The Primordial Record

Hate knew no language, but it had a million ways to express itself, yet it chose only silence. Its nature made it so that any arbitrary change in its environment influenced its mental state and increased its hate towards everything.

All its eyes pointed towards the city and the pitiful opposition they had created. This act grew its rage and its speed which had become slow began to pick up.

Half the Blood Blessed still standing collapsed, and the homered pillars of golden flames melded together, becoming fifty. This caused a loud cracking sound like thunder as the power of the golden flames multiplied.

The red sun that had sped up began to slow down once more, but it was still moving, and now it was so close to the Ascension Spear, barely a mile away, and with its size, every Blood Blessed, including the ones that could not contribute their flames to this cause could see nothing but red.

When you were close to something so massive, it created a visual dissonance whereby the entire heavens would be covered, so whether they looked east, west, north, or south, the red sun was everywhere, and what was even worse than the sounds it was making were the eyes.

Millions of eyes jammed together that were looking down at everyone with such hatred, it was branding its form into their very souls causing cries of agony to erupt from the masses. The worst hit were the golden giants who still stood against it, the toll on their souls had reached a level that was almost impossible to describe, every second they were holding on could be literally described as a miracle.

Their number had fallen to a hundred, and the stream of golden flame had fallen to ten. One was held by the god-child and the other nine were held by the rest.

The golden flames by now appeared to be solid, and the roar it gave out reflected the tenacity in the hearts of billions of their people. They might be the ones standing, but the flames were the result of the sacrifices of all of them.

Among the hundred were the mother and father of the god-child, and what was amazing was that they were the two with the weakest talents among the hundred, owning only two Natal Treasures, while the least here had three. Their eyes were not on the red sun, but on the back of their child, who stood like an unshakable mountain.

Tears in their eyes, and intense pride in their hearts, they fought on. There was no energy even to scream, their cries only echoing in the flames.

One by one they began to fall, drained of everything, yet passing the flame to those that remained standing, until there were only two pillars of golden flames left, and of the hundred, only five remained.

For the god-child, these past few moments were the longest one he had ever known. Not even killing himself thousands of times to push past the limit of a golden giant could equal what was going on inside his body. Standing on his shoulder was the Lost Flames who was pouring all the runes he had woven into the golden giant's ear.

These runes were to serve as a source of nourishment and restoration to his mental space because the brunt of the load when unleashing the golden flames for the god-child was no longer on his physical body, which had nearly reached a state of perfection, but on his mind.

The runes Lost had been weaving were to aid the kid in control of the flames because ultimately it was this golden giant who had the most likely chance of standing, he would be the one to hold the final flames.

The world shrank to a dot in the gaze of the golden giant, all he could see was the red sun growing ever closer, and all he could feel was the ever-growing burden as the flames held by the rest were passed up to him, and it was too much... dear Creator it was too much.

The sun pushed ever closer, and this time when it felt like it was a hand length away, it was not a spatial distortion, the red sun was merely a few hundred feet away from the golden giant. Of its many eyes, all were focused on the golden giant, and within that hatred, there was a faint sense of mockery.

With a roar that resounded for countless miles, the golden flames merged and a Primordial Ouroboros Serpent was born.

Born from flames, its roar echoed for eternity.

The boy could no longer hold. Handling a golden flame was one thing, but this serpent, dear god... this serpent, how can one mortal man hold an entire ocean, hold back a raging tsunami, how could one man...

The Primordial Ouroboros Serpent broke away from its control, its tail slipped from his hand and the serpent turned around, blazing like the dawn, beautiful and terrible, its pride was such that no one could control it, no one could bound it, and for the effrontery of holding it as a tool, the golden giant would pay the price.

The boy fell to his knees, and the form of the golden giant vanished, replaced by his small form that was now barely four feet tall, he had grown without his knowledge, distracted by the events of the past few days. This was it, he had failed, and he would not be dying under the red flames, but in golden fire.

He wept, not only for his failure, but he felt he did not deserve to be burnt by the golden flame. His failure should have come with a much stiffer penalty, he was only worthy to die in the kaws of hate, everyone here would fall because he could not hold back a primal force of nature.

He was aware that Lost was screaming, but he could not hear him, his gaze was only on the eyes of the Primordial Ouroboros Serpent, whose nature was known to him the moment he set his eyes on the beast.

"I am not worthy he whispered," head bowed, he waited for death, and the serpent did not linger, it struck.

For the next few moments the boy waited for the pains of his final death, but when it did not come, he slowly lifted his head and looked up and what he saw shook him to the core.

Even in their giant form that was a hundred and fifty feet tall, he would recognize them from anywhere, even if he were to go blind. Before him was the back of his mother and father, and these two, who had barely broken through to the fifth point of their star, both held the massive fangs of the Primordial Ouroboros Serpent.

Its fangs had pierced their bodies in multiple places, their golden blood but the two of them, despite being on their knees, held up a mountain, they held back a raging tsunami, they stood before the most primal form of nature, and they did not back down.

In his eyes, they shone like the first light in the morning. He had always disliked their name, Dawn. Both of them having the same name, but now, there were no other words to describe

Them.

He was not sure they were still alive, their eyes were closed, their hearts were not beating, but they stood before him like a bulwark against everything, that was until he heard his father growl at the Primordial force of nature, "Don't you dare, touch my boy!"

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