The Primordial Record
The Primordial Record - Chapter 89: Know Thy Fear (3)

Rowan wondered what she might think, if she also knew his Soul was not from this universe, he had many secrets that he intended to keep safe, else with his weakened state, he was doomed.

"I do not know what you are." Lamia said, "But we can work together, and as a show of good faith, I will tell you how to free yourself from the chains that bind you."

"From where I’m standing, it is clear that it’s only you who is bound by chains, Lamia." Rowan gestured to the field surrounding her, "It is my help you require, for even though I’m inside a cage, I’m not chained."

Lamia smiled, "Oh, you are so very wrong, Rowan Kuranes. The children you killed were mine, and their death hurt me. No one can understand the depth of a mother’s love, but their minds have been stolen from me, and my love for them has been turned into my chains. Same as you."

Rowan frowned, his mind running through the meaning of her words, as a growing fear dawned on him. With his Spirit, it was laughable that he had ignored this problem right in front of his eyes.

"Surely, you should have realized it by now because you are perceptive enough to see it." Lamia gestured to her body where he could perceive dozens of strings intertwined with her hair, those strings were placed inside the spikes that were stabbed at the many closed eyes she had in her hair. He could see that she had managed to destroy about seventy percent of the spikes.

Lamia pointed at him. "I have done what I must to free myself, but tell me, Rowan Kuranes, why have you never tried cutting the strings bounding you?"

A deep chill settled over Rowan Spirit, and his mind raced through many possibilities and the decisions he had been making.

Why had he not really cut the strings when he knew he could have?

At first, he wanted to truly confirm what it was made of, and he did. They were Sigils. He had once thought Sigils were only made for defense, but he was mistaken.

He had managed to become accustomed to the hellish screams emanating from the Sigils in a suspiciously short time, you would think something so irritating would be cut off from his body at the first chance he got.

The second reason he did not cut the strings was that he did not want to alert anyone that he was now capable of cutting through them, but that was now a moot point, for they knew he was trying to break out, and they must have sensed that he could touch the strings, in fact, that was the only reason they assembled an army against him because he had touched the Sigils—His leash.

Logically, he should cut out the one thing that was bounding his greatest weapon in this world—The Primordial Record. Yet, he kept giving excuses and when he had the chances to cut them, he put them behind him to first fight the Abominations.

"So Rowan Kuranes, you are beginning to understand, I am not the only one in chains."

****************

Two men battled on a field of bone and blood. They were absolute specimens of manliness, each of them standing more than eight feet tall, with a thin waist and broad shoulders, and their frames were packed with layers of muscles covered in numerous scar tissues. These men were warriors.

They were bald, and had War Tattoos on their skin that resembled a horned Demon. They clashed with a crazed fury that was absolutely terrifying to witness because of the sheer preciseness of their blows, they kept every unnecessary movement to a minimum.

At their feet were the broken bodies of other massive men, but the corpses were all conspicuously missing any War Tattoo, and they appeared strangely shrivelled as if they had been dead for weeks.

Their weapons clashed and sparks flew, one held a Zweihänder, this massive weapon was wielded with both hands, dealing massive blows to his opponent, who had a round shield and a long spear.

The wielder of the Zweihänder saw an opening and gave a mighty kick, which was blocked by the other with his shield, but he lost his footing and fell.

Knowing his opponent was charging towards him for the kill, the spear wielder hurriedly got to his knees as he twirled his spear and set the shaft against the ground. The Zweihänder wielder momentum was too great, and he impaled himself on the spear.

The impaled warrior showed no sign of pain as he held the shaft of the spear to stop it from being drawn out of his body, and with a yell, beheaded the kneeling warrior with a swing from his Zweihänder.

He slowly pulled the spear from his body, finally gasping in pain. He held the head of the fallen warrior and thrust it at the skies, yelling words in an old tongue that held clear meaning: See me, I stand victorious.

The War Tattoo on the beheaded warrior peeled away from his skin and floated to the exultant warrior, where it merged with his Tattoo. His War Tattoo became richer in depth, and the face of the Demon seemed to come to life.

The warrior’s face was turned to the skies, where a Colossus whose size covered half of the horizon hovered and watched.

Where Absomet watched.

The battle below had been fought in a walled off arena, where a hundred warriors had battled until there was only one left. The trace of a Noble Bloodline in each of their bodies was stimulated during the death battle.

During the fight, the bloodline traces in the fallen warriors were absorbed by their killers, which fed and boosted the potency of their Noble bloodline.

This grim process was repeated until there was only a single warrior left, and by this time, the last warrior would have fully inherited all the bloodline inheritance of this noble’s blood and crossed the threshold of being a Dominator.

Absomet had been perfecting this technique for centuries, it was one of her latest breeding programs that had shown promise. This bloodline was from a Great Demon from the Abyss, she had been cultivating his bloodline for centuries.

From her viewpoint far above in the sky, there was not only a single arena, but three thousand, within were intense death battles.

"This batch of seedlings is passable. Ooohhh, and they all look so yummy too" Absomet gaze swept through all three thousand arenas at a glance, she began readying the next batch of mortal warriors for the process.

She felt a twinge inside the Hall of Souls in her core, every child of Tiberius in the second Great Circle had their Soul fluxes kept here, in the shape of a burning silver flame.

This was the latest practice initiated by the current Tiberius, personally Absomet thought he was too soft. She could not wait for his five thousand year tenure to run out, then she would tear off the ears of the God of War about whom he allows using his name for the next five millennia.

Turning her gaze inside, she saw the Soul Flame of Augustus. It was shuddering and slowly getting dim.

"A little fool that fears death, just as much as he fears living, he finally had his choice picked for him. If I am right and Absomet is always right. He dies in the next blink of my eyes. Like a whiny little bit*h"

The Soul Flame went out, and Absomet smirked. There would be searches and queries. Augustus was not just a Dominator at the peak of the second circle, he was also one of the candidates for the position of head of the family.

The Tiberius family would tear the world apart looking for the killer of their heir, even one not in favor.

Although she had dismissed the kid as unworthy of the big seat, killing a Tiberius Dominator that was half a step into Ascendant was… difficult. But not necessarily impossible, and over the millennia she had seen her fair share.

The shifty little prick was an eyesore, and although she would not kill him, she would certainly not go out of her way to save him.

"Little bugger got what he deserves, wasted centuries of work and beauty for some silly contrivance. I shall laugh at his…"

Absomet suddenly paused as the Soul Flame of Augustus reignited, though it was feeble and seemed about to go out.