The Primordial Record - Chapter 1259

Chapter 1259: Battle Is A Dance



The winds of the decaying dimension blew past Rowan, it carried his resolve and his unshakable aura toward the Primordial Keepers, and as their robes that were blacker than night flapped in the breeze, their sunken eyes lit up with a strange glow.

Wormtongue had cut them off from any communication with the Great Desert, and this was not an easy thing that could be achieved without great preparation, and the Primordial Keepers understood that a real threat had shown itself today.

Each of the Primordial Keepers was thousands of feet tall, and their flesh was dry and pressed flat against their bones, making them resemble corpses that had been left to dry out in the desert sun for years, which in essence was not far from the truth. No life flowed underneath their withered frame, except death.

Rowan had also shrunken, although weakened, he would not be making this fight any easier for the Primordial Keepers by giving them a massive target, and standing at 20,000 feet tall, he was five times taller than the Primordial Keepers. There was a wild card in the battle in the form of the rogue tribulation that should have ended, but this dying realm knew how to hold a grudge, and even as the Primordial Keepers were fighting in enemy territory, so also was Rowan.

Rowan took the stance of a duelist, his blade brought closer to his chest, and his legs spread apart so that he was balanced like a cat about to pounce, then he moved, his body crossing space so quickly, it was as if he teleported, his speed at eleven million points meant any distance under eighty thousand miles could be instantly crossed, and with Wormtongue slicing a space of hundred thousand miles where all the Memories of the Primordial Keepers were being held, in the aspect of mobility, he would be having no problems reaching any section of this place in mere moments.

His body appeared at the edge of the gathered Keepers, his blade raised, ready to strike down, but he was already being expected as the Keepers had already raised a wall of yellow flames that could scour the soul, acting as both a defensive and offensive move. Rowan had moved very fast, but his trail could be followed by the gaze of the Keepers, who were higher dimensional immortals, where time and space were under their control.

Their lone enemy was fast, but they could react and counter his actions.Nôv(el)B\jnn

Battle for Rowan was like dancing.

A dance where in order to win you had to lead the flow, and failure to do so would mean your loss. In this dance there were two unwilling partners whose aim was to dominate the other, and in such a deadly dance, there were no do-overs, no one would cheer for the losers but the sound of their blood dripping onto the earth.

Rowan's back was arched like a bow, both of his hands gripping the hilt of his weapon, and all his power and speed were perfectly merged and focused on slamming against the wall of fire so he could slice it apart with a single swing.

The tip of his blade was a micron away from touching the wall of fire, when a large black blade, seemingly appearing from out of thin air punched through a hundred Primordial Keepers who had been closest to Rowan and whose attention had been focused on his descending blade which had eerily stopped in the instant it was about to clash against the shield.

With their minds that were seemingly synchronized, they had all seen Rowan charging with a single blade, both of his hands on the hilt, and as expected, they had focused their power on resisting the blow that was coming head-on, but Rowan's flesh was not constrained to having two arms alone, and he did not have just one weapon.

Battle was a dance.

A third arm had appeared underneath his left arm, and it was holding another Cherubim, and in the instant that he paused the descending blow which had drawn the attention of all the Keepers, the third hand had inherited all that power, and the point in the wall of fire that the Cherubim he wielded pierced through was the thinnest, and the result was that more than a hundred Primordial Keepers were impaled on his blade.

For a moment the impaled Primordial keepers were silent, as if they were stunned, and then they collapsed into dust, and in that moment, more clearly than ever before, the Primordial Keeper felt with mounting horror, the souls of their fallen being dragged into Rowan's body.