The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1631

Chapter 1631: The Bleak Gate

This realm was known by many names. Mortals called it the Underworld, gods called it the Grave Eternal, Demons called it the Netherrealm, and Celestials called it the Shadowlands. Its name was endless, as all races gave it a different name, but that did not matter, for this was the kingdom of Death, and its domain was greater than any being in Reality could understand.

Stretching across countless dimensions that exceeded the scope of Reality, the realm of Death was truly vast, and the entirety of Reality was a small corner inside its endless immensity.

Not even the Primordials had ventured to the ends of this realm, and there were countless mysteries within it that had not been revealed.

Across the realm, countless regions of power were in charge of various Realities.

One of these regions could manage multiple Realities, and on this day, the Region in charge of the Sundered Reality, Eosah, was shaken to its foundation.

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The region in charge of the Sundered Reality, Eosah, was called the Bleak Gate. It was a vast region whose size was impossible to be determined by any being not at the ninth dimensional level.

To enter this region, the dead had to travel through the Bleak Gate, a colossal archway made from bone and black iron, etched with the name of the dead.

The size of this gate was unfathomable, and the names it held were beyond counting. These were all True Names, and they belonged to the dead who had become worthy of earning a Name in their lifetime.

Not all who lived would earn a True Name during their life, and for those who did not earn a name, their souls were consumed by the Gate, adding more strength to its endless might and increasing the power of the region.

Because even in the land of Death, competition did not end, and a powerful region would swallow a lesser one. freёwebnoѵel.com

There would surely come a day when there was only one region left in the land of the dead, and when that day arrives, who knew what would happen. Even the Primordials themselves could not claim they understood what that day might bring.

Some say that on that day, it would signify the true end of everything, where even Primordials would fall and become slaves to Death.

Nevertheless, that day was so distant that it might not come around even after a trillion infinities had passed.

It was apparent that the various regions of Death grew with them collecting powerful souls and True Names. The more outstanding a soul collected by the region, the more benefit it would gain.

On this day, Rowan descended into the dimension of Death.

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It began as a whisper—a slight breeze blew against the Bleak Gate, but that breeze grew into a green storm that stretched for an infinity. The massive gate began to vibrate, sending tremors that extended deep into the land of Death.

Did an Ancient Emperor fall? Or perhaps the consciousness of a Reality?

This storm continued to grow until it reached a critical mass, and it seemed as if something was about to break. Space for infinite distances was holding its breath, but this storm seemed like it would never end or stop growing.

In Reality, Rowan’s life force, drawn by the billions of green suns of Death, was funneled before the Bleak Gate, and it was this life force that created this storm.

Yet the purpose of the storm could not be completed unless the final component was added, which was the entirety of Rowan’s soul. Only then could his True Name be acquired and written on the gate, sealing his Fate for all eternity.

The storm had lasted for too long, and it had begun to disrupt the operation of this gate, as no new soul could enter when this massive storm raged.

But to the Bleak Gate, that did not matter; there was nothing more patient than Death, and if it could acquire Rowan’s soul, it was worth more than all the souls it had acquired upon gaining access to the Sundered Dimension of Eosah.

It waited patiently—time was meaningless to it—until its patience was rewarded, and the storm reached its peak before it began to collapse.

The ground beneath his feet was not ground at all, but the memory of ground, blackened and porous, as if the earth had been scorched by a fire that burned nothing visible.

It began as whispers. Not voices, not words, but the impression of sound, the echoes of things once spoken, now frayed into sighs.

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