Primordial Man Novels & Stories

I pressed my hand against my sternum. Felt the warmth there. The full transfer sitting in my structure like a room finally unlocked. The signal still going, still carrying, still reaching outward in all directions. Had been reaching since the valley. For hours. “How many,” I said. “The records. How many Primordial wolves?” Mace was quiet for a moment. “The records do not give a number,” he said. “They describe them as a remnant. A small group who carried the original line through generations of dormancy.” He paused. “Small is relative.”

We were not copies—we were the master originals. Suddenly, a signal appeared on the shuttle’s radar. A massive ship was heading toward us. A message came from it— "Welcome Prototype-01 and 02. We have been waiting for you for a long time. Our God, the ‘Primordial Father,’ is ready to destroy the entire galaxy to bring you back." I looked at Lukas. If we are the original humans, then who is this ‘Primordial Father’? And why does he want us back? As a fireball launched from the pursuing ship, I realized—

"Can I stay here for a day or two? I don't think I'm ready to go back there. " "You can stay for as long as you want." Sydney's lips curved into a smirk. "Thanks, man." Michael said, patting Sydney's shoulder. "So do you know what kind of werewolf I am?" "You're a primordial werewolf." Sydney spoke without delay and Michael shuffled on the couch to face him. The look in his eyes told Sydney that he needed to say more. He got the memo and continued. "Primordial werewolves have been in existence since 70,000 BC. They were strong, fast and aggressive. They could literally do things other werewolves couldn't. In the 1880s, they were attacked by avians, both phoenixes and ravens. The regular and

They surrounded the concentrated ore unconsciously. Pairs of eyes were fixed on the fist-sized blue essence at the core of the concentrated ore from the deep sea. Everyone began to swallow unconsciously. The Primordial Concentrated Ore! That was a Primordial Concentrated Ore! The word "Primordial" indicated the simplest and earliest essence power at the beginning of the world. It was the essence of the concentrated ore from the deep sea. Even in the Sea Clan, this kind of essence was very rare. Basically, there might not be a concentrated ore that contained a Primordial Concentrated Ore in an ore vein that had tens of millions of concentrated ores in it.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself to tell the most forbidden of legends, a tale that was the obsession of beings as powerful as Lord Dragon. "Long ago, at the dawn of the age of cultivation," he began, his voice now sounding like that of an ancient priest reciting from a sacred text, "There was an existence whose power surpassed all the levels we know. He was not a Sage, not a Saint, not even a Celestial. He was the first and only one to ever reach the absolute pinnacle of the cultivation path—the Primordial Realm." The name itself seemed to possess power, making the very air around them vibrate.

"Crossbreeding. Some of the Firsts or Primordial mated with other people either bears, healers, or humans and that watered down the potency of their genes until we have the type of werewolves we do now." It all sounded so absurd I had to laugh. "This can't be real." He just continues like I hadn't even spoken. "Well, the Primordial are a tightly knit group who kept their abilities a secret from the general public. This is because of what happened a couple of years ago...when you were born." His stare bored holes into me. "Your real mother- and mine too- her name was Siobhan, and she was a Primordial who mated with another Primordial that gave birth to you. However, he died, but rumors have i

He exhaled slowly, as if my ignorance physically pained him. “The Shift,” he began, “was the first moment the world changed. When the moon touched the earth and chose the first wolves. When man and beast merged. When power took physical form.” He turned the candle in his fingers, letting its blue flame dance across his skin. “But before that moment,” he continued, “there were beings who roamed the world freely. Beings made of pure essence. Pure strength. Pure destruction. They were called The Primals.” I blinked. “Primal… like primal wolves?”

Every page I turned whispered of forgotten gods and blood-pacts lost to history. Then I saw it — the same spiral mark etched faintly in the margin of a brittle manuscript. Bobby noticed my pause. “Found something?” I nodded slowly. “It’s a mark of the Primals.” “The what now?” he asked bemused. “Before wolves and vampires split, before magic was bound to the moon — there were the Primals. Beings of pure essence. The first-born of the old world.” Bobby frowned. “Those are myths.” “So were vampires until you met one,” I said dryly.

pulsing with a frequency that threatened to shatter their bones. Suddenly, the aurora above us curdled. From the shifting mists of the horizon, three figures emerged. They did not look like wolves, and they certainly didn't look like men. They were towering columns of sentient energy—one of liquid fire, one of crystalline ice, and one of absolute, star-flecked shadow. They moved with a predatory grace that made our "Grey evolution" look like a clumsy, half-finished toy. These were the Primordials: the original architects of the wolf-soul, the ones the First Luna had betrayed to build her Foundry.