The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1796

Chapter 1796: The Primordial of Defiant Ascension

The eyes of Primordial Demon snapped open, filled with red mortal blood as if they had been scrubbed by a metallic brush. He looked at the altar, and he recoiled.

Primordial Demon made a choice that defied his entire nature. It was not a move of art or technique, but of base, animal desperation. Perfection gave way to survival.

Instead of accepting his fate, he tore himself from Rowan’s grasp.

It was not a graceful escape. It was a self-mutilation of the highest order. A portion of his throat, the very essence that Rowan’s hand had clenched, remained behind alongside a greater portion of his flesh and bones.

The Demon’s form, already broken by the failed Dance, screamed in a way that was more spiritual than physical. He was less than a shadow, a wisp of concentrated malice and pride, fleeing the expanding nullity that had been his home.

He streamed through the void, a comet of pure panic. The Abyss was gone. His power was shattered. The certainty of his art was a lie exposed. All that remained was the primal instinct to exist. He needed a vessel. An anchor. A shield.

His consciousness, scanning the bleeding edges of the newly-shattered dimension, found one. A flicker of familiar power, a lineage he himself had spawned eons ago. A descendant. His Throne.

Telmus.

The Primordial Demon did not request. He did not negotiate. There was no time. With the last dregs of his power, he bypassed Telmus’s formidable defenses, not by breaking them, but by slithering through the shared bloodline, the open door of their ancestry.

He invaded.

Telmus, standing on a shard of dead reality, gasped. "Xylos, you dare?!"

"SILENCE. YOUR FORM IS MINE. YOUR STRENGTH IS MINE. YOUR WILL IS MINE TO BURN AS FUEL," the Demon’s voice echoed within the vault of Telmus’s mind, crushing his resistance without any attempt to hold back.

Telmus was no longer surprised when he discovered that Primordial Demon had left vulnerabilities inside his body, and now he was no longer the master of his flesh. His ignorance of the matters of the higher dimensions was his crutch, and he had failed to protect himself.

His body became coated with Obsidian armor as black Abyssal flames surrounded him... Telmus was transforming into the Demon.

Rowan did not rush to pursue. The demon was living on borrowed time; instead, he set down what was left of the Origin Force of Primordial Demon on the Altar of Unmaking and brought up the hammer.

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The Primordial Demon, nestled within Telmus’s form like a parasite in a royal cocoon, felt a surge of vile triumph. He had traded the sublime for the savage, perfection for survival.

Using Telmus’s voice, he hurled his taunt across the void, a weapon crafted from Rowan’s own perceived morality. "You believe you have won? But you are a bird in a cage, even if it kills me, I shall summon my main body, and how he shall delight in feasting on your marrow!"

Rowan, emerging from the fading echo of the Abyss, did not roar. He did not even look surprised. He simply stopped, his ravaged form still humming with the power of ended things. His eyes, ancient and weary, settled on the possessed demon. And he said nothing.

His silence was more terrifying than any shout.

Inside the prison of his own skull, Telmus felt the Demon’s gloating certainty. It was a suffocating blanket, smothering his will.

He was a spectator in his own body, forced to watch as this ancient horror used him as a shield. Despair would have consumed him. This was a fate worse than death.

But then, Rowan had given him something, did he not?

It was then that he felt it —a faint warmth, a spark he had now carried within, without understanding its purpose. He had thought it a mere mark of his noble lineage, a blessing of his power and a sign of his victory over the chaotic giant but it was more.

Now, as the Demon’s presence pressed down, seeking to extinguish him completely, that spark flared.

It was not just a spark. It was a seed—a seed of defiance, woven from the Seven Bloodlines of Trion.

Rowan’s work. A silent, long-prepared contingency. The Seven Bloodlines of Trion were not a demonic legacy or primordial; they were a synthesis of primordial essences fundamentally opposed to the Abyss’s negation.

Rowan had not just remade the past bloodlines of Trion; he had given them the chance to form their own Will!

Triuiplop, Hekaton, Metagei, Pyanop, Yuleti, Maimak, and Anthesterion had the chance to reach the higher dimensions before they were killed, and Rowan was able to show them the path. Their Destiny, however, was only completed when Telmus accepted them into his core.

Rowan had seen the potential in his brethren long ago, and he had nurtured it across generations, a subtle touch in the bloodline, waiting for the precise moment of catalytic pressure.

That moment was now.

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