Chapter Twelve: Heracles

"This is a process entirely distinct from the normal evolution of spore creatures. Perhaps it is best to call it the Reignition of Divine Blood..."

"Reignition of Divine Blood can dramatically enhance genetic power, even granting divine blood evolution. This is the perfect opportunity for me to create a line of elite, noble-blooded spore creatures. And this Hercules is undoubtedly the most suitable candidate—his flesh is formidable enough, and his willpower could only be described as terrifying..."

Fang Zhuowei pressed his lips together and, without further ado, waved his hand. A droplet of blood, no larger than a grain of rice and gray-green in hue, slowly floated out from the Celestial Beetle’s body. Like a shooting star, it pierced the surface of the aquarium and landed squarely on the Emperor Hercules below.

In that instant, a faint glow emerged.

Then, before the naked eye, a mass of black flame—like the infernal fires of the underworld—erupted fiercely from Hercules, burning with an intimidating intensity.

After implanting the Celestial Beetle’s genes into this ancient, primal tribesman’s body, Fang Zhuowei fetched a small stool and settled down to quietly observe.

To put it simply, the burning of divine blood is the fusion of one creature’s genes with another’s.

If successful, the two lifeforms’ genes blend and transcend their former limits, achieving boundless vitality—every aspect of their being is enhanced beyond imagination. They might even develop dual genetic attributes, gaining incredible powers.

But if the process fails, and the two bloodlines reject each other, all greatness amounts to nothing but a handful of dust.

Fang Zhuowei was eager to see whether this little Hercules could endure the ordeal and cross that seemingly insurmountable threshold.

At the bottom corner of the aquarium, Hercules felt as though his body weighed a thousand pounds.

“Is this the end for me...?” he mused, a wry smile crossing his face—like a hero at dusk, full of melancholy and regret.

In his glory days, he had ridden into battle, his presence overpowering and fierce as a tiger.

He remembered those turbulent years, when he dared to challenge the wasteland fish across the Yin Mountains.

Was he to die in such humiliation?

Hercules refused to accept it, refused to yield, refused to resign himself to fate.

He had gained fame in his youth, hailed as the greatest genius of his tribe. Over long years, he endured the darkest, weakest era of his people, suppressing the forbidden goldfish kelp forest single-handedly, hunting the dreaded wasteland fish that terrorized his kind, and surviving alone for seven centuries without dying, ensuring the tribe’s prosperity and earning universal adoration as their Emperor.

For seven hundred years, he outlasted all his kin, creating legend after legend, forging his own era.

He once ventured alone into the forbidden zone, turning heaven and earth upside down with his might.

He had also spent lifetimes in quiet seclusion, all to unravel the mysteries of time.

Yet ultimately, all things must come to an end.

“Damn it, what is this power that appeared so suddenly? And what is that boundless shadow that descended from the heavens?” A surge of fear suddenly flashed deep within Hercules’s heart.

What immeasurable force that was—falling from the sky, able to stir waves a hundred, even a thousand fathoms high.

Before that power, not only his kin but even the dreaded wasteland fish—the terror of the endless ocean—seemed so pale, so powerless, so insignificant!

Even he, who had led his people from weakness to glory by his own strength, was utterly unable to resist it—not even the slightest bit.

“How can such terrifying, overwhelming power exist in this world?”

Hercules trembled all over.

He was afraid of that power, but at the same time, he longed for it.

Majestic, invincible, ancient—it emanated a primal aura of savage grandeur...

Hercules could not find words to describe such an existence.

But he knew that if he could obtain this power, the forbidden zone would crumble before him with a mere wave of his hand.

But was this truly a strength he could wield?

Countless questions churned in Hercules’s mind. He was desperate for answers, sensing that an invisible, new world was slowly revealing itself before him.

Yet no matter how he tried, he could not push open the gates to this new world.

Regrettably, he had once sworn as Emperor to lead his people in conquering the goldfish kelp forbidden zone within his lifetime, but now it seemed that vow would remain unfulfilled...

“Unwilling, so unwilling!” Feeling his life force about to burn away completely, Hercules summoned his last breath and roared in defiance.

No one wishes for death—not even him.

He had lived for centuries, attaining a longevity unmatched by any before or after, his life force so robust it rivaled even the wasteland fish. Within the river of time, he had witnessed countless births and deaths, joys and sorrows.

If only he had a little more time—just a little—he might have unraveled the secret to an eighth century of life.

What a shame! What a pity!

Hercules slowly closed his eyes, ready to await death’s arrival after expending his final breath.

Yet at that very moment—

A voice, thunderous as a divine bolt from the Ninth Heaven, suddenly exploded in Hercules’s mind.

In a daze, he forced his eyes open.

He saw a silhouette.

What a colossal figure it was—towering, immense beyond measure, surrounded by dazzling star rivers, the sun and moon wheeling about it, radiating an ancient and terrible power. Night and day were but a flicker of its finger, and even the boundless depths of the sea could not compare.

To it, time seemed to stand still; space seemed to be nothing.

Hercules was utterly stunned.

His mind went completely blank.

Many words flashed through his thoughts, but none were adequate to describe the giant before him.

In the endless, desolate expanse, he saw the enormous figure raise a finger.

In an instant, light blazed—like a meteor falling from the heavens.

It was a drop of blood.

Just a drop, yet it was several times larger than Hercules’s entire body, shining with blinding radiance, burning with scorching flames, and carrying an unstoppable force that evaporated the seawater as it shot straight toward Hercules.

“This is the burning of divine blood. Within it lies unimaginable power. If you endure, you will gain a thousand years and countless great abilities. If you fail, you will instantly become a pile of bones, forever sunk to the ocean’s floor.”

A series of voices, sonorous as great bells, echoed as if traversing endless ages and shattering the dimensions of time and space, resounding in Hercules’s mind.

As Creator, Fang Zhuowei could converse freely with any of his creations if he wished.

“You... How do you know the language of my tribe!” Hercules’s eyes widened in a mix of awe and terror.

He opened his mouth, but before an answer came, a searing pain—like being cooked alive—swept over him in a tidal wave.

It was a torment he had never known. Under its onslaught, it felt as though every inch of his skin, every pore, every cell was being torn apart while he remained alive.

Even he, for all his strength, was utterly unable to withstand it.