Beastforged Bond

The Spirits were on their own for a long time. They pulled back from the races they helped escape the Devourer to prepare for the return of their father and to work on projects designed to deal with the Devourer’s Spawns.

But in the years, decades, and eventually centuries that passed, they failed to account for the loss of history. It had been a very long time since the Primal Spirit rescued them from the fangs of the Devourer, sacrificing his life to bring his children and their devout followers to a safe place. To Razarn, a world large enough to inhabit tens of billions.

But the world was already ruled by yet another race: humans. The race had been at the top of the food chain when the Spirits descended through the cosmic fissures that had existed until then. Through the fissures came the Spirits, fractions of the Essence that once formed the Primal, but also the races devoted to them, along with ether.

The Spirits’ descent heralded an era of chaos and destruction to human rule. It marked the end of their dominance, turning them into one of the weakest beings. Even their beloved pets, changed by ether, grew up to be stronger than their owners had once been.

But while the human body and mind remained unaffected by the ether permeating Razarn, their souls did not. They changed and evolved to grow stronger and survive. And they did so by becoming the livestock of those wielding true strength. Their souls evolved into Worlds representing their values, personality, and just about everything that made a soul…a soul, hence awakening the Essence within them.

After decades of servitude, humans awakened Worlds strong enough to attract the Spirits’ attention, and for the first time since their descent, they paid attention to their livestock. Some feasted on the humans, their Essence highly nourishing to all those capable of digesting it, while others saw potential, maybe even hope.

What if… what if those Worlds were capable of much more than nourishing others? What if the human race had the means to make a change? Not everyone thought like that, but some Spirits had grown curious after their previous projects failed. They descended, selecting the strongest Worlds for a new project that would last many years. This lasted decades, during which the strongest of humans learned to refine their World and what it was capable of.

They gained access to the ether permeating their planet, and in all the years that passed, they learned much more: to wield ether, what it took to temper one’s body, and how to gain the strength needed to rise in the ranks.

After centuries of being treated as nothing more than livestock and pet projects, the strongest of humans gained the strength needed to stand up against the other races herding them in the name of the Spirits. They resisted and began to kill all those oppressing them.

As for the Spirits, they couldn’t care less about the deaths at that time.

Times changed since then, but at that time, the Spirits were far more interested in the evolution of the human race’s Worlds to care about anything else. How could they not, when those Worlds might be exactly what they needed to fight the Devourer and his Spawns?

***

Volca, the Fire Spirit, a gargantuan humanoid form made of rivers of lava and mountains of magma, did not reminisce about the old times often. The past was the past and couldn’t be changed. Even if it were possible, Volca would not change anything. For everything he and his siblings did was for the greater good.

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Neither the enslavement of weaker races, nor experiments on sentient life, nor the death of millions mattered if it meant survival. Even the death of the Spirits was accounted for if it meant that the Devourer would fall alongside them. As long as the cosmos and some life prevailed, it would all be worth it.

With that in mind, he looked down at the tiny wick resting in his gargantuan hand. If he consumed it now, he could regain some of his former prowess. Alas, the Primal Heir would not like it if he did that. He was already too attached to it, and they still needed the heir.

But it was wasteful to keep it as is. Regaining the power he once wielded in the Spirals would be helpful against the Devourer’s Spawns now that they had grown more active around Razarn. Even if he were to reshape the Elemental Phoenix from his Essence, he would still be stronger than before. Unfortunately, the phoenix wouldn’t be the same, and the heir would find out.

Death manifested in the realm filled with nothing but magma, lava, and terrifying monstrosities. It loomed over everything and spread out rapidly, forming a blurry figure of darkness high in the sky above.

“Sister.” Volca greeted her calmly. She, too, had awoken from her slumber at last. Her power had yet to fully manifest from her century-long sleep, yet she was too curious to wait and chose to walk the realms instead.

“Who was daring enough to take my Source?” the Death Spirit asked, not bothering to greet her brother.

Volca regarded his sister. They both knew what had happened, yet the Death Spirit asked him nonetheless.

She knew who took the Source, and she also knew that he had gone against his own rules to intervene in the fight of the humans. The Death Spirit regarded Volca intently, as if she knew that he had protected the human child from certain death, and that it was him who had taken him away.

“You were there.” Volca snorted, recalling the faintest inkling of Death’s presence near the end of the fight. He thought the death of the Ruler had given rise to the presence, but it hadn’t been like that. He understood that now.

“He carries a fragment of the Primal Spirit.”

Volca nodded curtly. “He does.”

“And he already formed an Insignia.”

“Indeed.”

“And he has already started to form a Spirit within him.”

This time, Volca shook his head. “Not yet. The Earth Spirit will walk the cosmos again, but he is not yet ready. It won’t be Garus either.”

The oldest of the Primal’s children was no more. He would never rise again after all that had happened with the Devourer, and the Spirits knew that.

“Thyria won’t like that.” The Death Spirit smiled in amusement.

“She already knows.”

“Oh, I know.” She let out a chuckle. “She already met with the young Primal and left a gift with him.” Licking her lips, she continued, “Maybe I should visit our sister.”

“And cause another massacre? Don’t. Thyria will be important for later.” Volca grunted, his attention shifting to the wick in his hand.

The Death Spirit caught that, and the smile tugging at her lips grew even wider. “So will your Voice, won’t it?”

“A Fire Spirit has been growing within the young Primal,” she added, sounding almost too excited. How could she not be, knowing that it was not possible for two Fire Spirits to exist at the same time?

“There is always a first time,” Volca said to himself, even though he knew how unlikely it was.

“And if it doesn’t work? If there can only be one?” the Death Spirit asked, even though she knew the answer better than anyone.

But Volca did not answer, for he could not be as certain about the future as the Death Spirit appeared to be. All he knew was that Adam was their best option. His World was exactly what they needed. That was why he saved him. The young Blessed met his requirements, and the Fire Spirit was sure he would do well in the place he had brought them to.