Demon Realm, Yelu City Lord's Manor
"How'd it go?" Lord Angel Gaga asked the angel before him. Zoom in, and it's our "divine emissary" from the human realm.
"They agreed but rejected our third demand. That human emperor humiliated our god clan, claiming humans have rights to do as they please. This lowly emperor wields holy battle aura—our only counter. We must eliminate this threat!" the emissary fumed, recalling being blasted out of the hall. "Damn it!" He clenched his fists, teeth grinding. A god, swept out like trash? Likely the first in god realm history to be so disgraced by humans, he burned to kill that wretched emperor, roast him on a pyre, and curse his soul to eternal torment.
"Didn't expect humans to master holy battle aura. That's a real problem," Gaga muttered. Glancing at the seething emissary, he said, "Alright, you're dismissed. After millennia away, everything's changed. Humans no longer worship us—they're turning on us like demons. But ants are ants; they can't topple a tree. Your humiliation? We'll repay it tenfold. No one escapes after insulting the god clan. No one."
"But, Lord Angel, if our human alliance failed, how do we hold off the demon army until our forces arrive?" the emissary asked nervously. "No issue. We'll get dragons to help," Gaga said, his furrowed brow easing. Stall the demons until Seraph arrives, and his mission's done. God's light will bathe every corner of this world, and he might even earn the revered god king's reward. Before contacting dragons, he'd prep a demon-style ambush—ironic, gods using demon tricks. Smirking, Gaga strode out…
Wudu, Sun Empire
"Your Majesty, Dean Cohen texted. The gene warrior project succeeded. He asks if you've got time to visit," my private secretary said, entering my office. "Oh, it worked? Gotta go—this is huge. Prep a warship for Yanhuang Star pronto. Keep it hush-hush," I ordered. "Understood, Your Majesty," he replied, a seasoned pro who knows what to do and what not. My wives used to be my secretaries, but after kids, they ditched me to "raise House Makino's future." Fine, leave—but a male secretary? They said it's to stop me from "straying." Me, stray? Good men like me are rare.
Dressed and guarded, I headed to the palace's airfield. My ride, the mini Cosmos One warship, was ready. Small but loaded: top-tier defense, attack power rivaling large Flying Dragon warships, and two escape pods. Spacious and comfy. Flying Dragon Star to Yanhuang Star's a long haul, so we use spatial teleportation.
Inside, crew were at stations. "This is One, this is One. Is the channel clear? Over," the comms officer asked. The receiver crackled: "All clear. Landing coordinates uploaded. Ready to teleport." To avoid ship collisions, we coordinate with the destination airfield for precise landing spots.
A slight shudder, then calm. "Your Majesty, Yanhuang Star," my secretary announced. "Let's move—don't keep them waiting." Tech and magic combined create wonders beyond miracles. Without spatial teleportation, we might've missed Flying Dragon Star's wild civilization.
"Your Majesty!" Cohen greeted, hugging me with a shoulder pat. "Cohen, double congrats!" I grinned. "Double what?" he asked, confused. "Your side chick popped out a fat boy, and your research nailed it. Double win, right?" I teased. "Just found out myself," he said, sheepish. "We'll head back later, or your wife'll chew me out. But, man, what super pill you popping? Old as you are, still making kids?" I eyed him, mock-shocked. "What's the big deal? Breed till eighty-nine, no shame. I'm barely past sixty—young!" Cohen quipped, making everyone laugh.
At the institute's entrance, we ran into the dragon clan's Fifth Elder, a key player in the gene warrior success. Spotting me, he launched into a spiel: "Yo, Majesty, you show up and don't tell me? How'm I supposed to greet you if I don't know? If I knew, I'd be there! It's not that I didn't, it's that you didn't tell!" Damn, I regret showing him Stephen Chow's '90s films. He binged them and now uses them on me. Time to pay up. "Alright, you win. Six bottles of '90 XO," I sighed. "Majesty, that's cold! Last time it was '62, now '90? Too big a drop!" he whined. "Take it or leave it. These are my last bottles. Think I hoarded all the '60s? Final offer: want it, or wait for '60s stock?" Panicked, he grabbed it: "Who said no? Gimme!" He cracked a bottle and chugged.
"Man, you love your booze. Found a wife here yet? No dragon girls, but we got cow, bear, cat, fox sisters. Gotta give me an answer, or how do I face your First Elder?" I pressed, smirking. Gotcha. "Majesty, you're killing me! Breed till eighty-nine, sure, but I'm eight thousand nine! Heart's willing, body's not. You want me hitched, but I got no kids. Booze beats a nagging wife. I'm fed and cared for—why invite trouble?" the Fifth Elder said, wistful.
"Fine, no pressure. Let's see what you and Cohen cooked up with these gene warriors," I said, dragging him and Cohen to the elevator. We descended about two hundred meters to a dazzling underground lab, buzzing with elites from both worlds.
Cohen briefed me on the gene warriors' creation. "Your Majesty, we studied that white heart fruit you sent. Its components have insane vitality and regeneration. Per Flying Dragon Star's former magic elder, it's called 'Source of Life.' We tested it on three groups: ordinary folks, magic practitioners, and true-energy martial artists, each split into three subgroups with varying doses. Results? Ordinary people can't handle it. Only mid-tier mages or martial artists with four or more meridians unblocked can. The fruit also triggers self-modification—basically, biological evolution to superhuman levels. To test, we pitted them against captured demon prisoners. It takes twenty demon generals to match one gene warrior. A single 'Source of Life' can make enough serum for thirty million warriors. Eating more's useless. With two fruits, we could enhance our entire population, but we only had one, so three-quarters max."
Seeing Cohen's regret, I said, "Who said one?" I handed him another from my storage ring. He grabbed it, thrilled. "Later, we found cuts on their skin heal fast—cells around wounds are hyperactive. Even larger wounds recover quickly. Comparing gene warrior cells to Flying Dragon Star races, they're as strong as demon or dragon cells, maybe stronger. After the Fifth Elder took it, his organs function like a young stud's. Heard he had a wet dream last night." "Don't spread lies!" the elder snapped, embarrassed—probably scared I'd push marriage again.
Cohen continued, "Conclusion: this serum extends lifespan, a true immortality drug. For magic or martial masters, it's even better—their mental energy or true energy cycles the Source of Life, constantly renewing. Death happens when our natural 'Source of Life' depletes. That's why Earth's active folks live longer. Adding it artificially doesn't disrupt bodily balance—it just makes you live longer. But there's a limit. To live forever, like in novels, you need constant self-cultivation for true immortality."
We entered a small testing arena. Warriors stepped out. "Activate!" they roared, bodies and heads encased in armor-like scales, with foot-long, scaly tails. Looked like Journey to the West's Dragon King, minus the goofy mouth. One warrior fired a heavy machine gun at another. I know our troops—bulletproof or bust. The gunfire stopped; the target was unscathed, no energy shield needed. That's practically a second life.
Next, they punched steel plates. Damn, a composite tank armor plate was pierced clean through. Armor-piercing rounds can't do that. Then their fingers morphed—not human hands anymore, more like giant "phoenix claws" (maybe my snack obsession talking—should be "dragon claws"). If Stephen Chow were born twenty years later, I'd upgrade him for his "Dragon Claw Boob Grab." Bet he's over that now.
A single finger poke tore through steel like paper. My heart raced—more thrilling than my first space trip. This is a milestone in human evolution. Facing a bulletproof soldier who can yank you from a tank? That's pure shock and awe.
"Why're most of them Chinese? No other ethnicities?" I asked, curious. "Ask the Fifth Elder—he handled it," Cohen said. "Well, Majesty, you said your Earth homeland worships dragons as ancestors, right? Not just talk. I had Cohen test your blood. Only your ethnicity's blood fuses with dragon blood. Other Earth races' blood? No dice. In short, you might really be dragon descendants," the elder said. My mind boomed. My theory: ancient dragons helped Earth humans fight natural disasters, appearing only in crises, so people mistook them for gods, making dragons totems. Now it's real? Hard to wrap my head around.
"Fifth Elder, you pulling a 'blood recognition' stunt?" I half-convinced myself. "Damn right it's blood recognition! Dragon blood's unique. Only our clan or those with our bloodline can fuse. Cohen didn't buy it, so I checked Earth records. Only Chinese blood's compatible—other races, nada."
"True, Majesty. Even I, one-quarter Chinese, can slowly fuse. In the barracks, anyone whose blood matches dragon blood has a direct Chinese relative. There's a special substance in mixed-ethnicity blood, but we haven't cracked it," Cohen added.
"We had those who took the 'Source of Life' serum use the elder's ancient dragon curse to awaken dragon potential in those with dragon blood—only Chinese. I tried it myself. Look!" Cohen transformed. "Haha, Cohen, you call that a dragon? More like a python!" I roared with laughter.
"What's the issue? You say dragons evolved from snakes. I'm a python—one step from dragon. Can't change the look, but the powers are there, just weaker," Cohen said, resigned.
Intrigued, I wanted to see my transformation. "Fifth Elder, chant the curse. Let's see what I become." "Alright, clear the way!" He was eager, probably hoping I'd look dumb. As a pure Chinese, I'd disappoint him.
As the curse began, an ancient magic array formed under me, energies swirling. It's a key, stimulating hidden genes for transformation. The earlier warriors could shift at will. From outside, it looked scary. Inside, I felt amazing—better than last time. Unbeknownst to me, the elder was sweating buckets. Cohen noticed something off but couldn't stop it. The elder spat blood, collapsed, and gasped, "So much energy! Nearly killed me!"
Mist cleared, revealing a scale-covered golden dragon, exuding natural majesty. I checked myself, then a mirror—face unchanged, just two horns, a bit awkward. Trying to revert, I felt like an inflating balloon, rising uncontrollably. Energies swirled again, my body shifting: mouth elongating, whiskers sprouting, hands turning to dragon claws. Damn, what's happening? To Cohen and crew, it was wild: Feitian ascended, body stretching, limbs becoming claws, mouth growing massive—a full golden dragon. The Fifth Elder gaped, stunned.
"Staring like idiots pisses me off! I'm a damn dragon, floating like some cloud-riding myth!" I yelled at the elder. "What's the deal? Fix it!" He snapped out of it. "Golden holy dragon! Ancient dragon! Nice!" The old coot started groping me. He's not into women—guys instead? His hand went low; I couldn't take it. A dragon claw kick sent him flying. "You perverse geezer! How do I change back?" I snarled. "Just think it," he grumbled. Damn, that simple? Why not say so?
I shifted back and grabbed him. "Why'd I turn out like you?" "No big deal, you're just clueless. You evolved fully, so other potentials needed less energy, leaving more for hidden genes, speeding evolution. Didn't expect your ancestors had golden holy dragon blood," he said, smacking his lips. "Gotta visit Earth someday, see how many golden dragons are there." Panic hit. If he chants curses and force-feeds serum, turning millions of Chinese into dragons? My god, a literal dragon nation. Gotta stop him, or he'll sneak off.
"If you've got excess energy, I'll hook you up with some sisters," I said slyly. He deflated. "Just wanted to see your world's beauty, no ulterior motives!" "Oh, how many dragons know this curse?" I asked. "Me and the First Elder know it. About thirty can cast it. Why's your grin so sneaky? Up to no good?" he said, wary. "I've got a plan: train our Chinese troops to transform. It'll give us an edge against demons." Resigned, he groaned, "Too many people, I'm out." "Relax, just sixty, seventy thousand," I said casually. "Sixty, seventy thousand? Drop dead! Fine, I'll fight you today, or you'll keep milking me!" He charged, fuming.
"Chill, I'll help. We'll call all our human archmages too. Thirty dragons won't cut it, especially with time so tight." He loosened his grip but then throttled me again. "You'll help? Big deal! Time's tight, sure. Normally, a few a day, done in months. With you, it's hundreds daily—death by exhaustion. You're doing this on purpose!"