The Primordial Record

Chapter 1572: New Player

The Primordial Beast’s words did not make Rowan stop his actions. If Bahamut was bluffing and he froze as a result, then his defeat would be too pathetic. Just because this was a ninth-dimensional entity did not mean his talent for deceit was lesser; instead, it was most likely the opposite.

It also helped that among the most negative outcomes from this battle that may arise, Rowan had considered that other Primordial powers might be included as it progressed forward. As far as he could tell, there had not been any fight of the level in the Supreme Era, and no matter how durable space was to be, slight traces of their battle were still escaping from it.

The thing was that, even if the Primordials arrived, Rowan would simply deal with it as best as he could. There were methods he had placed down that might ensure his survival, but in battles of this level, he was never a hundred percent assured of its outcome.

Besides, no matter how it seemed, Rowan was not fighting this battle alone. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he had taken many such measures on this day, as well as many years he had spent preparing for it.

His dimensional soul did not stop reaching for the heavens, and his hand pushed through the power of Fate, ignoring the endless number of forces present in the ocean of Fate. He grabbed the Origin that was always meant for him. It would be easy to fall into temptation here and see if he could seize more Origin.

A chill like his soul had just dropped into an ocean of ice enveloped him, and the dimensional soul froze in place. What he was holding might seem ephemeral, but the weight of the origin of Fate was greater than he could ever imagine.

A small part of him had been considering taking more than a single Origin; after all, his main body was still undergoing Tribulation, which meant the gate of Fate was wide open, and he could blunder hee bounty as much as he could. However, it was holding onto a single Origin that he became fully aware of the power that he had gained.

From all across Rowan’s dimensional soul, massive boils and blisters began to grow before exploding in a shower of gore and bleeding light. Like endless volcanoes erupting all over his skin, the soul of the dimensional soul began to expand, and he was under so much stress that if not for the power freezing him in place, Rowan would be screaming in pain.

His dimensional soul, which was countless times more terrifying than any soul should have any right to be, was breaking under the weight of Fate. Holding the Origin of Fate turned out to be something that even his perverse dimensional soul was not built to handle.

Cracks that were so massive they could fit countless dimensions broke across his dimensional soul, and intense beams of light and other esoteric forces blasted out of Rowan’s soul as creation and destruction waged war inside him.

His soul was failing, but his grip on the Origin of Fate was becoming more firm, and as a result, the breath of the seventh dimension was beginning to arise around Rowan.

This Aura seemed to quickly accelerate the speed of his Will Formation, and his Will of Soul Origin and the Will of Time all smoothly entered the seventh-dimensional level, except for the Will of Elder that remained in the fifth dimension, but Rowan had an idea on the method of developing this Will.

All of these powerful Wills reaching the seventh dimension boosted the powers of Rowan’s soul, and his grip tightened on Fate’s Origin in the shape of a heavenly book, and he began to pull it out.

As ridiculous as it was to imagine, Rowan was absorbing the ninth-dimensional Origin of Fate as a nascent seventh-dimensional entity and was already on the road to success. If nothing changed in the next few moments, he would succeed.

His bet on his potential had been the right choice. His dimensional flesh and soul were potent enough to cross the chasm that separated the rest of Reality from the true nature of power.

In the distance, this Reality created by the flesh of Bahamut that was countless times more potent than the true Reality cracked open, as a force countless times greater than any of the power unleashed in this battle creates a passage into this space, and a Primordial stepped through.

All of existence shuddered.

Space fractured then simply vanished under an unfathomable weight, and from a place beyond time—an entity older than existence, whose form was a paradox: a writhing mass of obsidian tendrils one moment, a constellation of burning eyes the next, then a hollow, yawning maw that swallowed the very concept of shape.

Stars flickered and died in its wake. Reality recoiled.

The laws of physics twisted like wet parchment, unraveling in their presence. Gravity bent into screams. Time splintered into shards, each fragment reflecting a different epoch—past, future, and epochs that never were.

At last, it took the form of a mundane man whose physique was too perfect. As if to glory in his perfection, this Primordial was naked, with only a thin strip of glowing memories surrounding him.

Rowan had finally seen the full form of a Primordial. And it was glorious as well as terrible. This was something that he was rapidly transforming into.

The roar of Bahamut resounded all over this space, greed, glee, and anger pulsing in his voice in equal measure,

“Finally, you are here. Kill him before he succeeds in grasping an Origin and inscribe his name on the Cosmic Record!”

From Rowan’s dimensional flesh that was still in the shape of a massive cloud came his deep voice,

“I told you I will deliver your prey to you, Primordial Chaos.”

“That you did, child,” Primordial Chaos smiled, “That you did.”

Bahamut seemed to have been struck dumb, and he screamed in rage. Whatever hate and greed he felt for Rowan was nothing before the primordial standing here,

“Chaos! I shall end your existence!”

“Not before I come for yours, little beast.”

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