching shut the wound the war had left behind.
Countless shards of divine essence burst from the core, tearing through the fabric of reality like comets. Countless streaks of golden light arced across the cosmos, each fragment destined for a world that would die without it. Worlds that would, in time, evolve into pillars holding up the last remnants of creation.
And thus, Primarion—the God-Dragon Progenitor, the first son of the universe—bade his final farewell.
Farewell…
"No."
Who?
A strange voice, somewhat soft and ancient, cradled the last fragments of his fading soul.
"You can't die…"
"You are my only hope."
"I'm sorry for what I must do… but you must live."
"You must return… as the god you once were. So live again. A new life. A new beginning…"