Chapter 446: The Wives Arrive (2)

Amara had been flying for a while now, and soon she spotted them. Trevor and Lamair locked in battle against a wolf-like man. Wolf-like because he wasn’t a werewolf. That Amara could tell.

Trevor and Lamair were so concentrated on their battle that they didn’t notice the new presence that had arrived. Trevor’s avatar was torn in places while Lamair’s own had lost two of its arms. The masters of these avatars weren’t looking good either. Trevor was missing an arm, which was regenerating, but the regeneration was very slow. If the origin of all vampires was struggling to regenerate just an arm, then you could only imagine what a normal vampire would experience. It turned out that Tyrant’s ice had gained new properties after his evolution.

If the ice was slowing down blood, then now it was causing chaos in Trevor’s body. One could tell how Trevor vomited blood anytime his arm regenerated by an inch because of that property. It was very lethal and could kill a normal person.

Lamair wasn’t any better. One of his arms was twisted at a weird angle, and one of his horns was piercing his left eye. Because he was an undead, he shouldn’t have felt pain, but he was now feeling pain, and an agonizing one at that.

And Tyrant… he was unscathed. There were no injuries on him. That was the danger of fighting a Saint Realm being. Trevor and Lamair could be said to be the first in history to survive that long against a Saint Realm being.

“Can you go on, Trev?” Lamair asked Trevor as he ripped the horn out of his eye. His arm twisted back on its own, but one could tell that he was on his last legs. Anymore attacks and he would die for real.

“Probably… cough! What the hell is with this ice?” Trevor exclaimed as he forcefully stopped his regeneration, making his arm stop at the elbow.

“So, this is the end, huh? To think we lost to a spirit beast…” Lamair said with a sad tone, but he was smiling maniacally.

“Dishonorable, ain’t it?” Trevor chimmed in as he got into a fighting stance. Smoke gushed out of him in violent streams and mixed with his avatar.

Trevor’s grin twisted into something feral, almost ecstatic, his crimson hair whipping behind him like a burning banner. The air around him thickened, vibrating with an ancient hunger that didn’t belong to mortals, or even Saints. His voice rose, thunderous and wild, carrying the weight of a lineage that once feasted on the hearts of emperors.

“This technique is still fresh from the womb… so be honored, beast. You’re the first to taste it!”

The ground beneath him split open as rivers of blood surged upward, coiling around his arms, his claws, his chest. Every drop pulsed like a living creature, all of them connected to his heartbeat.

Trevor didn’t just unleash power. He opened a road that was never meant to exist, a lineage-born calamity that had slept in his blood since the first Primogenitor devoured a god.

His voice dropped, deep and resonant, as if echoing through the bones of the world.

“Path of Blood… awaken.”

The domain responded instantly.

The rivers of blood around him stopped flowing.Every droplet froze mid-air.Everything went silent.

Then the silence shattered.

A monolithic sigil erupted beneath Trevor’s feet, a circular brand of spiraling fangs and ancient runes carved in a language older than Debranlith. The sigil spun like a rotating maw, and from it rose spectral figures, the echoes of past Blood Primogenitors, each a towering shadow with eyes like dying suns. They bowed toward Trevor, acknowledging him as their successor.

The sky darkened.Not with clouds…but with veins, thin streaks of red cracking across the heavens like the world itself was bleeding.

Trevor inhaled deeply.

The blood in the air answered.

The blood inside Tyrant answered.

The blood buried in the frozen ground answered.

And then the Path revealed itself.

A road of solidified bloodlight, stretching from Trevor’s feet toward Tyrant, materialized in an instant. It wasn’t a mere construct; it was a law, a command, a rewriting of reality that said: all life must bow before this step.

Trevor stepped onto it.

The world buckled.

His avatar behind him mimicked the motion, the six-tailed beast shifting into a monstrous silhouette with a crown of bone and blood. Each tail turned into a different weapon, a guillotine blade, a chain, a scythe, a spear, a whip, and a colossal fist, each representing a different aspect of his lineage.

Trevor’s aura ignited.

“Path of Blood… First Edict.”

A crimson star ignited inside his chest.

“Sever the Pulse.”

When he launched forward, the Path itself moved with him, a rushing tidal wave of bloodlight that bent space like wet paper. Every step he took devoured distance. Every heartbeat he released erased the frost Tyrant commanded.

The strike that followed wasn’t a blow.

It was a sentence.

And Tyrant, saint-level, newly evolved, dripping with corruption, felt his blood rebel inside his own veins as Trevor’s technique crashed into him like a primordial verdict.

The moment Trevor’s Path of Blood began crushing Tyrant from within, Lamair struck, clean, precise, merciless.

Purple strings erupted around him like a blooming, predatory flower. They twisted through the air with eerie grace, forming impossible patterns that made the world glitch for a heartbeat. Above him, the sky darkened as a colossal sigil materialized: a puppeteer’s hand carved from starlit amethyst. The symbol radiated quiet, devastating authority, so heavy it forced the air to kneel.

And Tyrant with it.

The evolved wolf-beast slammed to one knee, snarling as his body spasmed under Trevor’s internal assault. Frost burst off him in painful shards. His veins glowed dark blue, fighting Trevor’s command.

Lamair floated upward until he reached the center of the hovering sigil. He was tiny next to it… an ant standing before a titan’s crown, but the pressure rolling off him made the entire battlefield tilt. His grin was soft, almost nostalgic.

“The irony,” he murmured, purple threads writhing like serpents around his arms. “The first to suffer this technique also called himself Tyrant.”

He lifted his hand, and the sigil answered.

“Path of Control… Absolute Dominion.”

The puppeteer’s hand clenched.

All the strings snapped forward.

The world convulsed.

Tyrant howled… no, roared, a roar so harrowing the domain cracked. His body surged upward against the pressure, bones bulging, aura melting the ground. Trevor’s blood-edict crushed him from the inside, while Lamair’s dominion crushed him from the outside. Two Primogenitors, both in Saint-Ream states, pressing him from both directions.

Tyrant’s form distorted, swelling as deep-blue light burst from every pore. He wasn’t submitting. He wasn’t breaking.

He was preparing something suicidal.

Trevor’s eyes widened. “He’s priming a core-burst!”

Lamair snarled. “Let him try. He belongs to me!”

Tyrant forced himself to his feet, barely, and the air around him collapsed inward, forming a spiraling vortex of winter and annihilation. Dark blue lines raced across his skin like cracks in a frozen star. His voice boomed through the broken domain, guttural and shaking.

“I… AM… TYRANT!”

A final attack took shape behind him. A monstrous sphere of crystallized core-energy, large enough to erase continents. A dying sun of ice and hatred.

Trevor hissed. “If that detonates…!”

Lamair snapped more strings around Tyrant’s limbs, spine, and skull. “Stay down!”

Tyrant fought like a beast cornered by gods. He ripped the strings apart. He stopped the blood-edict from erasing his core. He pushed the frozen sun forward with a last, defiant roar.

The attack fired.

The world screamed.

The moment Tyrant’s last attack surged outward, an ocean of killing frost and abyssal pressure meant to drag both Primogenitors into oblivion, a voice drifted down like a mischievous whisper slipping through the cracks of reality.

“It seems Darling really did himself bad… hihi.”

A massive dark-blue draconic wing unfurled between the Primogenitors and the incoming catastrophe. The wing wasn’t conjured. It wasn’t summoned. It simply arrived, carrying the effortless authority of someone who didn’t need to announce herself. Frostfire scales shimmered with a celestial sheen as the raging attack slammed into the wing, broke upon it, and scattered into harmless shards of pale mist.

Trevor didn’t even need to look back to know which wife it was.

But before this intervening presence had made her cheeky entrance, Tyrant had thrown everything he possessed into surviving the combined techniques ripping him apart.

Purple strings crushed down harder and harder as Lamair’s sigil filled the sky like a puppeteer god descending upon his creation. Trevor’s blood-forged spiral bored deeper, tearing through organs, marrow, and the core of Tyrant’s essence. The colossal wolf thrashed with a defiance born from a lifetime of supremacy, muscles bulging as if he could force the universe to obey him one last time.

For a heartbeat, he actually pushed himself halfway off the ground, legs trembling under the weight of Lamair’s Absolute Dominion.

His jaws parted, gathering the last of his Primordial Ice. A starless frost condensed at his throat, burning hotter than any flame.

He refused to die silently.

He roared, and his roar became his final attack, a tidal collapse of annihilating frozen power meant to drag them into death with him.

Trevor felt the temperature drop so violently that his bones almost cracked.

Lamair grimaced. “Stubborn mutt…”

Tyrant’s body finally split under the pressure, blood and crystallized frost scattering like glittering snow. The attack left his corpse, the last defiance of a dying king, then met the wing.

The wing didn’t even twitch.

Behind it, the Primogenitors were completely untouched.

And above them, drifting downward with an infuriatingly sweet smile, came the source of the voice, Trevor’s draconic wife, cracking her knuckles as though she’d only just woken from a nap.

“Darling,” she said in a singsong tone, “you’re not allowed to die before dinner.”

Creation is hard, cheer me up!

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