The Primordial Record - Chapter 1992

Capítulo 1992: No Fear

The pressure of charging against eight of these existence-destroying entities was incredibly strong, but Rowan found himself grinning. He was in great danger, but he never felt freer in his life.

For too long, he had been dancing on the strings of unknown masters; he was a puppet that was never told his purpose, and these masters had made sure to show him how meaningless he was in the grand scheme of things.

The people he loved, the places, the experiences… all could be robbed from him at any time, and now that he had the chance to stand before these thrones of malevolence and fight for his fate, Rowan could not help but smile.

A small part of him wished that there were no plans he had to follow and he could just bury himself in the thrill of combat as he crushed those whose arrogance and cruelty knew no bounds, but he knew he only had a short time, and he was determined to enjoy every single moment of it.

Elgorath, seeing the grin on the face of Rowan, growled, “This fool has gone mad.”

“Then we take care of him, even mad dogs can still bite,” Xylos roared in rage, after the extreme humiliation of being nearly decapitated by a mere Incarnation washed through his mind once again.

Rowan fighting against all of them was as if Eos was holding them all back with a single finger. How could the masters of Existence take such an insult with any form of grace?

Rowan felt it immediately—the weight of eight ancient Wills pressing down like the collapse of a thousand Realities. He wished he had the physique of his main body, but his body was also rapidly evolving towards the ninth-dimensional level, and it would have to serve.

“WRRHH… BOOM”

With a calamitous sound that shattered space for countless light-years, Rowan struck the Wills of all eight Primordial beings, who transformed their Wills into various shapes, from chains to entire dimensions.

The air on the Road of Eternity thickened to the consistency of blood, every breath a struggle against the combined essence of Enoch’s mad children and Death’s general.

“I AM SPACE!” Rowan roared, and his Will tore an endless tunnel through the barrier in front of him, and his body surged through like light. However, he could not hold back the weight of the power pressed against him, and that tunnel collapsed, and yet despite it all, Rowan could not be held back.

He growled in anger as a chain wrapped his arm. It happened in the space between heartbeats, and from the stench of the chain, it was Nyxara’s doing; her black soul-wing flared as she directed a powerful strike through the chain.

The chain was not metal but crystallized ambition, golden threaded with black, and Rowan could not cut off his arm before a blast of Will from Elgorath penetrated his skull and entered his consciousness, leaving him to falter for a brief moment… that moment was too long.

“You are not enough.”

“Eos will fall without you. Your dying cries would be the last thing he hears.”

“You fall… We rise.”

The whispers burrowed into his mind, higher-dimensional, raw, carrying the weight of ninth-dimensional doubt.

‘Damn it, Eos, I am about to die… give me something… give me a sword!”

Rowan groaned in anger as he heard a chuckle in his mind, ‘I thought you wanted this fight… now you run to me for help.’

“Yeah… you are just jealous I am here having the time of my life when you are fighting for your life. Hey, Eos, I don’t envy you. When I die, you would still be left with all these burdens, so you better be nice to me now, when you still got me.”

A metallic shriek resounded within Rowan’s consciousness as the shadow of the Destroyer appeared; it did not even wait for Rowan’s instructions before it pounced on the Will of Elgorath in his consciousness and shattered it into pieces.

The blade materialized in his free hand with a scream of compressed immortal deaths, fed with his Primordial Essence. It took material form, and Rowan swept the blade towards his bound hand, the edge bit deep into his arm, severing the chain and the corrupted flesh in one stroke.

Higher-dimensional blood sprayed from the grievous wound, prismatic like a rainbow, and beautiful to behold. The blood hissed where it touched the Road, eating small craters into the surface.

For a moment, the battle paused not because Rowan was injured and bled for the first time, but because of the color of his blood, and the glory it carried.

The Primordials had bled during this short fight, and their blood was dirty and filled with chaotic essence. Despite only holding the same Origin Force inside of them, every Origin Force still possessed uniqueness, and this clash could not be easily resolved.

Jealousy, rage, and many unknown emotions flowed through the eyes of the Primordials and even Death, who proclaimed itself to be pure, knew that this was not truly the case. In this instant, the atmosphere changed as hate filled the eyes of the Primordials and the general.

The severed arm fell, hitting the Road with a wet thud. But it did not stay fallen. The power of Soul fused with this arm, and because she was not holding back, Rowan’s arm was a perfect container for power; the arm began to change into something horrifying.

It crawled back, fingers sprouting from the stump, dragging itself toward him with wet, sucking sounds, as mouths began to grow all over the arm, and it was about to whisper words of condemnation toward Rowan.

With a disgusted look on his face, Rowan stomped while calling upon the power of his Will.

Space Crush.

The foot came down not just with physical force, but it also carried the Maws of Oblivion’s hunger. The crawling arm ended, compressed into a point of absence that winked out like a dying star, leaving a fading shriek behind.

Rowan had no chance to rest as the Wills of his enemies slammed down upon him. His control over space was perfect, and technically, he should be able to fight against all of them at the same time; the only problem he had was the sheer weight behind every move his opponents were making.

It did not matter that he had a perfect counter; when the blow was enough to crush his arm, and before long, Xylos was able to take advantage of this.

Xylos moved like the demon he was, his abyssal wings shedding feathers that turned into living shadows mid-flight. The feathers burrowed into the air around Rowan, hatching into chains of abyssal corruption, black threaded with demonic red, wrapping his legs, his torso, his neck.

Where they touched, flesh corrupted into void, holes opening in his pale skin that leaked prismatic light into nothingness.

Eldrithor laughed, a sound that was like probability breaking, and unraveled chains of chaos from his wings.

These were not solid but possibilities, chains that existed only in futures where Rowan was already bound, snapping into reality to make those futures true.

Xyris’s purple wings beat once, and chains of frozen time lashed out, the links made of stolen moments, aging Rowan’s flesh on contact, turning youth to withered gray. Elgorath forced chains of memory that wrapped Rowan in recollections of every failure Eos had ever endured, every lie, every loss.

The final nail in his coffin came from Vorthas’s green wings that pulsed with chains of carnivorous life, which sprouted vines that burrowed into Rowan’s wounds, growing tumors of unchecked vitality that burst with green sap and screaming leaves.

Held in place by the power of all the Primordials, the general of Death slowly moved forward on his pale horse and held his scythe over Rowan’s head. He looked at Rowan’s eyes, and there was no fear in them, and he swung down.

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