The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1779

Chapter 1779: The Perfect Counter

The massive body of the beast blurred across many universes and dimensions, and only very few immortals could perceive something crossing the heavens by the distortion in the stars, but they had no idea what it was.

Oblivion was the fourth layer of the void, but its Gate had been brought to a hidden higher-dimensional level, the Underverse.

As a master of space, Primordial Chaos was one of the architects of the Underverse, alongside Primordial Soul, and at the depths of this unfathomable dimension was the Gate of Oblivion.

Reaching his present level had shown Rowsn that the Gate of Oblivion was not a physical structure.

It could be said to be a metaphysical event horizon, a point of infinite conceptual mass where all things—light, time, thought, reality—were pulled apart into their constituent nothingness. It appeared to Rowan’s senses as a vast, swirling iris of black so absolute it hurt to perceive, framed by silent, lightning-like arcs of non-light.

And anchored to this non-place, by bonds woven from the fundamental forces of discord and entropy, was Primordial Chaos—his target. Primordial Soul was dead, and Chaos was the perfect candidate to be the next on his list.

Primordial Chaos in his raw state, was a formless, shifting storm of might-be and never-was. A million limbs of lightning and shadow, a billion eyes of nascent stars and dying galaxies, a core of pure, screaming potential.

The chains that bound him to the Gate were his own essence, solidified into unbreakable vows. He had become a living cork in the bottle of the void.

Previously, there had been several titanic beings who had been worshipping Chaos for many Eras, but the greed and hunger of the Primordial knew no bounds, and he had consumed them all. Like all Primordials, Chaos saw no need for worship, and if needed, everything was fuel for their needs.

There was a time when Rowan could not have imagined killing something like this, but times had changed, and the instrument for his Will was traveling towards Primordial Chaos with unerring accuracy.

® 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

After Rowan killed the Demon King, Minerva, he eradicated her flesh, but something remained behind: his essence, which was torn from him and had taken the shape of a centipede.

This was his right arm, which had been corrupted by the essence of multiple Primordials, including Time, Life, Demons, Chaos, and even Soul.

Rowan, who had begun cleansing his body from the essence of the Primordials, wanted to immediately destroy this centipede, but a thought had held back his hand... A door could open both ways.

The Primordials infect all life with their essence and Wills to be able to possess them if the need calls for it, but could it be possible for him to be able to use this door as a passage to get to the Primordials?

To Rowan at the time, this thought was like madness, but he knew that this might be what he needed to win—something drastic that would shake the status quo.

He knew that he had no means to take advantage of the doorways placed inside his arm at the moment, but perhaps in the future, many things that were impossible for him at this time would become possible.

So, placing an Incarnation inside the heart of the beast, Rowan buried it and apparently forgot about it... until it was needed.

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When the beast had awoken, it was a three-dimensional being, but that did not last long as it began growing stronger and rapidly climbing the dimensional ladder.

Rowan had kept it at the third dimension, to reduce its weight on Reality, but as the beast broke into the Underverse, its ascension accelerated, and before long, it had gained its Destiny and knew what it was meant to be.

The centipede had stopped its forward momentum and curled into itself when it entered the Underverse, as it seemed as if a large hand covered its entire body and began making changes inside of it. That hand was Rowan’s, and even though he knew that Primordial Chaos would still detect his presence, by that time, it should be too late to change anything.

What he was creating here was not a beast in any natural sense. It was a conceptual entity, a living, breathing algorithm of absolute order. He had forged it over millennia in the silent places between worlds, weaving it from the strands of fate he had severed, from the immutable laws of physics he had enforced, and from the cold, hard certainty of a single, inevitable outcome: its own death.

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