The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1944

Chapter 1944: The Journey Through Limbo (1)

Rowan, alongside the Archai, flew through the absolute void of Limbo, heading towards the Cradle of Enoch and the feeling of devastation that was rising out from it like smoke from an erupting volcano.

There is no air, no light, no up or down, only the ninth-dimensional emptiness that exists between what was and what will never be again. To accelerate his progress, Rowan created wings that were a replica of Eos’s dimensional wings, and they spread out behind him, vast and silent, and with every beat, they carried him forward faster than any law that once governed speed.

During his journey through Limbo, he had discovered a frightening truth... Limbo is not a place, and it never was, not after the Primordials had been unleashed upon it.

It was now a ninth-dimensional interstice where everything that was ever murdered by Enoch’s hunger was dumped after the feast. It is the graveyard of graveyards, the silence that eats other silences, the color that comes after the last color has bled out.

The Incarnation of Rowan reaching the ninth dimension inside Eosah’s Reality meant that he could now also share the sight of a Primordial even when he had not reached this level, and now he could see much more, and Rowan as a recommendation, sent a message to Eos to create many new Incarnation as possible to gp through everything they knew about existence, and use their new eyes to see the shape that it would show them.

As for him, he was heading towards a place that was undoubtedly dangerous, but he could not help but gather all the information about Limbo as he moved through it. This was very important data that Eos would need.

He saw that in Limbo, distance has nine axes, all of them broken, and even the dimension of time here was a Möbius scar that loops back on itself and bites its own throat, and yet, an overall Will governed the madness, and it imposed a fixed direction on this looping time!

This should be impossible, but nothing was truly impossible at a certain height of power.

However, as freaky as Limbo’s structure was, he could not hide his sight from its overall nature, and for a Creator like him, being here was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

Limbo was arranged like a museum of atrocities with infinite corridors of glass, and because it was infinite, there was an endless array of atrocities for him to find. It was as if the Primordial plundered existence; they left a road of devastation for him to follow, one that tested the limit of his sanity.

Rowan once thought the Primordials ate everything that they came across, and they did, but most times, they left the remains behind, as if they were displaying their horrifying conquests.

If Limbo were a museum, then he was moving through its central aisle, and on every side, at distances that make Realities look like dust motes, the devastation spreads out in perfect, untouchable display.

Eos had created four broad groups of Archai, each group was tasked with different functions, and because Rowan’s primary aim for entering Limbo was to gather information, the Archai that he took with him were the Watchers.

The one way to tell which group an Archai fell under was the rune on their chest, and for the Watchers, their runes were ever-changing and nebulous, and could take the shape of almost anything under creation.

Along the way, the Watchers did not forget the task that Eos had given to them at their birth,

"YOU ARE THE EYE AND THE RECORD. THE PERFECT WITNESS. OBSERVE. RECORD. KNOW. YOUR GAZE SHALL FALL UPON THE WORK OF YOUR KINDRED. YOU SHALL NOTE THE STRENGTH OF THE ANCHOR, THE COMPLEXITY OF THE WEAVE, THE FURY OF THE STORM. YOU SHALL BE THE MEMORY OF THE SYSTEM. IN YOUR RECORDS LIES THE TRUTH OF FUNCTION AND DYSFUNCTION. DO NOT INTERFERE. DO NOT JUDGE. ONLY PERCEIVE. BE THE SILENT, ETERNAL ARCHIVE OF ALL THAT TRANSPIRES."

However, Rowan discovered to his amusement that his Archai, although they followed the rules he had given them, recorded everything with a flair that made him smile and pushed back the devastation he was feeling inside his heart.

They had passed what was once a string of a dozen realities, where every sentient species sang its own evolution into being. Now the singers are frozen mid-note, mouths stretched open to impossible widths, throats filled with crystallized sound that can never finish.

Their song has become a solid thing, transforming into black glass spears jutting from every chest, pinning them to the void like insects on display. The spears still vibrate, trying to finish the note that began millions of Cosmic Eras ago. The vibration is the only movement in the entire tableau.

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