An echo rippled through the endless expanse of the cosmos, a trembling that carried a single command...
"Die!"
The word rolled across the void, swelling with fury as two titans clashed beneath a shroud of broken stars.
One was a colossal dragon, black and gold, his body coiling around shattered planets, eyes burning with a primordial light that had outlived countless worlds. The other, a demon, grotesque and blood-drenched, stood tall as a mountain of bone and seething black flame, every inch of his form a monument to ruin.
"You're the last one standing," the demon sneered, his voice scraping across the silence like blades over bone. "The other seven of your lineage are dead. Hihihi… dead…"
Crimson eyes glared through the dark, madness flickering within their depths as they locked onto the dragon's ancient gaze, a gaze that did not flinch, not even before the end. Golden eyes, older than time itself, met the demon's madness with a fury that refused to bow.
"You will join them soon, you filthy demon."
The dragon's roar crashed across the stars, sending waves of raw, relentless power through the fabric of reality. It was a voice that could not be denied, a reminder that this was no ordinary creature, but one of the eight Firstborns, the beings who carved structure from the void, who shaped emptiness into flame, wind, stone, and soul.
This was Primarion, the Dragon Progenitor.
The clash that followed tore the universe apart. Space and time bent beneath the force of their collision, reality splintering as crimson fire twisted around the demon's blade. Stars shattered into dust, and winds fierce as exploding suns raged through the battlefield, annihilating all that dared remain.
For Primarion, it was a price willingly paid. I have failed all of you. I failed to protect this world... The thought pressed down, heavy and cold, as his body moved on instinct. Teeth the size of mountains closed around the demon's neck, and in that instant, the battle, no, the invasion itself, ended.
But not all victories bring salvation.
The universe survived, but Primarion's body shrank, his massive form collapsing in on itself, shrinking from a world-sized titan to a wounded mountain bleeding golden light. He crashed into the remains of a dying star—
BOOM!
The impact split the heart of the star nearly in half. Yet it did not break. It held, stubborn and burning, as if refusing to abandon its guardian.
I'm dying… The thought, cold as the farthest reaches of space, flickered behind his dimming eyes. He understood his fate more clearly than any could. Even as death closed in, hope fought to survive, and to his relief, his sons, his seedlings, were near.
Five figures streaked through the void toward him, fast and sure, but there was something wrong in the way they moved, something off in the way the oldest spoke. "Father…" The word was wrong—too calm, too hollow.
"Your blood… please… quickly…" Vision blurred.
Time slipped away, burning out like the dying light of a star, and more than his own life was at stake—the universe itself bled, a crack at the core of all creation draining mana like spilled blood. Only he could sense the wound; only a Firstborn could feel the balance fracturing, knew that mortals would remain blind until the very gods began to die.
He did not have the strength to heal it. Not alone.
He needed help. He needed his sons…
"Of course, Father…" the second son murmured, voice too smooth, his green eyes catching the fading gold and reflecting something unreadable. They drifted closer, and then—
RIP!
A pain sharper than any blade ripped through Primarion's belly, fire and agony blooming as golden blood spilled across shattered stone. His lifeblood, purest mana in the cosmos, ran 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… intoxicating. I can feel myself getting stronger already…"
The other four hesitated for a breath, no longer. Five mouths, hungry and wild, tore into the flesh of the one who gave them life.
How pitiful… I can't even move anymore. I can't defend myself. Those I raised, those I trusted, have turned their fangs on me. Hahaha… is this fate? The pain in his body was nothing beside the ache in his heart. Vision faded. He watched, silent, as the sons he'd loved destroyed what remained of him. No scream. No plea. Only the silence of betrayal.
A roar like a supernova shattered the void—a voice, fierce and feminine, that blasted the five dragons back, scattering them like insects in a divine wind. Their courage failed, their hunger spent. They ran, leaving little behind but ruin.
Primarion's body, a bloody ruin of golden scales and broken bone, lay beneath the stars—a masterpiece torn apart by those it was meant to protect.
Velmyra…
His eyes, fading gold, found her in the sky. She descended, radiant and divine, her form shifting as she landed beside him, horns gleaming, violet eyes fixed on his broken body.
"My dear…" Her words carried sorrow and something colder, something that pierced deeper than any wound. "To think I'd see you like this. The world bleeds with you."
What is she saying? I haven't died yet… Her hand, gentle as moonlight, brushed his jaw, sliding up his face. Agony exploded through him, darkness swallowing the last fragments of his will. Her voice, soft and cruel, lingered as the final thing he heard. "You won't need this treasure in the afterlife, will you, dear?"
Emptiness. Loneliness. Doom crept in, cold and absolute.
Abandoned by my own… No words could carry the weight of that pain.
CRACK!
A sound, no, a sensation tore through his fading soul. Not from the outside, but from within. A fracture, a rupture in the last layer of the universe itself. If it broke completely, all things would die.
I should die with it… But the thought would not settle.
No. I can't do that to my brothers, to my sisters… They died to protect this world. This was never just mine.
Vengeance is not the answer.
Then… let my heart, filled with purest mana, fill the void. Let it patch the wound. 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 as his ruined body dissolved into golden mist, every fragment carrying the echo of his promise. 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 and love etched into every particle, until only one thing remained: his heart, still beating, still burning. Suspended in the vast emptiness, it pulsed with raw, boundless mana, spiraling ancient energy into a living seal. It anchored itself across cracked dimensions, stitching shut the wound the war had left behind.
Countless shards of divine essence burst from the core, tearing through reality like comets. Golden light arced across the cosmos, each fragment destined for a world teetering at the edge of ruin. In time, these worlds would become the pillars of creation, holding up what little remained.
And thus, Primarion, the Dragon Progenitor, first son of the universe, gave his final farewell.
Farewell…
"No!"
A voice, soft and ancient, wrapped around the fragments of his soul.
Who?
"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…"