The Primordial Record - Chapter 1990

Capítulo 1990: You Should Not Have Challenged Me

Rowan’s body hung suspended on the Road of Eternity, translucent and fading like mist caught in a sudden freeze. The ascension had been a storm of chaotic tribulations, memories, emotions, sensations crashing through him in ninth-dimensional tides that no mind should bear.

He had pushed through, fusing with the Origin of Space, the Maw of Oblivion opening wide in his soul. He had succeeded and had become the Primordial of Space. For him, this was just the beginning; becoming a Primordial was to acquire the keys to open the treasure resting in his body.

It might seem like he was on the verge of success, but he was in greater danger than before, and every move he made from this point forward must be perfect, else he would lose.

He and Eos were rapidly sending large bursts of information between them, and a trillion plans were proposed and discarded, leaving just one they believed could work. The challenge they faced was not just the Abomination, on the verge of attaining the ultimate prize, everyone would be coming for them… everyone.

In the past few moments, they had become aware of so many truths, and they needed to thoroughly digest all they had come to know of Existence, their enemies, and take charge of what would happen next.

This was the final roll of the dice, and anything could happen.

The calm voice of Eos resounded in Rowan’s head, “The plan starts… now!”

Rowan grinned, and he began to fade. He wrapped the power of space around all of his Primordials and sent them to the location where they were needed, leaving him alone on the Road of Eternity. His actions came at the right time because, before he could vanish, eight pillars of light erupted around the Road of Eternity, and Limbo was frozen for countless trillions of light-years.

‘Shame,’ Rowan thought, ‘If I had been able to flee far from here, the burden on Eos would have been reduced. Well, who am I to take away his conquest? Now let me see the face of my enemies.’

Seven of the pillars resolved into forms that carried echoes of the fundamental laws of Existence, and they seemed to resonate with Rowan, who had become the first Ancient Primordial seen in a long time, especially given that there had never been a Primordial of Space before.

This resonance extended beyond this and touched on the deeper ties that connect the Primordials, Rowan, and the Abomination. In a better world, they would all be allies and siblings, but in this one, they were here to kill each other.

Rowan now knew the truth of their creation and his history. The seven Ancient Primordials, children of Enoch, born from the white Lumina that had rejected the golden stillness of their ancestors, the Luminious. Their wings were not pure light like the Luminious, but carried the colors of their Origin Forces, twisted reflections of the traits they had inherited and then corrupted in their madness.

He could have wings in this form, but Rowan chose not to; it would only draw the wrong attention, and the plans he was making were difficult enough as it is. Still, his attention was drawn to the last and unexpected member who was with the seven Primordials, and Rowan would have wished that he was surprised, but he was not. There were no eternal enemies, only benefits.

Death had chosen its side, and it had picked wrongly.

His Archai had lost sight of the Primordials when they went deeper into the domain of Death, and it would seem that in the periods he was not able to monitor the battle, a great change had taken place. ‘How fascinating. There may be hidden connections that I am not yet aware of… the plan must be adjusted accordingly.’

The eighth pillar was different from the Primordial’s; it was a mandala of absolute darkness that had fractal arms spinning slowly along its entire length, and from it came a rider, a general of Death astride a pale horse forged from compressed voids.

This undead being had powers equal to a Primordial, and with the shroud of Death hanging heavy around him, this general would be more dangerous than the average Primordial entity.

The horse’s hooves struck the Road with the sound of closing coffins as it became the first of Rowan’s adversaries to stand on the Road, the fearless general cloaked in black bone armor etched with runes of forgotten endings, on his face was a cracked porcelain mask hiding his features, leaving only two burning red eyes shining through.

The eight formed a perfect octagon around the road, ensuring that the surrounding space was bound in a cage of higher-dimensional restraint as the air on the Road thickened with their combined Will that screamed of ambition twisted into judgment, inevitability laced with betrayal.

The Abomination in the distance, who was still enfolding Eos in its body, looked on with astonishment. A million yellow eyes grew from its stretching flesh and bulged in shock. It had not expected this. Death joining his cursed children? The Beast of Final Rest allying with the mad offspring who had ravaged Existence? How did they stop themselves from devouring each other?

“How…” the Abomination whispered in Enoch’s voice, layered with End’s certainty cracking. “My cursed children… with that damned beast? You should devour each other.”

Nyxara, her wings that were no longer purple but deep black, turned her gaze toward the Abomination. “We are not here for you, monster. Not yet. We are here for the thief who would take all that we have labored for all these years.”

The general of Death laughed, voice a rattle of bones. “And I am here for the harvest you delayed. The dead belong to the Beast. Not to you… Enoch”

With these words, the eight figures here released a pure wave of Will and power that surged across the Road of Eternity in a ripple that solidified the air into crystal. Time stuttered, space locked, motion simplified to stillness. The Road itself groaned under the wave, a sound like bones grinding, and Rowan’s form fully solidified on the Road; his attempt to escape had been thoroughly shattered, and his only recourse was to fight for his life.

Nyxara floated closer, her black wings casting elongated shadows that danced like living accusations. “The Road is well-made,” she said, voice a soothing venom. “Built from our fallen bodies. Eos’s ruthlessness is admirable. He used the mad ones as foundation, bones for paving, blood for mortar, wings for the curve that leads to infinity. A masterpiece of cruelty, it is a shame to kill you and all he stands for. But it ends here.”

The general of Death nodded, pale horse pawing the ground with a clack that echoed like closing tombs. “The Beast approves. Your father’s legacy stole our harvest. We take payment from the thief. With his Origin power, we shall unlock the Primordial Record, and everything will fall in place.”

The eight, without warning, attacked.

Nyxara raised a hand, conjuring a black light which coiled into a spear of corrupted perfection. It hurled forward, simplifying space as it flew towards its target. This blow would kill any of the New Primordials, but Rowan was not just any Primordial; inside his heart, he called upon the Will of Space Origin.

“You should not have challenged me,” Rowan whispered.

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