Ancestral Lineage-Chapter 241: The Kingdom Trembles

Location: The Nexus Citadel, Conference Hall – Capital City of Antrim, Kingdom of Anbord

The Nexus Citadel rose like a sleeping titan from the metallic veins of Antrim, its obsidian alloy exterior polished to a mirrored sheen, reflecting the city's ever-glowing neon skyline. Standing as the third-largest structure in the Kingdom of Anbord, the building was a marvel of modern engineering—half-levitating due to embedded gravity dampeners, and humming with living circuitry that pulsed across its skeletal framework like blood through veins.

Dozens of docking ports for airships and glider drones lined the sides like perches for metallic falcons. From the skies, the structure resembled a massive black spire, crowned with a rotating ring of lights that never dimmed—a visual signature visible from nearly every district of the capital.

Inside, the Grand Conference Hall—known as the Sphere of Accord—was a vast, elliptical chamber nested within the Citadel's fifth tier. The ceiling arched nearly fifty meters high and was entirely transparent, forged from ultra-tempered plasmaglass that displayed the swirl of Antrim's orbiting satellites and skies beyond.

Walls of nanotextured alloy shimmered in chromatic gradients, shifting tones depending on the mood and volume of the gathering. Pillars of light rose from the ground, casting soft illumination without visible fixtures, while holo-screens and floating data frames hovered in synchronized clusters around the room.

Rows of gravitating disc-seats formed concentric circles around the central speaking platform—a hovering, circular dais capable of rising or spinning for emphasis. The seats could adapt to every species, form, and size, adjusting temperature and support through biometric scanning.

Behind the dais, an immense crest of the Kingdom of Anbord floated in midair—three rings interlocked around a rising humanoid being made of gold, flame, and crystal.

The air in the chamber was crisp and faintly laced with energy, thanks to micro-ion filters that kept it eternally pure. Beneath the floor panels ran fiber-light veins of data, pulsing faintly with every transmission to the Central Neural Grid.

The Sphere of Accord was more than a place for discussion. It was a nerve center of diplomacy, law, and occasionally, war. Within these walls, lords had abdicated, pacts had been forged, and enemies had turned allies. To speak here was to echo across the ears of nations.

Today, the air trembled—because something world-shifting was about to begin.

…

Inside the Sphere of Accord, tension rippled through the air like static across a live current. The temperature of the conference chamber seemed to dip, not by design, but by the weight of words exchanged. Holograms flickered uneasily as the subtle pulse of the room faltered, mirroring the unease rising in its occupants.

"Is there any update on the Emperor's situation, High Sovereign Sanguivar?" asked Lord Auron, his long blue hair brushing over sharp shoulders, eyes gleaming with too much eagerness.

Seated at the central platform in an almost lazy posture was a young man with braided white hair that spilled past his shoulders, crimson tribal tattoos crawling across his bare chest and arms like serpents of power. His crimson eyes remained half-lidded, bored, but dangerous. He exhaled slowly.

"He's still in a coma. That's all I can say."

Auron shifted, but before he could speak again, another voice interjected.

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"Excuse my language," said Grand Strategarch Seth, his feline eyes narrowing with gleeful provocation, "but is there really a reason for the wait? Can't we just move on to the next chapter without him?"

A ripple of murmurs followed, emboldening others.

"He's been in a coma for twelve years," scoffed one of the newer High Magistrates. "With all due respect, some of us are beginning to question if the legends of his power weren't just… propaganda."

Trevor said nothing.

"His absence weakens our position," another voice added. "There are factions stirring in the East and rumors in the Void Corridors. Perhaps it's time the council accepts the inevitable."

Still, Trevor said nothing.

Another bold noble—a delegate from one of the outer colonies—chimed in, "Even the Empresses don't appear in public anymore. How long will the kingdom suffer in silence over a ghost?"

That was the final straw.

The room dimmed slightly. All color seemed to vanish for a moment, replaced by the sharp contrast of blood-red light and void-black shadows. Silence clamped the chamber shut like a jaw of steel.

Trevor—High Sovereign Sanguivar, the Blood Primogenitor—opened his eyes fully.

And the world shuddered.

His aura didn't just pour out—it detonated.

A tsunami of ancient, regal, and overwhelmingly divine pressure exploded outward, engulfing the chamber in pure force. The walls shimmered violently. Grav-seats screeched and buckled under the weight. The floor cracked. And far beyond the hall, across Antrim itself, skies dimmed for a heartbeat as crimson light danced like aurora across the heavens.

Every representative, councilor, and noble dropped to their knees instinctively—spines bent by a pressure their souls could not ignore.

And still Trevor had not stood up.

His voice came next—low, calm, and cold as oblivion.

"Say another word… and lose your worthless life."

He rose, slowly, as though the world itself moved in rhythm with his limbs.

"My big brother sacrificed everything. His life, his soul—his entire being—to save this kingdom. Where were you at the time? Hiding. Running. Some of you weren't even born yet. Others were children, clinging to their parents. And now you stand here, dressed in arrogance you've inherited, acting like you understand anything?"

His gaze swept across the trembling delegates like a blade.

"You are here because the Imperial Council allowed it. You sit here because we High Sovereigns chose not to erase your families when you were still infants. You are representatives. Not rulers. Not legends. Do not forget that."

A hush filled the chamber. A silence loud enough to make lungs ache.

"If this is the future your elders raised you for," Trevor continued, his voice falling into a grim whisper, "then this is the first and final warning you will receive."

The floating crest of the Empire above the dais crackled with crimson lightning as his aura reached its peak. Beyond the walls, across the city of Antrim, people paused in their daily lives, looking skyward in awe and terror. Even distant nations would feel the disturbance in their weather systems, a silent reminder that the Blood Primogenitor still walked the world.

Trevor finally stood at the edge of the dais, looking beyond the hall toward the horizon. His voice was quieter now, but it echoed through the hearts of all present.

"It seems I will have to remind those fools of who we really are."

He smirked darkly, eyes glowing.

"And for your information… it's not twelve years. It's twenty."

He turned slightly, crimson eyes hardening.

"And for your sake—don't let any of the Empresses hear what you just said. Because what I do to you would be mercy… compared to what they will do."

…

The team moved in silent formation through the flickering shadows of Sector 7, leaving behind the carcass of the Chimera-Monstrosity. They knew better than to linger—the scent of energy discharge and ruptured beast-flesh would attract scavengers, some of them far worse than their quarry.

"ETA to the fallback point—five minutes," Mara informed, her drones already retreating overhead like glowing birds returning to a roost. "Let's not become the hunted."

They moved swiftly across fractured pavement and defunct railways. The skeletal skyline of Neo-Elysium loomed above, a twisted forest of steel and luminous adscreens, their messages half-burnt and corrupted by years of neglect. "Cyber-Junkies Stay Out." "Access Denied." "Glory to the Mechanarch."

"Check this out," Lira whispered, stopping at a metallic alcove near a collapsed watchtower. She ran her fingers over ancient carvings etched into the steel—sigils glowing faintly beneath the grime. "Runic tech. Old world. Definitely not city-grade."

Fen's eyes narrowed. "Another ritual site?"

"Or a summoning point," Mara added grimly. "One of the ones that survived the Pulse."

They had all heard stories—whispers of pre-Collapse arcano-tech hidden beneath Neo-Elysium's skin like sleeping parasites. Not all the beasts came from lab errors. Some were called.

Kai approached, crouching low. "These symbols… they're similar to the ones we saw back in the Hollow District. The one that produced that shadowwurm."

"You mean the one that ate two enforcers and phased through a wall?" Lira asked.

"Yeah. That one."

A soft, rhythmic pulse suddenly emanated from the carvings—low, like a heartbeat. And then—

BWOOM.

A concussive wave burst outward, knocking the hunters to their knees as the alley warped. Space bent. The sigils flared blindingly, then cracked open like eggshells, revealing a yawning portal of static and flame.

A scream followed—metallic, layered, alien. And from the portal emerged something grotesquely regal: a Basilisk-Class Phage-Beast, wrapped in veils of molten data, its many eyes glitching between dimensions.

"Scatter!" Kai yelled, but the warning came a fraction too late. The creature exhaled, and a torrent of distorted reality surged forward. Walls liquefied. Light bent into spirals.

Fen rolled, narrowly avoiding the distortion wave, and fired a blast of plasma at the beast's face. It struck, briefly revealing a skull-like structure beneath the shifting energy.

"Confirmed Basilisk Phage," Mara cried into comms. "We're not equipped for this! We need evac or—"

"Or we do what we always do," Kai growled, eyes wild with resolve. "Adapt."

He activated his last gambit—a dimensional disruptor grenade—and lobbed it into the air. Time around the grenade slowed, warping the portal's edges. The creature's scream fractured, and it flinched backward, momentarily destabilized.

"Now, hit it!" Kai roared.

Lira launched her spear with a cry of defiance, striking one of the eyes. Fen's plasma shells followed, punching holes in its shifting veil. Mara's drones dropped magnetic clamps that exploded into auric chains, anchoring the beast's claws.

Kai surged forward, sliding under the beast's shifting limbs, driving a high-voltage shockrod into the exposed center of its chest. The feedback was instantaneous—an eruption of light, noise, and shattered magic. The portal behind it blinked once—then collapsed inward with a silent snap.

The Phage-Beast shrieked its last, collapsing like a puppet with severed strings.

The air returned. Reality stabilized.

Silence.

One by one, the hunters stood. Bruised, bloodied, breathless—but alive.

"That… was not part of the plan," Mara muttered.

"No," Kai replied, panting. "But I think it was part of someone else's."

They looked at the ruined sigils. Some of them were still glowing—new lines had appeared, etched with unnatural precision.

"Someone's activating old-world nexuses," Fen said. "We're not just hunting beasts anymore."

Lira nodded grimly. "We're walking into a war."

And as they disappeared into the night, leaving the ruined street behind, a surveillance drone hidden in the shadow of a gargoyle twitched—transmitting everything to an unknown receiver deep beneath the city.

Somewhere far below, in the underground citadel of the forgotten Mechanarchs, a figure watched and smiled.

"Let them hunt. Let them grow strong. The real beasts are yet to wake."