The Primeval Era-Chapter 159: One Man Army! III

Damian gazed at Sir Alex floating above the destruction.

The army was shattered. Corpses littered the sacred ground of the Cradle of First Flames, crimson armor dulled by death, weapons scattered among grass that was already beginning to absorb the blood. Velociraptors that had lost their bindings prowled the periphery, some feeding on the bodies of their former masters, others simply standing in confused freedom. The flying Dinosaurs roared as if they were witnessing all that would unfold below!

But among the many that were dead, not all the Imperators were dead.

Damian could feel them beneath the earth, those Vessel Completion Warriors and Physique Awakening Warriors he had swallowed into the ground but not destroyed. He sent mana into their bodies to ensure something critical!

Their hearts still beat. Their lungs still struggled against the sand pressing from all sides. Their consciousness flickered between awareness and oblivion as Mana wrapped around their forms, keeping them alive but immobilized.

He had done this deliberately.

The memory of Imperator Vienna’s corpse transforming into a Kishi Demon remained fresh in his mind. The crimson circle that had blazed on her chest. The body enlarging and sprouting bony spikes. The handsome face and grotesque hyena emerging from what should have been simple death.

Demon seeds.

Sir Alex’s forces likely carried them too. If he killed the Imperators outright, their deaths might trigger the same transformation. Instead of facing a handful of powerful but manageable enemies, he could find himself surrounded by newly emerged demons whose hunger extended to flesh and souls alike.

He did not wish to face that right now.

So he controlled everything. The earth held them in suspension, alive enough that the seeds wouldn’t bloom, incapacitated enough that they posed no threat. It was a balance requiring constant attention, constant Mana expenditure, constant awareness of heartbeats that could cease at any moment.

But it was necessary.

Sir Alex looked down at the devastation with an expression that mixed calculation and something approaching grief. Not grief for the dead. Grief for wasted resources, perhaps. Grief for plans disrupted and expectations shattered!

So much death of his forces would reflect poorly on him!

He shook his head slowly.

"Just like your father."

His voice carried down from that shell of stellar light, heavy with venom poorly concealed behind measured tones.

"You do not know when enough is enough."

...!

Damian’s eyes blazed brighter at the mention of his father.

"The Murderous Saint tried to reason with Emperor Vakochev."

Sir Alex descended slightly, those nine-pointed star pupils fixed on Damian with intensity that pressed against the air itself.

"He presented proposals. Opportunities. New alliances with Noble Lineages that would extend the Dominion of Crimson Stone across the Lands of Stone. A unified empire greater than anything that had come before. Power shared among those wise enough to recognize the changing tides."

His eerily beautiful features twisted with contempt.

"But Vakochev was weak."

The word emerged like a curse.

"He refused. He spoke of honor and tradition and the sanctity of oaths sworn to his Ancestors. He planned to strip the Murderous Saint of his positions simply because a proposal was made. Simply because someone dared to suggest that the old ways might not be the only ways."

Sir Alex’s hands clenched at his sides.

"That fool. That idealist!"

His voice rose with genuine fury, emotions breaking through the controlled facade.

"Had he listened, he would still be alive today! The Vakochev Empire would still stand, greater than before, part of something that would have united the entire Lands of Stone under a single banner. His wife would still breathe. His son would have grown into a prince of the greatest empire ever known."

Those star-filled eyes burned down at Damian.

"But he chose pride over survival. He chose dead Ancestors over living allies. He chose to die rather than bend."

The contempt in his voice was absolute.

"And so he died."

Damian felt his rage crystallize into something colder than ice.

Sir Alex wasn’t finished.

"But you..."

His gaze swept across the devastated army, across the bodies and the broken weapons and the evidence of power that shouldn’t belong to an eighteen-year-old survivor hiding in the Threshold Lands.

"You seem to be blessed just like him."

A cruel smile crossed those perfect features.

"Did you inherit a grand Land and Sky Physique? Do you believe yourself to be blessed? Chosen by the Ancestors? Do you think that power flowing through your veins makes you special, makes you different, makes you immune to the fate that claimed your father?"

He laughed, and the sound was ugly despite coming from such a beautiful throat.

"Your father also believed this. He believed his Basmu Sovereign Physique made him untouchable. It was in the name! Sovereign! And yet...ah! He believed his cultivation and his power and his blessed bloodline would protect him from consequences."

The laughter died.

"But look at where he is now."

Sir Alex’s voice dropped to something quiet and vicious.

"Other Emperors are buried in palaces lined with gold. Their tombs are visited by descendants who honor their memory. Their bodies rest in sacred earth blessed by generations of Shamans."

His smile returned, sharper than before.

"Your father? Even his body did not remain. We burned what was left until not even ash survived. We scattered what remained across territories so distant that no piece would ever find another. We made certain that nothing of Vakochev would endure to be mourned or remembered or honored."

...!

Damian’s fists clenched so tight that blood began to seep from his palms. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"I wish...to show you that same treatment."

Sir Alex began to descend, stellar light intensifying around his form.

"That same fate."

His feet touched the blood-soaked ground, and the earth trembled beneath the weight of power he no longer bothered to conceal.

"Young Lugal Vakochev. The Great Damian Vakochev."

He took a step forward, and the grass beneath his feet withered and died.

"Let me show you how even those blessed can be struck down."

...!