Nitish awoke with a start, his body aching and drenched in the sticky, congealed blood of the demon king Sura. His vision was blurred, but the room around him was painfully vivid—the throne room, with its towering stone walls and dark, imposing aura, was now a graveyard for the once-mighty demon. Nitish lay beside Sura's lifeless form, a twisted heap of flesh and bones that had once ruled over realms and commanded fear from all who dared speak his name.
As Nitish's senses returned, he pushed himself upright, his hands slick with dried blood, his muscles screaming in protest. He looked down at his own body, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones, but something else coursed through him as well—power. Pure, unbridled power. It thrummed through his veins like an electric current, making his fingers twitch with restless energy. He called up his status window, eager to see the results of his two-week battle against the demon king.
The numbers that greeted him were staggering. His level had skyrocketed to 10,002—a meteoric rise from the lowly level 1 he had been before. His stats were equally impressive: strength, agility, endurance, all far beyond what he could have ever imagined. It was as though he had absorbed the very essence of Sura himself, every ounce of strength, every drop of power, now flowed within Nitish's blood.
Nitish exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cold air. He stared at the massive gap that still separated him from true godhood—Sura had been level 15,000, a titan in his own right, and Nitish's new strength, though formidable, was still a shadow of what Sura once wielded. Yet, he could feel it growing, a seed of potential that had only just begun to sprout.
His eyes drifted to the status window, where the star that had once been a small, curious anomaly now shone brightly, as though daring him to uncover its secrets. Nitish reached out, his fingers grazing the star icon, and a sharp jolt of energy surged through him. The status window flickered, a series of error messages cascading across his vision like a digital waterfall.
"Error: Undefined Bloodline Detected. Error: System Override. Error: Connection to Unknown Entity Established."
Nitish blinked, his mind racing as the messages continued to scroll, one after another, until the screen finally settled on a new prompt:
Choose Your Bloodline.
The words hung in the air, suspended in a surreal haze that made Nitish's pulse quicken. This wasn't supposed to happen. Bloodlines were predetermined, set by the will of the goddess and the laws of this world. But here, before him, was a choice—a power that should have been impossible. His options expanded before him in a swirling array of possibilities, each more fantastical than the last.
1. Celestial Bloodline: Command the stars and the heavens.
2. Abyssal Bloodline: Control the darkness and wield the shadows.
3. Primordial Bloodline: Master the elements and the raw forces of creation.
4. Draconic Bloodline: Harness the strength and fury of ancient dragons.
5. Voidwalker Bloodline: Defy existence itself, untethered by the laws of reality.
The star beside his level pulsed rhythmically, as though in sync with his own heartbeat, and Nitish felt an insistent tug—an unspoken invitation to delve deeper into the unknown depths of his potential. The power he now wielded, the Primordial Bloodline, was unlike anything this world had ever seen. It was not just the art of creation; it was the ability to tap into the very essence of the primordial forces that governed reality. The boundaries of his abilities were limited only by his imagination.
Nitish opened his status window again, curiosity burning in his chest. A new set of options unfurled before him, glowing with an otherworldly light. His Primordial Bloodline granted him access to all elements, each a facet of creation itself: fire, water, earth, wind, lightning, and beyond. He could feel the power waiting, a swirling maelstrom of raw potential that he could shape into any form, any force he desired.
He selected the element of lightning, drawn to its sheer, uncontainable energy—the relentless force of thunder that could tear through mountains and shatter the sky. As Nitish made his choice, he felt a sharp jolt, as if a bolt of electricity had struck his core. His veins lit up like a network of flickering circuits, glowing with an intense blue light that danced beneath his skin. Sparks crackled at his fingertips, arcs of lightning leaping between his fingers, and for a moment, Nitish felt as though he were on the verge of exploding from the sheer power coursing through him.
He raised his hand, and a bolt of lightning shot from his palm, striking the stone wall with a deafening crack. The impact sent a shockwave through the throne room, the very air vibrating with the residual energy of his command. Nitish grinned, exhilarated by the rush of raw, untamed power. This was more than just control; it was dominion over the elements, the ability to command the forces that shaped worlds.
Nitish's gaze fell to the pile of bones that remained of Sura, his eyes narrowing with a new sense of purpose. The demon king's bones were still intact, their structure impossibly dense and resilient, capable of withstanding forces that would shatter any ordinary material. Nitish approached the remnants with a focused intensity, the idea forming in his mind like a clear, precise blueprint. If he was to wield the power of creation, then he would need a weapon worthy of it—a weapon that embodied the strength of the fallen demon king and the ferocity of his own will.
He reached out, his hands hovering over the bones, and called upon his Primordial Bloodline. The air around him shimmered, bending to his command as he wove the threads of creation with a deftness that belied his inexperience. The bones began to shift and fuse, the marrow and sinew melting away as Nitish shaped them into a blade. It was a painstaking process, every detail requiring his full concentration, but the result was worth every ounce of effort.
Slowly, a katana began to take form—a blade as dark as night, forged from the indestructible bones of the demon king Sura. The edge gleamed with a deadly sharpness, the metal rippling with faint, ethereal patterns that seemed to shift and change when viewed from different angles. Nitish ran his thumb along the blade's surface, feeling the cold, unyielding strength beneath his touch. It was a perfect weapon, a true extension of his power and his newfound identity as a wielder of primordial forces.
Nitish infused the katana with the lightning element, and the blade responded instantly. Blue sparks danced along its edge, arcs of electricity flickering from hilt to tip. As the lightning coursed through the katana, Nitish felt a surge of connection, as if the weapon itself was an extension of his very soul. His veins glowed brighter, pulsating with the rhythm of the thunderous power he now commanded. He swung the katana through the air, the blade cutting through the space with a crackling hiss, each stroke leaving a trail of lightning in its wake.
The katana felt alive in his grip, humming with the pent-up energy of a thunderstorm. Nitish grinned, a sense of triumph flooding his senses. He had taken the remains of his enemy and turned them into a symbol of his own ascension. It was not just a weapon; it was a declaration, a promise that he would rise above the expectations of gods and mortals alike.
Nitish glanced at the remaining bones of Sura, considering their potential. He extended his hand, and with a thought, opened a storage space—a pocket dimension of sorts, created through his Primordial Bloodline. He carefully placed the bones inside, sealing them away for future use. He had no doubt that they would serve him well in the days to come. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more ambitious and audacious than the last. This was his power, his gift, and he would use it to its fullest extent.
Standing up, Nitish felt the blood on his skin, sticky and cold, a testament to the brutality of his battle and the sacrifices he had made. His clothes were soaked, his body smeared with the remnants of Sura's final moments. But Nitish didn't flinch. He didn't clean himself up or try to hide the evidence of his victory. Instead, he embraced it, every drop of blood a reminder of his strength and his resolve.
As he stood amidst the carnage, the heavy stone doors of the throne room groaned open, the sound echoing through the vast chamber like the tolling of a distant bell. Nitish turned, his senses on high alert, ready to face whatever new challenge awaited him. The air shifted, carrying with it the faint scent of brimstone and decay, and Nitish knew that he was no longer alone.
A group of demons entered the room, their eyes immediately drawn to the lifeless form of Sura sprawled across the ground. They were a fearsome sight—hulking brutes with jagged horns, glowing eyes, and skin as tough as iron. But as their gazes shifted from the remains of their king to the figure standing amidst the gore, their expressions morphed from confusion to horror.
There, sitting atop the flesh of the fallen demon king, covered in blood and wielding a katana that crackled with the fury of a storm, was Nitish. His eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity, his posture relaxed but radiating an aura of dominance that was impossible to ignore. He was no longer the scared, discarded nobody that had been sent to die in this dark place. He was something else entirely—something that defied the natural order of their world.
The demons froze, their bravado evaporating in the face of the scene before them. They had expected to find their king alive and well, ruling with his usual unassailable might. Instead, they were met with a young human whose presence exuded a command that rivaled even that of Sura himself. Nitish met their stares with a calm, unblinking gaze, his katana resting casually across his knees, its blade still crackling with the residual energy of his creation.
For a moment, no one moved. The tension hung thick in the air, a palpable force that threatened to snap at any second. The demons, so accustomed to following the will of their king, now found themselves leaderless and uncertain. They could feel the power radiating from Nitish, the undeniable pull of his Primordial Bloodline, and they knew, instinctively, that they were in the presence of something far greater than themselves.
Nitish slowly stood, the katana sparking as he rose to his full height. He regarded the demons with a quiet, measured intensity, his expression unreadable. They had been his enemies, loyal to the demon king who had once terrorized the realm. But now, they were merely witnesses to the birth of something new, something that neither gods nor demons could have foreseen.
Nitish didn't speak; he didn't need to. His presence alone was enough to convey the message. He was not to be trifled with, not to be dismissed as a mere mortal or a passing threat. He was the wielder of the Primordial Bloodline, the master of creation, and the inheritor of Sura's legacy. And as the demons stared at the young human who had usurped their king, they felt a shiver of fear that cut through their very souls.
Nitish stepped forward, the ground beneath him crackling with latent energy, his every movement deliberate and purposeful. The demons shrank back, their courage faltering in the face of the one who had slain their master. Nitish raised his katana, letting the blade hum with the power of thunder, and for the first time, he felt truly alive—alive with the promise of revenge, of conquest, of a destiny that stretched far beyond the reach of gods and monsters.