The Primordial Bloodine

2.The Ancient Great War

At the forest's edge beside an enormous lake, a handful of wooden cottages stood isolated within a thousand-li radius, nestled deep in the continent's heartland. Far removed from wars and bloodshed, shrouded in mist year-round with mild, damp air, this was one of the few pure, peaceful sanctuaries across the entire Northern Continent.

Evergreen plants filled the courtyard, soft night breezes drifting through, the place plain and unassuming like the abode of a common hermit.

A man and a woman sat facing each other beside a stone table in the yard, upon which rested a go board laid out with black and white stones, alongside delicate tea bowls and several small plates of side dishes.

The man was Phil Jackson. He appeared no older than forty, clad in a plain pale long robe clean and understated, his brows and eyes gentle and calm with an air of serene detachment. Not a trace of the overpowering aura of an almighty overlord clung to him; mild and unassuming, he looked just a mortal who'd retreated from the world. He was the shared progenitor of both the vampire and wolfkin clans, bearer of the Primordial Origin Blood, and the mightiest being on the continent. For ten thousand years, he'd dwelt here, indifferent to all worldly strife.

The young woman seated beside him was Lana, an orphan Phil Jackson had taken in.

She looked roughly eighteen years old, blessed with peerless, transcendent beauty carved by heaven and earth. Her delicate eyes held vivid light, their outer corners naturally tilted upward; her black pupils were pure and clear, untouched by a shred of the dark malevolence plaguing this continent. Slender, dense eyelashes cast faint shadows when lowered, and her skin was pale, smooth and flawless. Her figure was lithe and graceful with soft, flowing curves. A refined silver pendant of unknown material hung upon her full chest. A pale smoke-gray long dress accentuated her elegant, delicate frame; a few strands of black hair were loosely tied up, the rest falling gently over her shoulders. Her heart was pure, unversed in political scheming or slaughter—an untainted human girl through and through.

Half the game of go had unfolded, the crisp, faint clink of stones the only sound stirring the courtyard.

Lana stared at the board for a long while, a slender white stone pinched between her pale fingertips as her fine brows knit slightly, torn with indecision. Her skill at go was amateurish; she knew nothing of intricate strategies, moving with extreme caution every turn, terrified a single misstep would put her at a disadvantage.

Phil Jackson waited quietly, not pressing her in the slightest. He gazed down at the girl's earnest expression, a faint tender smile hidden deep in his eyes. The ten thousand years of lonely solitude seemed softened and filled by this ordinary, fleeting moment.

"Father, did I make a bad move?"

After a long pause, Lana lifted her eyes to meet his, faint confusion glinting in her clear pupils. Her fingers brushed lightly over the cold stone, her tone docile. She could not decipher the hidden layouts woven across the board, only seeing her white stones trapped on all sides, hemmed in by black with nowhere to advance or retreat.

Phil Jackson slowly raised his gaze at her words, his voice warm and deep. "It matters not. A game of go follows only your heart; victory and defeat are never what count."

He leaned forward slightly, his long pale fingertip tapping a blank spot on the board. "You may break the stalemate here, try to—" Before he finished, his hand snapped back, and he twisted his head to stare far into the distance.

"Father, what's wrong?" Lana jolted, startled by his sudden reaction.

"This place is no longer safe. You cannot stay here—leave at once," Phil Jackson urged sharply.

"What has happened, Father? We've lived here peacefully for over a decade," Lana cried in alarm.

"Sigh… it's too late. There's no escaping now. My two sons have come. Do not stray from my side for any reason," Phil Jackson said.

Over ten thousand years, Phil Jackson had watched his two biological sons split down paths of good and evil, descending into unbridled extremes.

His eldest son, Dracula, was sharp and reserved, his nature drawn to shadow, greedy for power and profit. Step by step, he sank into the night, growing cold-blooded, suspicious, vicious and crafty. The second son, Marquis, was unruly and belligerent, drowned in savage malevolence, growing increasingly violent and mad, acting solely on impulse with endless bloodlust.

For ten thousand years, the two had lusted after the Primordial Origin Blood, plotting in secret, leading armies to invade, launching countless ambushes. Over the millennia, Phil Jackson had relocated his hermitage time and again, even dwelling hundreds of years in the remote, desolate Southern Continent. Yet the blood bond linking him to his sons ran far too deep—no matter where he hid, they would always sense his presence in the end.

Still, even knowing his sons were treasonous, bloodthirsty and unfilial, Phil Jackson could never bring himself to strike them down.

They were flesh and blood he'd borne and raised; even a tiger would not devour its cubs. For ten thousand years, he'd endured, yielded, held back his full strength, letting them return empty-handed each time. A thin, desperate hope lingered in his heart: that they would cast aside their greed and find their way back from the brink.

But this mercy had only emboldened them to attack without restraint.

Boom rumble—!

Heaven and earth trembled, winds and clouds overturned.

Torrential black wolfish malevolence and scarlet vampire demonic qi plummeted from the sky, blotting out all sunlight in an instant. The clear sky turned pitch black, warm breezes shifting to bone-chilling killing intent, the entire region wrapped in frigid, brutal hostility.

Dracula and Marquis hovered side by side high above, one to the left, one to the right, sealing off every avenue of escape. Their crushing pressure rolled across a thousand li of land, withering all vegetation and sending every bird fleeing in panic.

Phil Jackson lifted a hand to pat the back of Lana's hand clutching his sleeve, then slowly raised his eyes toward the two all-too-familiar figures suspended in the sky. The gentle warmth in his brows and eyes faded, replaced by profound exhaustion and desolation.

"Father, it has been an age. How have you fared?" Marquis spoke coldly.

"So you two have finally allied yourselves and come."

His tone was calm, free of anger or fear, only resignation.

High overhead, Dracula stared down, no flicker of warmth in his blood-red irises, cutting straight to the point in an indifferent voice. "Father, cease deceiving yourself. Marquis and I stand united today not to rekindle our father-son bond, but solely for the Origin Blood."

Phil Jackson spoke softly, his tone mild. "For ten thousand years, I have known you crave the Primordial Origin Blood. In all your invasions, I have spared your lives. Must you drive matters to this terrible end?"

Marquis flew into a blazing rage at once, stepping forward as savage aura erupted from his frame, his roar rough and piercing. "Sparing our lives? Is this charity? Condescending pity? Father, you wield the power of the origin, unmatched through eternity. You watched my elder brother and I split our races apart, slaughter each other for a thousand years, with hundreds of millions of our kin dead and fallen—and you stood by and did nothing. Without the complete Origin Blood passed down to us, no matter how long our lifespans stretch, they will one day end, while you alone hoard eternal immortality. Can this truly be called fatherhood?"

"I have never stood idly by," Phil Jackson lifted his gaze, a heavy sigh lacing his words. "Had I intervened, the war between our clans could have ended a thousand years ago. The pursuit of power, once set down the wrong path, dooms one to eternal ruin."

Dracula let out a cold, mocking chuckle. "The wrong path? You were born holding the Origin, born supreme and undying. My vampire kin are flawed from birth, weakened by sunlight; though our lifespans are long, most are trapped in endless night. Young wolfkin lose their sanity after falling into berserk frenzy beneath the moon, consumed by savage bloodlust no different from wild beasts. We are born broken, born unequal. You hold the divine blood that could mend all our flaws, yet you hoard it for a thousand years."

"I do not hoard it," Phil Jackson replied, his gaze fixed firmly on his two sons. "The Primordial Origin Blood was born alongside creation, steeped in overwhelming malevolence. Your obsessions run far too deep, your desire to kill far too strong. Should the complete Origin Blood enter your bodies, you would become invincible yet lose every shred of humanity, slaughtering every living soul across the continent. Then you would no longer be yourselves—only bloodthirsty monsters. I withhold it to protect all living things… and to protect you as well."

Dracula narrowed his blood-red eyes, his gaze locking tightly on the young girl standing below, his tone probing and sinister. "Who is this human girl beside you? Why does her body bear traces of exceptionally pure Origin Blood?"

Phil Jackson's palm tightened slightly. "She is merely an adopted daughter I shelter, insignificant to all of this. She has no part in today's conflict, and I warn you—do not harm her."

"What a devoted father you are, hahaha. You would rather share the Origin Blood with an outsider who shares no blood with you than give it to your own sons."

Dracula cut him off, frigid malice surging in his scarlet pupils. "Ten thousand years of father-son ties end here. Surrender the Origin Blood willingly, and we shall spare you and this girl to live out your days in peace. If you stubbornly cling to it, my brother and I will seize the blood by force."

Phil Jackson stared at their unyielding faces, speaking one final time. "Must you slay your own father to get what you desire?"

Marquis did not hesitate for a heartbeat, his voice cold and unforgiving. "From the day you refused to grant us the Origin Blood, you ceased to be our father. Taking the blood and ending your life is only right."

"Utter absurdity!" Dracula's robe billowed, oceans of shadowy vampire arts surging downward. "Righteousness for the masses is nothing but an excuse for the weak. The strong are entitled to everything! We will claim the Origin Blood, no matter the cost!"

Daughter, touch the pendant with your palm and speak to it with your soul. Flee now, run as far as you can, and never return for me.

Phil Jackson's voice echoed unbidden inside Lana's mind. Over all these years, her father had taught her to read, play go, cultivate her power, and learn all the secrets of the world—yet he'd never once spoken of his own identity. Every time Lana asked, he'd diverted the conversation with some excuse. She never imagined he was the biological father of the two overlords ruling the continent's two great factions.

"I will not leave unless you come with me," the girl said.

"Go now—that is an order!" Phil Jackson shouted.

"Father, no one leaves here alive without handing over the Origin Blood, hahaha!" Dracula roared with laughter.

The words had barely faded when Dracula struck first!

Endless demonic qi condensed into thousands of scarlet blood claws, wrapped in soul-devouring, spirit-corroding power, tearing through the sky to bear down on Phil Jackson. Each claw embodied forbidden vampire arts forged over a thousand years, capable of rending flesh and annihilating souls.

In the same instant, Marquis unleashed his full power!

Black mist shot skyward, a ten-thousand-zhang black wolf phantom towering to the heavens, its jaws gaping wide enough to swallow the sky. Primordial savage force crushed mountains and rivers, an enormous shadow claw crashing down to block every possible evasive maneuver Phil Jackson could take.

One wielding arcane arts, the other unmatched in physical might—one insidious, one ferocious. The power of the two supreme overlords fused into an inescapable killing formation. This was the most terrifying joint assault ever unleashed upon the Northern Continent. Heaven and earth shook, space splintered, the ground caved in, and a thousand li of mountains and rivers turned to barren wasteland.

Phil Jackson shielded Lana firmly behind him, his white robe untouched by a speck of dust. Faced with the lethal onslaught of his own sons, heartache alone lingered in his eyes. He lifted a hand and swept it gently outward, a soft, radiant white barrier of Origin Blood light unfurling, mild yet unshakable, absorbing the full force of both overlords' strike in an instant.

Boom!!!

A deafening crash rippled across heaven and earth, an energy storm sweeping ten thousand li, sending stone shards and smoke billowing everywhere. Scarlet demonic qi and primal wolfish malevolence slammed violently against the white divine radiance, erupting in raging bursts yet never piercing the gentle barrier, unable to harm Phil Jackson or the girl beside him in the slightest.

Dracula's pupils shrank sharply, his greed blazing hotter than ever. The more he failed to break through, the more he craved the almighty power of the Primordial Origin Blood.

"Hold nothing back! Pour all your cultivation into subduing him!" Dracula shouted sharply.

"Kill!" Marquis's roar shook the heavens, his giant claws slamming down in endless succession as his savage power layered and amplified without cease.

Dracula channeled the ultimate forbidden art of the vampire clan, rows of scarlet demonic lotuses blooming high above, each blossom brimming with annihilating force as they bombarded downward. The two overlords attacked recklessly without restraint, unleashing unending streams of secret arts, brute strength, fatal strikes and taboo divine abilities—each blow deadlier than the last, far crueler than any assault they'd launched against foreign foes.

Green mountains crumbled, all vegetation scorched and withered, towering waves churning across the lake. The once quiet, peaceful sanctuary transformed entirely into a living hell.

Phil Jackson kept Lana sheltered behind him the entire time, defending only, never striking back, passively enduring every attack and silently neutralizing every killing move. The Origin divine radiance shielded his and Lana's lives, warding off all slaughterous malevolence, yet it could not block the piercing sorrow gnawing at his heart.

With his strength, he could wipe both clans off the map with a snap of his fingers, subdue his sons with a casual gesture—but he could not bring himself to do it.

Even cruel, treasonous and ungrateful, they were still flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone.

He watched the frozen indifference in Dracula's eyes, the frenzied malevolence twisting Marquis's features, knowing his ten thousand years of mercy had been utterly wasted. Power, strength and greed had gnawed away the last shred of their father-son bond.

The stalemate of attack and defense dragged on for three full days and three nights.

Dracula's spiritual energy was completely depleted, his face ashen, half his thousand years of cultivation exhausted. Marquis's physical body burned through its vital blood, his combat strength plummeting, fresh blood seeping from wounds covering his frame. Both were drained to the bone, yet their gazes remained feverish and stubborn.

No matter how ferociously they struck, they could never breach the Origin divine radiance, never wound Phil Jackson in the slightest.

Marquis threw back his head and howled, consumed by maddening despair. "Why!! You wield power enough to shatter heaven and earth, yet you hoard it away, refusing to grant our wish! You are selfish—selfish from the very start!"

Phil Jackson stared at their ferocious, distorted faces, then glanced down at Lana who refused to flee behind him. The last flicker of hope, the last thread of desperate luck in his heart, shattered completely.

His two biological sons had sunk irrevocably into darkness, consumed entirely by desire, their hearts twisted beyond any chance of redemption.

Only a deadly, impossible dilemma remained: slay his own children through agony, burdened for all eternity with the karmic sin of p*******e; or let his sons seize the Origin Blood, triggering an apocalyptic catastrophe that would drown the world in ruin.