Progenitor Beast.
A name given to the first of their line. Monsters who had reached a level of power that allowed them to be reborn anew.
They were the culmination of their species, the most optimal version they could ever become. All that came after would be nothing but pale imitations. For perfection, any change was an impurity.
These were creatures who ruled sovereignly over their domains. Nature’s answer to Exarchs. Though often still a little weaker due to their less versatile spellcraft, they were genuine powerhouses who even the mightiest rulers on the continent had to respect.
Naturally, these were creatures of immense interest to Mages. And centuries of study had found one thing that was irrevocably true about them.
Their origin was tied to an evolution that could not be cultivated.
In all of recorded history, the only way Progenitor Beasts had ever been born was through dozens of coincidences aligning. The right creature, in the right place, at the right moment. And even then, it usually required an extraordinary treasure, like the thing Winter was hiding deep within his mountain, to help them push past the threshold.
For Winter, it had taken decades sealed inside that icy mountain with his treasure before he was able to evolve. But even under those exact same circumstances, a similar result would be almost impossible to repeat.
That was the universal consensus.
Progenitors couldn’t be manufactured. Progenitors couldn’t be born in captivity. Progenitors could not be controlled. And lastly, and most importantly, Chimeroi could never evolve into Progenitors.
That last part was the one everyone agreed on, even the most contrarian researchers.
After all, every Chimeroi could trace their line back to a Progenitor, the optimal version of their species.
If they were removed by only a single degree, they were called Purebloods, the direct offspring of the Progenitors themselves. For them, near-identical bloodline purity was still feasible. But the further down the tree it went, the more impurities crept in and the more distorted their inheritance became. Fangs, claws, horns, and scales. These were all signs of an impure bloodline, usually found in offspring dozens of degrees removed from their Progenitors.
These creatures, though sometimes surprisingly powerful, would forever be limited by the seal of their impure bloodline. It was impossible for any of them to overshadow or even match the accomplishments of their forefathers.
Naturally, Zeke knew all of that. Among all human Mages alive, there were few whose knowledge and experience with Chimeroi could match his.
Which was exactly how he knew.
Vulcanos, despite the impossibility of it all, was evolving.
His body, instead of being healed, was reconstructing itself.
Old skin fell away like a snake shedding its scales. Bones cracked and splintered, only to be replaced by new, stronger ones. Even his organs began to wither, only for a new set to bloom from the ashes.
Zeke wanted nothing more than to study this once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. To analyze and understand the changes taking place inside his friend.
However, the very moment the transformation started, he knew that dream was impossible. He knew it for a single reason.
The transformation was taking too long.
Though it was happening at an astronomical pace, given the complexity of the process, it would still take minutes to finish.
Minutes no enemy would allow.
Zeke’s realization and momentary distraction hadn’t taken more than a few seconds, and yet he could already see the Archmage prepare another attack. Though Zeke was certain she had not yet grasped the importance of what was happening, her instincts were sharp enough to realize that it was not a good thing.
Before Zeke could even blink, a flame the size of a carriage appeared before her outstretched hand. Having learned her lesson, she didn’t fire her spell immediately, but compressed it. This didn’t carry nearly the same amount of power as her previous attack, but it also took only a moment to cast.
The result was a Fireball the size of a head, held neatly in her hand like a captured sun.
Zeke’s entire body screamed in alarm. He didn’t know how fragile Vulcanos’ current state was, but he was certain that an attack by an Archmage would be enough to hamper or even completely destroy any chance he had for a smooth evolution.
The Archmage didn’t waste a single instant. The hand holding the spell moved the moment the compression was finished, sailing toward the completely immobile Vulcanos.
Zeke didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have time to hesitate.
His hand had already reached through Space before he even realized it. It was all he could do in that moment. Unstructured Magic. No Anchor, no spellwork. Just instinct and faith. A form of teleportation that couldn’t be blocked by most suppression arrays.
The only drawback was that a single mistake would see him reappear in a wall, or the ground, or even another person.
But Zeke didn’t think of the consequences. All he could think of was what that spell would do to Vulcanos.
His hand, which had reached through the void first, struck something solid. His heart lurched, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t pull back. This was the only way to reach her quickly enough to stop the attack. Either it worked, or Vulcanos was finished.
Then the world snapped back into focus.
Zeke’s mind, working far beyond the limits of human capacity, realized instantly where he was and what his hand had touched. He was standing less than a step behind the female Archmage. He could feel the heat of her spell already searing the hem of his robe, even though barely an instant had passed. And his hand… was pressed against the back of her arm as it crept forward at a snail’s pace.
Zeke closed his hand around her elbow, his own speed not much faster than her glacial pace. After all, he had not slowed time, merely enhanced his perception of it.
After closing his grip around her arm, he pulled back with all his might.
He could feel the resistance of her flesh. This was not just the inertia of mass, but her own formidable strength.
It was true what they said. Every Archmage had the strength of a beast.
Fortunately for Zeke, when it came to physical strength, he was no slouch either, and the densely compressed Blood in his veins gave him a weight advantage that could not be overstated. It took him only a single moment to overpower the slender woman and rip her arm away from its intended course.
The spell followed. Instead of sailing through the air toward Vulcanos, it flew backward toward her own troops.
But Zeke wasn’t finished. He knew perfectly well that his surprise attack would only work once, and only for a single moment. He would have to make the most of it if he wanted any chance to stall this woman and her elite troop.
And so, in that same instant, he punched with his other hand toward her ribs with all his might. The strike looked comically slow to him, but to anyone watching, his movements would have been barely perceivable.
Even his opponent, a seasoned Archmage, hadn’t been able to react yet, being toyed with like a frozen statue.
Zeke’s hand slowly drew closer, but before his strike landed, a spike the length of a dagger shot from his palm. It was the purest part of his Heartsblood, so dense with Mana that it radiated power.
This was his absolute strongest attack.
A close-combat killing blow powerful enough to pierce through any defense, even the hardened body of an Archmage.
Every nerve in Zeke’s body pulled taut as the tip of his blade drew closer to her ribs. He had already calculated the perfect angle, the perfect spot, the shortest path to her heart. But there was still one barrier left.
If his attack failed to pierce her skin, he would be like a fish on the chopping block, trapped between an Archmage and her troops with nothing to show for it.
Calm down. It would work. It had to work. Please…
Zeke’s eyes were fixed on the tip of his blade as it neared her skin. He inwardly cursed his inhuman perception, for it stretched the moment of his torment to an equally inhuman length.
A handspan, a finger, a hair…
Zeke’s mouth slowly curved into a smile as he felt no resistance. His blade slid smoothly between the woman’s ribs. He should have expected it. No human, no matter how monstrous, should have been able to block an attack of this caliber with their bare skin. Least of all a Fire Mage. They were, after all, not exactly known for their formidable defense.
Zeke’s blade advanced, passing through her ribcage and heading straight for her heart. However, instead of joy, a sense of unease began to creep into his chest.
This was too smooth. The resistance was lacking, and most importantly, he couldn’t feel the presence of Blood.
There… there should be blood!
Zeke’s unease turned to certainty when his blade reached the position of her heart and continued on as if nothing was there. Not willing to give up, he pressed forward. But even after the blade exited her body on the other side, there was still no resistance.
Then his palm struck the woman’s skin.
Or what should have been her skin.
Just like his blade, it passed into her body with little to no resistance. But this time, Zeke felt it. His hand, which should have touched skin, flesh, blood, or guts, instead felt as if he had dunked it into a cauldron of boiling water.
His skin heated up uncomfortably. Then painfully. Then with pure agony.
Only when his hand had fully passed through her body did the torment finally end.
Zeke half stumbled, half fell forward. He had put his full force into that blow and couldn’t cope with the lack of resistance he had found. It was as if he had punched a ghost. A scaldingly hot ghost.
On top of that, he could feel the first signs of overdraft. His head was beginning to hammer, a clear sign that he had overused the maximum state of his [Sanguine Clarity]. Unwilling to burn himself out completely, he reduced its intensity to a manageable level as he whirled around on the spot, refusing to show his back to the enemy.
That was when he saw something that made his blood turn cold.
The woman he had slashed was still split open. But other than that, her stance, her position, and even the smirk on her face remained unchanged. It was an eerie sight, seeing two severed halves of a body continue functioning as if nothing had happened.
But that was not the part that truly disturbed him.
His shock stemmed from looking at the part of her body that should have been cut. Instead of flesh and blood, all he saw were flickering flames. It was as if her midsection had been replaced by a smoldering furnace.
Zeke knew what this was.
The pinnacle of what an Archmage was capable of.
Elementalization.
The perfect union of body and Core.
In other words, physical attacks were useless. The only way to defeat her, to hurt her, to kill her, was to fully exhaust her Magic.
Zeke looked down at his left hand, which had become completely charred from a single touch. She had not even attacked him yet, and he was already injured to such a degree.
This time, he had clearly bitten off more than he could chew.
At the same moment that thought occurred to him, the spell he had previously redirected crashed into the densely packed formation of troops. The woman didn’t even flinch, her eyes locked onto Zeke with predatory intensity.
The flickering light caused by the burning of her own subordinates only made her gaze all the more eerie.
“Well… look who we have here.”