The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1982

Chapter 1982: I Am Pure

REALM OF DEATH.

Time no longer had any meaning in this battle; eternity became a day, and day became an eternity.

The seven Primordials – Nyxara, Primordial Soul, Asteroath, Primordial Light, Xylos, Primordial Demons, Eldrithor, Primordial Chaos, Xyris, Primordial Time, Elgorath, Primordial Memory, and Vorthas, Primordial Life – had carved a path through the heart of Death’s infinite empire.

What began as a spearhead charge in the beginning, where the Primordials had been filled with endless resolve, had evolved into a grinding, soul-eroding siege.

The outer layers of the Realm of Death, those vast, shadowy expanses where the lesser dead roamed in silent legions, had long since been consumed. Now, the Primordials delved into the fractal depths, where the Beast of Final Rest hoarded its most ancient and potent harvests.

And they were facing the most powerful beings who had ever lived, and they no longer had their endless hunger and strength that was given to them by End; now they fought as their original full potential had always been before they began to devour Realities.

The battlefield no longer resembled the open voids of Limbo’s fringes. It had become a labyrinthine horror, a multidimensional maze woven from the compressed essences of extinct realities.

Walls of bone, veined with the glowing runes of forgotten languages, twisted into impossible geometries. Floors were carpets of petrified souls, each one a nexus point from which infinite legions could unfold.

Even the foul heavens above dripped with the ichor of slain gods, forming rivers that flowed upward, defying gravity to drown the unwary in liquid regret. The air itself was thick with the whispers of the harvested, psychic echoes that clawed at the mind, planting seeds of doubt and madness.

If they were not so bogged down by the opposition against them, they would have been amazed at the variety of life they had slaughtered over sixty-five million Cosmic Eras.

The Primordials moved as a single, battered entity. Their wings, once radiant symbols of their Origins, were now scarred relics. Asteroath’s white wings, the purest among them, had dimmed to a pallid gray, streaked with black veins where Death’s necrosis had taken hold.

He flew at the vanguard, his light no longer a piercing lance but a flickering torch, illuminating only fragments of the horrors ahead. Behind him, Nyxara orchestrated the advance, her black soul-wings spread wide like a net, capturing stray Origin Force from the fallen dead and weaving it into temporary shields for her siblings.

Xylos flanked the left, his demonic black wings shedding feathers that burrowed into the ground like parasitic seeds, sprouting abyssal traps for pursuing legions. Eldrithor danced on the right, his chaotic storm-wings whipping up vortices of improbability that turned enemy charges into self-destructing farces.

They were getting tired, but their cooperation was growing increasingly more perfect, and they could only dig deeper to find newer ways to experiment with their powers.

The truth was that with the interference of Enoch and End, the Primordials never truly had a chance to understand the full breadth of their abilities, and only now could they know what they were capable of.

This battle was necessary, for without it, they could not fully digest all of the Origins they held in their bodies. Even without other foreign Origins within them, each Primordial held millions of the same Origin Power in their bodies, and this battle, although painful, was a necessary crucible for them to become stronger.

Xyris, Time’s embodiment, lagged slightly, his purple wings beating erratically as he manipulated temporal eddies to age enemy formations into dust before they could fully manifest. Elgorath, the golden-winged Memory, walked in the center, his eyes distant, forcing waves of recollection upon the dead to make them falter.

"I would have to thank you, Primordials, for showing me the path to a truth that had been hidden from me... from everyone inside Existence. You may not understand what is about to happen, but I doubt that, the knowledge after all should be in your blood, all of you wretched spawns of Enoch."

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