The Primordial Record

Chapter 1912: A Dance of Death And Madness

REALM OF DEATH – BATTLEFIELD OF ANNIHILATION.

The Primordials had been locked inside a state of delirium and madness for too long, and so when they went to war against Death, of all the tools they could have used in order to fight what would most likely be an extended battle, they chose to charge forward with their own bodies.

This strategy was madness. The Beast of Final Rest had gathered a lot of power over the years he had spent gathering the dead from the broken Realities left behind in the wake of the Primordial’s path, and it should be an extremely powerful foe that they needed to fight with care.

The best method they should have been using was similar to what Death was presently doing; they should have been releasing armies of their own to combat against the endless armies of the dead. The beast was not fighting the Primordials directly; instead, its strength was being expressed through its armies, and so it could stand back and watch the war happen, while documenting the strengths and weaknesses of the Primordials.

Among all the entities inside of Limbo, Death was the only one who could claim that it had seen the Primordials at their peak before madness took over their minds. It knew how they fought, but that intelligence was no longer correct; the Primordials were different from their previous selves, stronger and more vicious, and from their present actions, their confidence was unmatched.

In this Field of Annihilation created by Death, which covered its entire realm, giving its armies the chance to recover and fight at their peak, the seven Primordials with wings wide open, tore through the forcefield that covered the entirety of the realm of death as if it were a soap bubble. An average Primordial passing through this field would rapidly age until they were dust, but the Primordials shrugged off the effect of this forcefield by the sheer strength of their bodies alone, and the endless waves of vitality draining power that filled the battlefield was like pouring a cup of water into a volcano to douse it… It did nothing.

Entering the battlefield, the armored feet of the seven Primordials touched the deathly ground, and Nyxara glanced at it before she smiled, “How many of the dead can we lay to rest in a single era? I am curious to find out. That beast insults us by fighting with his proxy soldiers; let us show him what true power means.”

The seven Primordials did not attack as separate beings, after all, they came from one root; alone, they were strong, but together, they were matchless. They struck as one weapon.

Nyxara folded space around them until the seven bodies occupied the same point, wings interlaced like a single black flower opening its petals of annihilation. Their higher-dimensional flesh was simultaneously merged together yet separated, and their wings, now shining black, rose up over the vision of horror they had transformed into, causing trillions of the dead who lay eyes upon them to go mad before their bodies and souls collapsed into nothing.

In this form, the Primordials were the Spear of Original Sin, the living refutation of everything Death had ever hoarded, and a direct window into the heart of their maker, Enoch, who hated and feared the concept of death above all.

Seven faces that seemed to merge with each other, then separate before rotating into unknown vectors, looked upon the charging armies, and one of the faces smiled and pushed to the fore; it was Asteroath, Primordial Light.

His body struggled to emerge from the collective grasp of the others, as multiple arms seemed to be fighting to hold him back, and he cried and laughed at the same time, his body tearing apart, causing black blood to pour from the collective bodies of the Primordials, and allowing Asteroath to partly emerge from the pile of bodies, he looked towards the armies and screamed, from the back of his throat, a spark ignited into a ray that was not light but the concept of revelation made lethal.

This concept expressed itself in the physical dimension like a column of light burning brighter than a million supernovae exploding at the same time, and it pierced through the armies in front of the Primordials without any of the forces arrayed against them being able to stop it.

Everything in its path was erased so completely that their existence became invalidated, but it did not end there. With nothing having the power to stop this move from Asteroath, it continued traveling through the Realms of Death, and in the blink of an eye, thirteen million Regions simply forgot they had ever existed.

Their dead, their generals, their harvested Origin Force, all retroactively unborn. A soundless erasure rippled outward, as a circle of pure nothing, thirteen million Regions wide, was etched into Limbo, and yet this ray of light could not be stopped by anything rising before it, and if this trend continued, then it was possible for the entirety of the realm of Death to be sliced in two.

Before this battle began, the Realm of Death, with its infinite regions, appeared to be a mountain that could not be crossed by anything, but in a single salvo, the omnipotence of Death was challenged.

The Beast of Final Rest understood in this instant that this was not a battle that could be fought with ease, and however high it had rated the Primordials, it did not do it enough. There was no way it could stand back and watch this battle proceed as it had previously envisioned, and so Death answered in the same heartbeat.

From the depths of every remaining Region, a single black tendon whipped out: each tendon the compressed final breath of an entire murdered multiverse. Each tendon could be stretched almost infinitely, and they let out haunting cries that brought sound to this unearthly battlefield where an uncountable number of the dead had just been wiped out in complete silence.

Billions upon billions of black tendons lashed toward the ray of light as they seemed to fight among themselves to reach the ray of light first.

They struck Asteroath’s ray with a sound that was beyond madness, and the collision birthed a wound in Limbo itself: a screaming chorus of anti-time where past and future devoured each other. This attack shattered the light of revelation from the Primordial, but an unknown number of tendons were lost in the process.

However, the Realms of Death that had been shattered by the light of revelation were beginning to recover, but a closer look would reveal that these realms were new and had never been seen before. As it turned out, not only could the Primordials keep a secret. Death had amassed more realms than it showed on the surface. To avoid expanding more than it should, he had kept a lot of his realms inside unknown dimensional pockets, and in the blink of an eye, all the spaces shattered by the blast from Asteroath were replaced. A new crop of the endless armies of the dead arose and poured down upon the Primordials.

Xylos unfolded next from the merger of bodies, pushing down the angered Asteroath and pushing out his black wings that first exploded out of their bodies in a spray of gore, before the wings exploded one more time into a storm of abyssal feathers.

Each feather was a memory of the first betrayal ever committed, and they punched through the frontal ranks of skeletal colossi like railguns fired through paper.

Where a feather lodged, the colossus inverted: bones became hungry voids, necrotic runes became mouths. In moments, an entire phalanx of empire-forged giants turned on their own lines, devouring legion after legion in a chain reaction of self-cannibalism that swallowed a hundred million Regions before the Beast of Final Rest severed the corrupted dead from its Will.

From the seven mouths of the Primordials in one body were moans and giggles as they groaned, “More… more…” It was impossible to know if they were experiencing pleasure or pain from the sound of their warped voices.