Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 316

Chapter 316: The Alchemist of Annihilation. Sage Ascends
The Western Ridge smoldered.

It was a canvas of violence and invention.

Cratered earth hissed with golden residue. Crystalline structures jutted from the ground—spontaneously grown from Maverick’s unstable, volatile Alchemy magic. Corpses of E’Sherils lay strewn about, some melted, others transmuted into ash, metal, or unrecognizable materials.

Maverick stood at the center of it all, shirt torn, his body marked with glowing alchemic glyphs. His wings shimmered, pure silver and crackling with residual transmutation energy.

He cracked his neck, letting out a long breath.

“Twenty-four. Not bad. But Stygian’s probably already at thirty. Damn freak.”

He raised his hand, and three arrows made of pure golden glass formed mid-air, orbiting his wrist like a spell halo.

They fired without warning—FWIP. FWIP. FWIP.

Three E’Sherils dropped instantly, their skulls punctured with alchemic spikes that shattered on impact and flooded their minds with destabilizing essence.

Then it hit.

A shockwave—different from Ethan and Ashtora’s clash. This one was precise, deliberate.

From the smoking ridgeline emerged a figure. Taller than the others. His tail bore six spikes, each glistening with psychic condensate. His eyes gleamed a darker blue, almost black, and his four arms flexed with coiled psychic muscle.

Unlike the others, this one wore armor—forged from condensed psychic plating. Etched on it was a name.

Zer’Khall.

“Alchemist,” the six-spiked warrior said, voice low, echoing within Maverick’s head like a drum. “You have desecrated the Groves with abominations. You will answer for them.”

Maverick’s smirk faded.

He tapped his temple once.

“You actually feel like a fight. Good. I was getting bored.”

The next moment was a blur.

Zer’Khall vanished—and reappeared behind Maverick, launching a flurry of psychic jabs that tore the air apart.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

Maverick barely dodged, his wing catching a graze. Blood spattered.

He clicked his tongue and backflipped away—slamming his palms together midair.

“Formula Seventeen: Quicksilver Lotus.”

A circle of alchemic sigils exploded beneath him—liquid silver vines erupting from the ground, twisting upward like blades.

But Zer’Khall didn’t flinch—he broke through them with sheer force, psychic armor shredding the constructs.

KRAKOOM!

One punch caught Maverick square in the ribs—sending him flying into a stone pillar. It cracked in half on impact.

He gasped—but grinned, even through the blood on his lips.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s play for real…”

He stood, raising his right hand—his alchemy circle expanded tenfold, spreading outward like a living storm.

The air shimmered.

Zer’Khall narrowed his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Changing the rules.”

Maverick slammed both hands into the ground.

“Grand Synthesis: Prime Convergence!”

The earth pulsed. The battlefield reacted.

Spikes of emerald, sapphire, and molten ruby burst from below, surrounding Zer’Khall. A storm of crystalline filaments began rotating midair, drawing in oxygen, light, and heat.

Zer’Khall moved to counter—but the air itself began converting, transmuting into a solid cage of compressed plasma.

“You alchemists—play gods.”

“Nah,” Maverick said, blood trickling down his chin. “We just borrow the universe’s paintbrush.”

Then came the finishing blow.

“Formula Omega: Caged Singularity.”

The circle beneath Zer’Khall’s feet collapsed inward, pulling everything into a singular point.

Zer’Khall screamed, his body writhing, tail flaring with every psychic defense he could muster.

It didn’t matter.

His armor collapsed.

His limbs cracked from the weight of the synthesized pull.

His mind — fractured by the pressure of unstable matter being forced to exist and unexist simultaneously.

SHHRRRRRIP—BOOM!

Light burst outward.

Then silence.

Maverick collapsed to one knee, breathing heavily, as golden dust drifted around him.

The ridge was… gone. A deep crater now marked the site. Nothing remained of Zer’Khall but a faint echo in the psychic weave.

He wiped his mouth and stood.

“Thirty-one now.”

He looked east.

The tremors from Ethan’s battle still hadn’t stopped.

“Master, you better still be standing. I’m not giving up my duel that easily.”

His wings flared again—and with a flick, he vanished into the air, ready to finish what he’d started.

…

Above the shattered landscape, the sky howled.

Sage moved through the air like a silver streak — wings laced with vibrational currents, every movement generating a symphony of pressure and destructive frequency. He was sleek, tall, his draconic heritage evident in his sharp features, glowing grey eyes, and the sonic appendages along his arms that pulsed like breathing gills.

E’Sherils swarmed him. Aerial units with four and five-spiked tails weaved through the clouds, firing psychic bolts and warping the very wind with telekinetic force.

But Sage wasn’t just flying.

He was conducting.

“Resonance: Third Octave.”

With a clap of his hands, a ripple pulsed outward. The clouds trembled — and the minds of two E’Sherils shattered mid-flight, blood spraying from their ears and eyes as their psyches collapsed under the invisible pressure of harmonic warfare.

“This sky belongs to me,” Sage whispered, voice calm, modulated.

Another three E’Sherils tried to encircle him.

Too slow.

Sage exhaled — and the sound of his breath became a weapon. A cone of vibrating force swept forward like a blade of air, cleaving through two bodies and rupturing the last one’s wings into pulp.

Then, it struck — a sudden wall of pure force slamming into Sage from above.

BOOM!

He was knocked from the air, crashing through two layers of cloud and catching himself mid-fall.

Above him, descending like a god of order and judgment, was the leader.

He was massive — four-armed like the others, but bearing a tail with six and a half distinct spikes, the seventh growing, cracked but pulsing with embryonic psychic power.

His head was crowned in jagged psionic horns, and behind him floated a telekinetic mantle, a cloak of hovering obsidian shards that shifted with his thoughts.

“You are Sage. The Sound Drake,” he said, voice modulated in multiple tones. “You killed my brother. I felt his scream end.”

Sage’s smile was faint.

“He screamed sharp. I prefer flat notes.”

The E’Sheril’s expression darkened.

“I am Khazir, Sky Commander of the E’Sheril. You are unworthy of the air you breathe.”

“And you’re late to your own funeral.”

They clashed.

Their battle was not seen — it was heard.

Thunder that wasn’t thunder — but compressed soundwaves colliding with psychic force. Vibrational spears shot forward from Sage’s hands, warping air and light as they cut through Khazir’s defenses. In return, invisible hammers of thought battered Sage from multiple angles, warping his balance and tempo.

CRACK-BOOM!

They collided midair — and the sky split.

Khazir grabbed Sage by the throat with one hand and tried to crush his windpipe, but Sage smiled — even while choking.

“Resonance Lock: Ultrasonic Feedback Spiral.”

Sage placed one palm on Khazir’s forehead.

Then released.

A hypersonic scream erupted point-blank — not through sound, but through tissue, bone, memory, and mind. Khazir’s armor rippled. Blood gushed from his ears. His mind was spinning into entropy.

“GRAAAAHHH!”

He flailed, striking Sage back with a psychic burst that launched them both apart.

They hovered again — battered, bloodied.

Khazir was panting, but grinning.

“Good. I knew you would be strong. Let us shatter this sky together.”

Sage wiped his mouth, silver blood running down his chin.

“Agreed. Let’s make this sky scream.”

The heavens lit up again — beams of sound and thought, vibration and force, blade and will crashing, twisting, and unmaking the very air around them.

From the ground, even Galeno and Jeroth glanced up briefly.

The sky… was crying.

And it was glorious.