Birth of the Ruler: The Emergence of the Primordial Race

Everywhere became silent. The kind of silence that screams louder than sound, thick, dense, and drawn tight like a taut string on the verge of snapping. The immortals' heavy breathing echoed like distant drums in a hollow chamber, mingling with the clicking of weapons and the crunch of movement over broken ground. Each step whispered through debris as though the earth itself winced beneath their feet. Even the groaning rage of the colossal Primordial beasts faded, their fury momentarily swallowed by the weight of what now stood before them. The wind, ever wild and relentless, seemed to bow in reverence, its unseen fingers only daring to sweep through the hair of those present.

Lips stretched across every face as Nyxander materialized, a grim smile of salvation carved by disbelief. Even Centric and Kal, whose nerves had been coiled tighter than a spring, exhaled slowly, their minds loosening their grip on despair, their expressions cleansed with the calm resolve of a second chance. Hung, floating midair like a silent sentinel, gave a quick, fleeting smile as his gaze danced between the stunned Astro members and the suddenly returned Nyxander. Their faces painted a quiet collage of relieved shock and serene surprise, bodies cloaked not in armor but in awakened hope and startled reverence.

Meanwhile, Nyxander and Seraphina shared a gaze that bridged silence, a communion of unspoken emotion between them. But his breath caught, his mind froze, he noticed her faltering posture, the slight tremble in her stance, and the clenched fist around her bleeding stump as she struggled to stem the loss. Rage, sharp and cold, flared inside him. His right hand clenched, fingers twitching in barely restrained fury.

Then, without warning, a beam of light lanced through the stillness. Fired from the horn of a Primordial beast, it came from Nyxander's right, racing toward him like a judgment. Whether from wrath or the fire of instinct, Nyxander reacted. His twitching fingers froze mid-motion, then clenched tighter. The elbow bent, his arm drew back, and then. "Yaaah!"

With a roar that split the moment in two, he struck the incoming blast with his right fist.

'BAAAM!'

"Stormbreak Void Fist: Lightning Rift!" It was as if his fist had summoned a titan's will. The very air quaked. A brief spatial rift tore open before him, a rip in existence itself, devouring the beam like a beast starving for light. From that fist strike surged a counterforce, a phantom wind coiled in thunder behind it , like a titan's breath made flesh, spiraling forward against the path of the beam like a comet against gravity.

Then came the BOOM!

The unleashed force struck the beast with cataclysmic impact, folding its towering form as if it had been struck by the weight of a storm. For a moment it hovered, suspended by the power, then was yanked sideways, sliding with a grinding shriek across the ground, gouging a scar in the earth.

The silence that had cloaked the world a moment ago, long yet fleeting, loud in its stillness, was torn apart, shattered by the primal roar of confrontation and the declaration of power returned.

Those present, including the remaining Primordial Beasts, held their breath as all eyes trailed Nyxander's counterattack,an elegant yet thunderous retaliation that sent the colossal Primordial Beast staggering backward, earth trembling beneath its mass. The silence that followed was thick, pregnant with awe, when Nyxander's voice cut through it like the edge of a seasoned blade.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," he said, his tone calm but commanding, slicing through the lingering quiet like a clarion bell in fog. Heads turned, scattered Celestials snapping their attention toward him, their expressions flickering between relief and disbelief.

Seraphina's gaze slowly drifted from her vantage point and settled on him, no emotion crossed her face, only the pale shadow of pain etched into her expression as blood stained the side where her mask had been torn. Her presence was still regal, though visibly dimmed.

"Not at all, you arrived just as time threatened to abandon us," came a voice from above, noble and laced with quiet fatigue.

Nyxander tilted his gaze upward to meet Hung, who was slowly descending from the air like a wounded angel, his three pairs of half-damaged wings fanned out, catching the dalight like shattered stained glass. Trails of soft light particles shimmered from their broken edges, dancing through the air like falling embers.

"There were no casualties," Hung reported, his voice steady, if weary. "But none of us can summon our strength, their bodies have reached their limits."

As Hung's feet kissed the cracked earth, Nyxander nodded. "That's good to hear," he replied, then subtly raised his right hand, his index finger pointing toward the damaged wings. "But your wings, they look... barely holding."

Hung glanced briefly over his shoulder at the limp feathers and fractured bone, then returned his gaze. "No need to worry. With time, and enough photon energy, I'll recover. My body knows how to rebuild."

"That's reassuring," Nyxander said with a small exhale, then casually raised his thumb behind him, gesturing toward the warriors standing at his rear. "For now, retreat and heal. My boys will keep you all safe."

"Hey, hey! Don't get us started on this lone hero nonsense," Centric's voice rang out like an unexpected thunderclap. "You're not seriously thinking of going solo against that furious mountain of scales and rage, are you?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking," Nyxander replied without a hint of hesitation, the corners of his lips curling faintly.

Kal chimed in, his tone bristling with concern. "Your arrogance truly has no borders... You'll be swallowed whole!"

"Both of you, silence!" Hung snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a lightning strike. "This is no time for idle squabble. Focus on a solution, the Primordial Beasts will not stay down forever."

"Apologies, sir," Centric and Kal echoed in unison, their heads dipping slightly.

Hung turned back to Nyxander, his gaze firm but layered with something deeper, respect... and worry. "Don't take their words to heart. Their concern comes from loyalty. But are you sure about this?"

Nyxander exhaled slowly, the weight of the battlefield pressing on his shoulders like invisible chains. "Not entirely. But looking around... if they join, they'll only become liabilities. I can at least hold the line until you all recover. Meanwhile, my boys will guard the perimeter and shield you from further harm."

Hung studied him for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. "Then I won't argue further. Just promise, if the tide turns against you, call for them. Don't carry the sky alone."

"I won't hesitate," Nyxander answered, his grip tightening on his weapon.

Hung turned, his movements weary but sure. "Alright. Everyone, retreat," he called. His voice stirred the battlefield like a gust of wind turning fallen leaves.

"And you..." Nyxander's voice rang out as he addressed his standing warriors behind him, the command in his tone ironclad, "protect the wounded as they fall back and recover."

And with that, a quiet storm began to brew, a clash of titans looming on the horizon, while the earth braced itself to remember.