Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

But even as bodies fell, others rose. The ones with madness in their eyes, blood soaking their armor, laughter echoing from their throats. They fought harder. With every kill, with every drop of blood spilled, they grew stronger. The smell of death only fueled their frenzy.

At the center of it all, two elite candidates clashed like titans.

One was a towering Knight wielding the Law of Earth, he could use one of it variant, the Gravity, every step causing the ground to quake, pulling his enemies downward with crushing force. His armor was cracked, his skin marred with burns and cuts, but his eyes burned with dominance. His opponent, a female mage, floated just above the battlefield, wings of pure wind spiraling around her. She wielded the Law of the Wind, lightning crackling between her fingers as she sent bolt after bolt toward him through her Storm spell.

Their battle devastated everything around them—walls cracked, stone shattered, bodies were caught in the crossfire, vaporized before they could scream.

The gravity Knight swung his massive blade, shattering the wind barrier protecting the mage, but she retaliated with a thunderstorm so dense it momentarily blinded the entire arena. When the light cleared, both stood—injured, but grinning.

Neither would fall. Not yet.

They were the types the organization watched closely—candidates for Ascension, those who might one day bear the mark of higher integration.

Far above them, hidden behind a reinforced observation window, scientists in white robes took notes, their eyes glowing faintly behind strange visors. One muttered into a voice recorder.

”Subject #047 displays increased compatibility with the Leviathan spinal tissue. Recommend for phase-two Baptism.”

”Subject #211 reached acceptable combat threshold, though psychological degradation is imminent. Dispose if instability increases.”

There was no mercy here. No room for kindness.

Only results.

Only those who survived this hell—this twisted place—would move on. Would be deemed worthy to become something else.

Something monstrous.

Something divine.

°°°

~Back on the battleground.

The ground shook beneath the weight of the Knight’s boots as he surged forward like an avalanche given form, his massive sword dragging behind him, carving molten scars into the stone floor. Every step radiated a gravitational pulse, cracking the ground beneath him, pulling everything toward him like a black hole in armor.

Above, the Storm Mage, this is her nickname because she wield a special type of the Law of Wind, she was hovering midair, her wind-borne wings spiraling with electric fury. The battlefield beneath her churned with wreckage, debris caught in the tornado of raw energy she conjured.

She raised her staff, and the clouds inside the dome began to swirl violently.

”Tempest Nova!” she shouted, voice like thunder, eyes glowing pure white.

From the sky, a colossal vortex of wind and lightning howled downward, twisting into a cyclone of blades and electric arcs. It smashed into the charging Knight, engulfing him completely. The impact detonated a shockwave that hurled corpses and unconscious fighters like rag dolls across the arena.

For a moment, the storm reigned supreme.

But then—BOOM!

The center of the cyclone exploded outward, scattering the tempest like a broken mirror. The Knight emerged, his armor cracked and scorched, but his form—unbowed. Gravity rippled around him like an invisible ocean. His sword floated behind him, controlled not by his hands, but by his Law.

His voice was guttural, broken, and dripping with rage. ”Your wind is light. I AM THE EARTH THAT CRUSHES ALL.”

He raised a gauntlet and slammed it down.

”Crushing Orbit!”

The ground buckled, and dozens of invisible spheres of gravity erupted into being, locking onto the Mage like homing missiles. The air warped, gravity intensified—pulling her down like invisible iron chains.

The Mage grunted, body trembling under the pressure. She flared her wings, roaring as she activated her defensive technique.

”Storm Mantle!”

A barrier of spiraling wind wrapped around her, deflecting the gravity spheres as best it could—but each one struck with the force of collapsing buildings. The shield cracked, fractures spreading like frost on glass.

She zipped through the air, trying to regain altitude, but the Knight leapt—yes, leapt—crushing the earth beneath his feet and soaring upward, weightless for a breath, before he slammed his sword down in a gravitational arc.

The Mage dodged—but not fast enough. The blade grazed her left side, and blood exploded in a crimson burst as her body spun midair, crashing into one of the arena walls.

She hit the ground hard, coughing blood, vision blurring. But her hands moved, determined and fast.

”Wind Special: Lightning Cage!”

A dome of pure lightning erupted around her, bolts dancing outward in every direction. The Knight charged into it without hesitation, his armor taking the full brunt. Electricity surged through his body, cooking flesh beneath metal—but he didn’t stop.

He gripped his sword with both hands and roared.

”Gravity Execution Slash!”

He swung—slow, wide, but impossibly heavy. The air imploded with the force. The slash wasn’t meant to hit—it was meant to collapse space itself.

The lightning dome shattered like fragile glass.

’’Ugyah!”

The Mage screamed as the gravitational burst hit her like a mountain. She was pinned to the ground, bones creaking under the weight. Her limbs trembled. Blood poured from her nose, ears, and eyes.

But then—she laughed.

’’Ug-huhuhuhu!”

Even through the pain.

”You think... that’s enough... to break me?”

She slammed her staff into the ground.

”Vortex Rebirth!”

The wind returned—faster, sharper, deadlier than before. It coiled around her, lifting her up like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Her body was broken, ribs cracked, one shoulder dislocated, but her magic—it surged like a hurricane.

Bolts of blue lightning danced across her skin. Her pupils faded into glowing silver.

The Knight raised his sword again, panting, blood dripping from the seams of his helmet.

”You’re strong... but not enough.”

”Then I’ll show you what enough looks like!” she screamed.

She vanished from sight—blinked behind him in an instant, riding a jetstream of compressed air. She raised her staff and struck his back with all her remaining mana.

”Heaven’s Lance!”

A bolt of divine lightning the size of a tree pierced the Knight’s back, erupting from his chest like a blazing comet. He staggered forward, dropping his sword. Smoke rose from his armor, his heart nearly vaporized.

But—

With a trembling hand, he turned. Blood poured from the hole in his chest.

He grabbed her face with one hand.

”Still not... enough...”

And with the last of his strength—he cast one final spell.

”Event Collapse.”

A small orb of gravity formed between them. And then it imploded, sucking in both of them.

The entire center of the arena vanished in a violent pulse, as if the laws of space collapsed and reformed in an instant. A crater remained—mangled, scorched, and silent.

Seconds passed.

Then movement.

The Mage crawled out, her body a smoking ruin, but alive. Her eyes dimmed, her breathing shallow—but she had survived.

The Knight’s armor lay in pieces.

He had fallen.

•••

Above, in the observation room, the scientists murmured.

”Subject #009: confirmed survival after high-tier magic detonation.”

”Subject #014: terminated. Spinal core ruptured. Compatible tissue to be harvested.”

They scribbled notes. Unmoved. Unfeeling.

Below, the Mage passed out beside the broken remains of her foe.

Another battle concluded.

Only the strong moved forward, here it’s the survival of fittest, only the strong could survive.

•••

Silence lingered over the shattered battlefield like a mourning veil.

And then—they appeared.

Figures in white emerged from the darkness like phantoms, their coats pristine despite the carnage, their faces hidden behind metallic masks etched with the twisted symbol of Ourouboros—a serpent devouring its own tail.

Their footsteps made no sound.

They moved like shadows.

One of them knelt beside the unconscious Mage, gently touching the blood-soaked ground near her body with a gloved hand. A pulsing sigil activated beneath her with a soft hum—a teleportation circle.

With a flash of violet light, she vanished.

°°°

Deep below.

The sound of whirring machines, hissing steam vents, and the rhythmic beeping of biometric scanners filled the subterranean darkness. Stainless steel walls reflected dim red light. Countless tubes of pale fluid lined the facility—each one containing human subjects, suspended like lifeless dolls in embryonic slumber.

Some twitched.

Some screamed silently, mouths open beneath breathing masks.

In one corner of the lab—the girl was brought in.

A mechanical arm gently slid her body into a glass containment tube, sealing it with a hiss as pale blue liquid began to fill it. Her battle-worn robe floated in tatters. Her body was broken, but her spirit had endured. And that was enough.

The lead scientist typed rapidly on a transparent interface. His voice echoed across the lab, distorted by his mask.

”Subject #009: survival confirmed. Magic compatibility—96%. Physical strain—high. Mental stability—pending. Preparing monster assimilation: Harpia Tyrantrix strain. Begin phase one.”

At the far end of the lab, another containment unit unlocked with a series of heavy mechanical clicks. A creature was pulled forward—a monstrous Harpy, wings torn but still radiating primal power. Its body was half-decayed, but its eyes were still burning with fury, even in death.