Somewhere, in the boundless drift between stars and souls…
A sliver of essence—fractured, broken, yet burning—pierced through the veil of worlds. That soul, shattered and exiled, had once defied a Clan, a bloodline, a world. Its name: Clark SanJose.
And now, reborn… into Novaria.
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The sky was blood-red.
Thunder crackled above the blackened clouds as three terrifying auras ripped through the heavens. The wind howled across the shattered buildings of Batangas City, once a proud stronghold of the Southwest of the Heavenly Empire, now reduced to ruin by a clash of Immense powers and auras.
At the eye of this storm stood a man, cloaked in tattered gold and midnight black, a bloodied spear pulsing in one hand—his other arm wrapped protectively around a newborn child, still and unconscious.
That child was Clark, reborn into this new world.
In Clark's previous life, both of his parents was no longer by his side after he was born, both of them died leaving him orphaned and was raised by the clan, Clark knows the name of his parents but don't know them in person.
The man was Jordan SanJose—his father in both lives.
His face was stern, sharp like a blade forged by battle. His black hair whipped in the wind, eyes glowing with dragonic light. He stood atop crumbling debris, surrounded on three sides by enemies cloaked in divine authority and boundless pressure.
Before him stood a man dressed in majestic white robes, adorned with blackened wings etched with celestial markings, the Pope of the Martial Ascendancy Hall, Malak Drakar.
Flanking him were two terrifying figures:
Seraphis Luminara, with flowing silver hair and radiant light surging from her palms like searing judgment.
Orion Nox, silent and cloaked in shadows, twin crescent blades swirling behind him in a gravitational orbit.
"You cannot escape, Jordan," Malak declared, voice echoing like a divine decree. "Hand over the child. The prophecy demands his sacrifice!"
Jordan's gaze was cold. He pressed the infant Clark tighter against his chest. "You'll have to kill me first."
Seraphis raised her hand. "So be it."
The skies cracked.
Three beams of celestial light fell like judgment upon Jordan. But with a roar, his body erupted in radiant flame—a golden aura enveloped him, and his Avatar, the Golden Dragon Emperor, materialized behind him with a deafening roar.
A massive spear of light and fire formed in his hand, the edges burning with soul-forged dragonic runes.
"Dragon Emperor Spear Art—Heavenpiercing Sunfang!"
Jordan struck.
The force split the air into arcs of golden fire, colliding with Seraphis's shield of light and Orion's black vortex blades. The impact was cataclysmic—craters tore through the city blocks, buildings collapsed into dust, and shockwaves knocked birds from the sky miles away.
Malak soared forward, divine wings spread wide. "You fool! Even if you kill us, others will follow—this child must not live!"
"Then I'll make sure you don't leave alive!"
Jordan twisted his spear, blood bursting from his side as he took Malak's attack head-on—just to land a strike on his core.
A deafening blast rang out.
Malak gasped, eyes wide, blood pouring from his mouth as he was hurled through a collapsed tower and buried under tons of stone. His aura flickered. His consciousness faded.
Orion shouted, "Pope Malak!"
Seraphis snarled, light surging to heal her injuries, but the damage was done.
Jordan stood, panting, blood running freely down his arm and cheek. "This… ends now."
He turned, his spiritual pressure vanishing, wrapping the child in a shimmering golden barrier.
Without another word, he vanished into the wind, leaping into a portal of his own making, carved through space with the final threads of his power.
"DAMN HIM!" Seraphis screamed, tearing through rubble toward the unconscious Malak.
Orion knelt beside the Pope, eyes narrowing. "We cannot pursue. He's cloaked his trail with ancient dragon arts."
"We lost him…" Seraphis whispered, clutching her injured arm. "We lost both of them."
The skies slowly cleared, but the destruction remained.
And somewhere far from the wreckage, Jordan emerged from the shadowed veil, breath ragged, clothes soaked in blood—but his arms still cradling the one thing he refused to surrender:
His son.
"…You're safe now, Clark."
The baby stirred faintly in his arms, not knowing the world he had been born into… nor the war he was destined to reignite.
Chapter Ends.