Birthing Legends: My Womb Creates SSS Monsters

While the crowd in the square continued their feverish celebration, a much quieter, colder ritual was unfolding deep within the stone heart of the palace.

The Grand Nursery where the "Mothers" resided in a state of perpetual, hollow grace. Inside the Birthing Ward, the second batch of the King’s restoration was reaching its climax. It was only the second day, yet the air was thick with the cries of the newborn.

"A success! Praise the King!"

A midwife shouted, lifting a child into the light. The infant was pale, its skin shimmering with a pearlescent hue—pure white blood. The surrounding attendants cheered, their faces lit with a fanatical joy. To them, these were not just children; they were the bricks of a new empire.

But in the corner of the ward, the atmosphere was different. A woman, her face gaunt and her eyes wide with a mother’s primal terror, wailed as a pair of armored guards stepped toward her.

"No! Please! He’s my son!"

She shrieked, clutching the small bundle to her chest. Unlike the others, this child did not shimmer. He had the warm, tanned skin of his mother, a tuft of dark hair, and eyes that looked humanly brown. He carried no trace of the Dragonborn’s white essence.

"A failure," the lead Overseer muttered, his voice cold and clinical as he checked a ledger. "This womb has produced a ’normal’ one."

With a brutal efficiency, the guards pried the crying infant from the woman’s weak arms.

"Where are you taking him?! He’s healthy! Look at him, he’s breathing! He’s my baby!"

"He is a defect!"

The Overseer replied without meeting her gaze, signaling the guards to withdraw.

"The King’s nurseries are for the ascended, not the lowborn. Your service to the kingdom will be tested again in the next cycle."

The woman collapsed back onto the birthing table, her sobs lost beneath the triumphant cheers of the other mothers who held their white skinned "successes." In the Grand Nursery, there was no room for a mother’s love—only the cold math of the King’s evolution.

At the very last bed, Sarah lay drenched in sweat, her crimson hair matted against her forehead. Her breath came in shallow, jagged gasps as she reached out a trembling hand toward the servant standing over her.

"How... how is she?"

Sarah whispered, her voice cracking with a hope so fragile it was painful to hear.

"The baby... let me see her."

The servant didn’t answer. They stood perfectly still, their eyes fixed on the bundle in their arms. The silence stretched until it became a physical weight. The servant turned to the others, a look of profound confusion crossing their face, whispering frantically to a colleague.

"What is it?"

Sarah’s voice rose, panic finally clawing its way up her throat.

"Is she breathing? Give her to me!"

She struggled to sit up, her movements frantic as the nurses tried to pin her back down.

"Show me my daughter!"

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the servant turned and lowered the bundle. The first thing Sarah saw was a shock of vibrant, flame red hair... exactly like her own.

Sarah’s heart plummeted. Her vision blurred with hot, stinging tears. Red hair. It was a mark of her. A sign of the "defect." To the King’s Overseers, this meant she had birthed a failure. It meant her child would be snatched away, discarded like refuse, or worse, extinguished to keep the nursery "pure."

"No..."

Sarah sobbed, her hands shaking as she reached for the infant.

"Not her. Please, not my little girl..."

But as she pulled the child closer, the light from the high windows caught the baby’s face. Sarah froze.

The child’s skin wasn’t just pale; it was a shimmering, iridescent pearl. Her tiny eyelashes were like fine threads of spun silver, and her complexion glowed with the unmistakable, ethereal hue of White Blood. Everything, every single inch of the child’s body, was the pinnacle of the Dragonborn vessel.

Everything, except for that defiant, fiery red hair.

The servants hovered, their confusion turning into a hushed, terrified awe. They had never seen a "Hybrid" of this caliber—a child who carried the King’s divine marrow in her veins but kept her mother’s soul in her hair.

"She... she carries the King’s blood... and yet—her hair..."

One stammered, eyes wide as she clasped her hands over her mouth. One servant leaning in as she whispered,

"Look at her eyes..."

Sarah clutched the baby to her chest, a new kind of terror washing over her. This wasn’t a failure, but it wasn’t a standard "success" either. Her daughter was a miracle that the King might see as a threat.

Deep beneath the celebratory roars of the square and the cry of the newborn white blooded infants of the nursery. Drakovitch walked alone through the deepest level of the dungeons.

He stopped before a cell. Inside, suspended by chains was... Gin.

Her body was a map of scars, and the hole in her chest where the Sword Fish had pierced her was sealed. The restraints were meticulous; though she could normally manifest into any solid matter with a touch, they had ensured she could not. She lifted her head, eyes dim yet still flickering with that familiar, defiant spark.

"Still... breathing, damn you... Why am I still alive?!"

Gin rasped, a wet cough rattling her lungs.

"Why, Tyrant? You won. Why keep a corpse in a cage?"

Drakovitch leaned against the bars, his gaze unreadable.

"Because you and I... are more alike than you care to admit. A corpse in a cage... and me—a soul trapped in one. Every Grounded Giant has their day in the sun from the moment they are born here. Days meant to chase glory... but mostly ending in unglorious death."

A dark smile curved his lips.

"I will not waste your remaining days, Gin. Your blood... another primordial, a Giant one. I have seen your capabilities, how you surprised me when you transformed into my Dragon Bone. To me, it is not merely power... it is a data point I cannot ignore."

He turned away, slipping into the shadows of the corridor.

"We shall create a glorious... child. A hybrid of primordial blood. If I weave the stubbornness of the Grounded with the divinity of the White Blood... what are the odds of true succession?"