The Primordial Record

Chapter 1654: Chose A Path

Rowan would have loved to take the advice of the voice of Eosah, but he did not. Killing that echo gave him the same advantages that the echo would have gained by assimilating him; Rowan got stronger.

This modification was a thorough upgrade to every facet of his dimensional flesh, and although it was minimal, Rowan knew that these changes were the sort that would be nearly impossible for him to gain outside this place.

No, this place was not only dangerous but also filled with endless opportunities for advancement. Why should he run from beings who were not overwhelmingly more powerful than he was?

“Eosah, if you are the voice in my head, then it seems you have not realized that you are not giving your inheritance to a mere immortal. I am a dimension!”

In this place, he could not summon any weapon, but he did not need all of those when his arms were as dangerous as any blade he could wield.

The first few echoes near him had their chest exploding out of their back as Rowan threw lightning-quick jabs at the dozens that surrounded him, their death cries were silenced as they were absorbed into his body.

He had never stopped moving all this while, and he only slowed down a bit, so it appears as if he was walking, but any echo that reached a certain space around him were brutally dispatched with alarming efficiency.

It was not as if these echoes were not dangerous; what they needed to kill him was simply a touch, maybe they would have to maintain contact for a second longer, but that was all they needed to kill him.

Dangerous? Undoubtedly so, but Rowan could see the dangers, and that made all the difference.

And so, despite receiving the inheritance of this level much quicker than previous levels due to his continuous movements that caused the void to respond in kind and pour more knowledge into him, his battle capabilities did not suffer.

Rowan could fight like this forever; to him, this sort of pressure was non-existent, and he was even beginning to move faster when the dynamics of the battle changed.

It happened quite quickly, but Rowan felt the echoes around him suddenly gaining weight, their bodies becoming more tangible as he suddenly heard the heartbeat from a million chests.

Previously, they had been walking slowly towards him, but now they charged in their hundreds. A few steps before they reached him, they summoned weapons made of bones from their bodies, spears, hammers, swords, and all sorts of melee weapons.

Rowan’s response was instantaneous. He raised his hand quickly, not in defense but in dismissal. The entire realm shuddered as shockwaves erupted from his fingertips.

Bodies were ruptured mid-stride, bones shattering, flesh tearing like wet parchment. A hundred thousand echoes became a mist of gore before they could even strike.

“You gave yourselves flesh and bones, even added weapons, but that only made you weaker!” Rowan grinned, his bloodlust triggered by the rain of blood pouring down around him and the feeling of power filling up his muscles as the potential of a hundred thousand echoes was added to his flesh.

The next wave followed undeterred by his slaughter and the grim proclamation he had made. Their eyes were now more animated, and in them Rowan could see parts of himself, as well as the lust they all had for victory and domination.

This wave manifested great swords that made the surrounding space ripple, and Rowan realized that the more time passed, the greater the danger these Folded Oracles could bring.

It would seem that to kill him, they would have to be touching him, but this did not stop them from slowly absorbing his traits and attributes, as Rowan could see that the next charge was more coordinated, and he noticed traces of his techniques in their movement.

Rowan’s eyes flashed red, and his black hair, which had been black since he began his journey into the depths of the void, turned red. He no longer walked towards them, instead he charged, tearing into their midst, his hand seized the head of an echo and used it as a battering ram to tear his way through their formation, and when what remained in his hand was nothing but pieces of flesh and bone, he discarded it to the side, and seized another echo by the throat, breaking its neck before hurling the echo into the crowd.

The thrown body tore through the formation like a cannonball through a field of wheat, leaving a trail of gore that extended till the end of the armies of echoes.

Rowan began to laugh.

For a while, he had been suppressed, forced to plan and endure great pain for his advancement, and there were moments when he needed to go all out. This gave him the opportunity.

He slammed his fist together like a boxer, but what erupted from his arms was a wave of kinetic energy that acted as a shield around his body. He was not using any spell or technique; he was just channeling the kinetic energy around him using subtle vibration from his body. This was the exact application of the innate forcefield that had always surrounded him, and now he understood how to utilize this power perfectly.

To prove his mastery over his powers, in a reckless move, Rowan shrank the kinetic barrier so it would hover just above his skin, a small break, and he would be dead. Rowan closed his eyes and checked his heart; there was no fear, and then he opened his eyes and pressed forward.

“Faded Oracle, if you want to touch me, then you will have to prove that you are enough to supplant me. You all… ” Rowan banged his fist together thrice, the sound was like worlds colliding, “…Come at me!”

The echoes howled as their formation began to change, archers appeared that moved to the rear, and shieldmen with heavy shields moved to the fore. A wordless command and the archers loosed bolts of bone, and the void above darkened with a million arrows.

“Too slow,” Rowan growled, as he charged into the formation, tearing apart shields like paper, “You are taking too long to get to my level.”

Swords shattered against his skin, arrows broke against his flesh, and his kinetic barrier proved impervious. Rowan moved like a storm given life, but this storm was surrounded by flesh and blood in a gory tornado that went miles into the air.

His hands carved through armor and bones with the same ease of parting air. A particularly resilient echo swung a great axe at his skull from behind, but Rowan caught the blade between his fingers. The shards of the broken blade shot out from his hand with enough power to tear hundreds of echoes around him to pieces.

The echo who was left holding a shaft was swinging it at Rowan’s head, but he was still too slow as Rowan drove his fist through its chest, ripping out its spine in a single brutal motion, and then he used the spine as a flail, killing echoes around him in wild abandon.

Rowan laughed as the battlefield became a charnel house. Limbs sailed through the air, heads burst under his palms.

In the midst of his slaughter, he grabbed two echoes by the throat and slammed them together with such force that their bodies fused in a grotesque structure of mangled meat.

The void below grew slick with blood, pooling in rivers as Rowan walked on, his steps never faltering.

Rowan was glad that the echoes never broke, nor did they falter. They were continuously growing stronger, but Rowan just became faster and more brutal in his tactics because their deaths were feeding him. In a grim realization, he discovers that the stronger they became before he killed them, the more benefit he was receiving.

His laughter slowly stopped, and he became focused. His eyes grew cold, and he began to dispatch the echoes with terrifying cruelty.

He clenched his fist, and the void became a weapon, ten thousand charging echoes imploded, their bodies crumpling inward as if crushed by an invisible hand. The screams of these folded oracles were cut short as their lungs collapsed and their bones were reduced to powder.

The slaughter continued, methodical, unhurried. Rowan did not tire, he did not bleed, and not once did any Faded Oracle break his barrier, no matter how many came against him, and their numbers that seemed to be vast before began to crumble to nothing.

By the end, the void became silent. A hundred million corpses lay broken, twisted, reduced to little more than meat and shattered steel, and from among these mounds of bodies, it was possible to see glimpses of his faces in these echoes.

It was as if he had spent the last few moments butchering himself.

Rowan stood at the center of it all, unmarked and untouched, the coldness slowly left his gaze, and he continued his match forward.

“To master the Fractal Weave, there were two paths before you. Either accept all possible selves or define a single, unshakable truth. You have chosen a path. One that does not fit the standard of a Reality.”

Rowan paused for a moment, then touched the barrier to the next layer of the void. Was it the last? He did not know, but he still stepped forward.

He knew Eosah’s judgment was negative, but Rowan had more tools in his kit than this fallen Reality. He was not just a creator but a destroyer as well. In the first two levels, he took the path of creation and assimilation, but he was still a destroyer, and he would not go against his nature.

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