The Primordial Record

This entire space transformed into a space of primordial nothingness as Reality struggled to come to terms with the impossibilities of their power, but two entities within this disorder whose presence resisted that chaos stood from within as countless dying dimension struck their skin and shattered into pieces.

Rowan was thrown into the distance, crossing distances that made no mathematical sense, and a grunt of pain emerged from his lips.

Two great holes were in his chest, and all of the bones of his torso had been crushed, and a malevolent force that was hard to describe was attempting to tear his mind and soul apart.

His existence would be instantly extinguished if he gave a single inch to this force. It did not matter if the injury from Bahamut was a tiny scratch or a gaping wound; his every action carried this force.

He fell to one knee; his dimensional flesh that had been freed from the constraint of normality was the same size as Reality; that is to say, his body was infinite in size, and the injuries that he had just suffered from this clash were threatening to shatter him into pieces.

A fleeting thought passed through Rowan’s mind,

‘Ah, this is familiar. How many times have I been brought to the brink? I have been tested since the moment of my birth, and I have not been found wanting!’

Watching Rowan struggle to stand, the Primordial Beast roared; his voice was a thing of pure horror,

“You shall not call me Bahamut. I am Zorathok, the Infinite Maw, and I am the Prime Architect of Annihilation!”

Rowan groaned as he stood up. His mind was already pushing against the forces that threatened to warp his existence into nothing. From the intense light flashing in the eyes of Bahamut, the Primordial Beast was surprised at how easily Rowan was shrugging off the effects of his attack.

Names held power, and in the higher dimensions where they battled, the dead name of this Primordial Beast, which was Bahamut, was like a shackle on its power, and Rowan refused to acknowledge his new existence that would surely give him more power over him.

“You sure know how to talk big, Bahamut, but…” Then he brought his right hand forward, and one of the beast’s horns was on it. In the clash earlier, he had ripped it off the head of Bahamut. “…You break.”

The Primordial Beast looked at his broken horn held by Rowan and roared in anger. This desecration to his flesh and name was rousing him from his lethargy because, in truth, most of his powers and consciousness were still sealed. Yet what was happening was driving Zorathok to the edge, and more of him was awakening.

There would be significant consequences if more of his consciousness were awakened, but Zorathok was finding out that he might not have leisure not to make that choice.

‘This is a mistake,’ Zorathok growled internally, ‘The Primes lied to me. This is not a cub but a full-grown disaster. They should not blame me for protecting my domain.’

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The wounds in Rowan’s body had thoroughly resisted the call of Annihilation and began to seal themselves, and Rowan’s gaze traveled to the body of Bahamut, where dying stars and screaming destinies poured from the wound on his head,

“… and you bleed. A lot.”

“Ah, little abominable whelp, you have grown on eating shadows; perhaps it is time I showed you the true meaning of power. How else would you understand your situation?”

Reality shifted, and Bahamut was before Rowan. However, despite how massive this Primordial Beast was, he was still half the size of Rowan, barely reaching his chest. His length seemed to stretch for countless infinities, making his mass nearly equal to that of Rowan.

A single claw, a blade of folded dimensions, lashed out, not in a line but in every direction at once, a strike that existed across all possible timelines and spatial locations.

It was impossible for Rowan to dodge this blow, and so he did not bother to try. Instead, calling upon the concept of Destruction and wielding it as if it were Creation, Rowan created a dimensional space of destruction in the shape of armor that covered his body. In a moment, he was clad in a red flaming armor whose presence shattered existence and destroyed it at its fundamental level.

The claw from Bahamut slammed against him, tearing through the armor that made Reality impossible to exist; the blow hit but also did not. If Rowan’s Will over unreality were greater than Bahamut’s own, this blow would not be able to cut across to him, but if it were lesser than Bahamut, he would be sliced to pieces.

Their will over existence clashed, and a sound of reality weeping could be heard in the center of the turmoil, as a paradox was created during this clash. This area of reality and unreality pulsed repeatedly, like the foul heart of a dead god, as the paradox in this clash grew alongside the unbreakable Wills of both combatants. Eventually, existence itself had to give way before the might of these two Titans, and it shattered into a kaleidoscope of broken causality.

Rowan was blasted backward, bleeding broken light and shattered dreams, his body on the verge of destruction, but his laughter cut across space-time and countless dimensions. This was the first time he had been able to truly unleash himself after his evolution to the realm of Origin, and he was just getting started.

His bloodlines pulsed, feeding on his dimensional flesh and pouring Essence and Aether in impossible volumes all through it, and power exploded out of every part of his body as a result.

His powerful mind was torn in two, handling all of his impossible strength while simultaneously battling against the power of annihilation that filled his flesh.

His present state as the sixth dimension was strained to the limits and beyond, and Rowan, knowing that he could no longer handle the strain of this battle with his present powers, divided his minds once more and pushed towards the core,

“If the sixth-dimensional state is not enough, then I call upon Fate. Open before me!”

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