The Primordial Record

Rowan was no longer alone and his responsibilities were greater than anyone else he knew. He had killed countless innocents in the past in the pursuit of his goals, in the future he might kill countless more, and although he had felt a slight disturbance in his mindset when he did those acts, as a soulless entity, they did not bother him that much, existence could as well be food for him, and when he discovered the truth behind Soul Origin... When he knew that everyone he killed would be reincarnated in the future, he became much more liberal in his handling of death, as he saw life and death as both sides of the same coin.

How could the mortals, even the immortals, ever understand that everything they knew was simply a phase in a long line of reincarnation that stretched from time immemorial. Except for the Primordials and other entities at their level, everything and everyone was purposeless.

Standing at a certain height rendered all the games of existence worthless. Life was meaningless alongside death, everything was simply energy that was transferred from one point to another.

He stood on the shoulders of giants and he looked down and discovered that nothing mattered but attaining his goals.

Rowan had long believed in this, and in his memories were countless scenes about the lives he had taken.

A mother holding her child as she watched the world turn to fire....

A man celebrating his wedding to the love of his life, only for his world to end under the casual swipe of Rowan's palm...

He was a cosmic storm, a cataclysm that had swept through an entire universe, and he was still young with time left to commit more atrocities.

He ended lives on a scale that was unimaginable to mortals, to all of reality, between the Blood Slaves and him, he would be perceived as the worse option. Combined, no matter how long the Blood Slaves would live, they could not near a single percent of the devastation he had caused. Who was he to weigh his atrocities against the likes of others and consider them wanting?

He killed his enemies and in the process of growing powerful he ended the lives of countless trillions, how could he be angry over the likes of the Blood Slaves who did the same, but in a more perverse manner?

As soon as he asked himself his question he understood the answer to it. It was because he knew that existence did not end here with him, and the Blood Slaves did not. They took it without considering if what they collected was a finite resource.

Of course, this was not the entire justification for his actions, inside him were the memories of all the lives he had taken, and in the past, he had decided that he was a monster, but he was not going to be a hypocritical monster. That in the end, all the lives he had taken would not go unanswered. nσvel.cøm

Rowan had sworn to himself that when it was all over, he would call back the souls of everyone he had killed and he would face their judgment, for the truth was that he might feel deep consternation about slaughtering the innocent, but could not stop, even if the weight of the blood in his hands would crush this newly birthed soul.

He opened his palm and the silver flame of his soul still burned bright, but Rowan thought that perhaps he saw the beginning of impurities within... the weight of all the lives he was going to be ending.

In the battles he fought, casualties among the innocent were expected, he could do everything he could to prevent that outcome, but he would fail.

He chuckled, 'For a moment there I thought I was about to arise from the ashes of depravity, to become a shiny beacon of light and peace, but who am I kidding, with it without a soul, I am a monster, but it does not mean all I do must be monstrous, or that I will not have people I will protect. I am a being of many sides, both a creator and a destroyer.'

His dormant dimension pulsed and Rowan nodded in acknowledgment. He knew that if he was with his complete body, the reaffirmation of his Will over existence would have pushed him to the fourth-dimensional level and a new state in his existence, but the primer had already been set, he only needed to ascend when the right moment presented itself.

Rowan did not know what would happen when a living dimension like himself reached a higher level. In the third-dimensional state, he had to swallow the Will of a universe to complete the process, what would it be like if he became a fourth dimension?

Knowing that these were matters that he would have to comprehend when he had his complete body he left them all aside, focusing on the present.

Reality was hell for the weak, and he was privileged to be among the few who could become truly strong. Among their number, he was in a unique position because he understood what it was like to be weak.

No matter what he wanted, the truth was that if he was not strong enough to attain it, then in the end, no amount of compassion would change anything. There was no one else like him that he could leave this burden to.

Rowan would love to light a fire in the hearts of all, let his example be a beacon to the next generation about what it took to live a life that was worth living outside the pursuit of power, but that was a childish concept, before the endless weight of time and space, what was compassion or pity? Only power would sustain you through the dark.

To win, he must be willing to get his hands dirty, because no one else could become as powerful as him. This was not hubris, this was a fact.

Rowan would accept all the sins he had done, he would lie, he would steal and he would destroy, and when it was all over, when he arose from the ashes of the final battle, then he would recreate reality in his image, and when he saw that all of existence were fit to rule themselves in a fair and just manner, then he would call for judgment. His own.

'No one can bear this burden but me.'

Rowan sighed and opened his eyes.

"You seemed to have made a serious decision," a familiar voice spoke behind him, "Oh, how time flies, and we of the Blood do naught but walk down the path laid out for us. Do you remember the last time we spoke, brother? I told you we shall meet again in places you did

Not expect."

Rowan turned around and smiled as he looked at the familiar figure behind him, "How could I not remember you, Labaletai, what took you so long."

"Me? Hahaha... I've been here for ages, I should be the one asking you that question. What took you so long?"

Rowan shrugged, "Died a couple of times, didn't stick, but delayed me long enough for you to brag here."

"Oh..." the Chaos Door said, "In that case, I guess that is a good enough reason. Now it's time for you to take the hot potatoes you have dropped on my lap for so long."

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