The Primordial Record

Chapter 1646: The Gate Of Existence

Rowan had been the one who pierced through the skin of Eosah, and with the strength of his dimensional flesh, he had kept the wound open, and so he continued bleeding all over Reality.

Previously, Rowan had believed that this essence was coming from Limbo. However, after learning that this power belonged to Reality, he knew the time for him to exploit it had drastically reduced.

Reality was no longer alive, and so her Importance could not be plundered forever; whatever was lost could no longer be regained. If Rowan used his Essence storehouse as a baseline, compensating for his lower dimensional level and size, while allocating for the essence lost by the plundering of the Primordials, then it would not take a long time before Reality bled out.

With the amount of Essence he was pumping out with increasing intensity, he calculated that if the release of Eosah’a Essence reached a hundred percent—at this point, the release of the Essence was around forty percent—then in two hundred thousand years, there would no longer be any drop of Essence left.

Two hundred thousand years might seem like a long time, but the Essence of Eosah was meant to last for eternity, enduring and endless; two hundred thousand years was nothing compared to what it could have been.

This showed how much Essence the Primordials had robbed from Reality, and what Rowan was releasing now was the dregs at the bottom of the barrel—the polluted Essence of Eosah that had been tainted by her death, her last act of defiance.

Two hundred thousand years was a noose on Rowan’s neck. It showed him how long Reality would be able to support him and his plans before they could no longer go on. Rowan also realized why the Primordials had not done much to stop the vortex he had created all over Reality.

At first, Rowan knew that with the increase of this Essence flooding Reality, the Primordials, who had been locked into slumber due to how weak Reality had become, could finally exert more of their powers outside their Thrones. Finally, they would walk upon Reality again.

While that was the truth, Rowan was not surprised to discover that there was still another hidden reason the Primordials were not stopping the influx of essence into Reality. It was because they knew this essence was not Primordial Essence; it did not belong to them, and so if it was exhausted, it was simply a signal that Reality was one step closer to ending.

“Two hundred thousand years will be the span for the entire battle.”

Coincidentally, with the degradation of his body to find the Origin of Space, he was finding himself getting closer to the core of Reality, and that meant he was getting closer to knowing the truth behind Reality.

Rowan had never sunk so deeply into space before, and that was the reason he was surprised by the unexpected arrival of the Titan and the Celestial Creator.

In the beginning, there had been a billion dimensional pocket where his flesh was degraded. Still, as time went on and he sank deeper into Reality, the number of dimensional pockets began to reduce. By the time those two unwelcome visitors had barged into his domain, there were barely a hundred dimensional pockets left.

To pierce deeper into space, Rowan was strictly depending on his third-dimensional will of space, and he did not call upon the power of any of his other dimensions. This made the task an order of magnitude harder, but it kept his progress pure and untainted.

His sense of self as a dimension was being strained to the limits, and it would be easy for him to let go. This would not hurt him but might even benefit his dimension, but that was not what Rowan was seeking. Doing that would just be pursuing short-term gains when he was going for the origins of space itself.

Rowan marshalled his thoughts and pushed through the barriers blocking his progress with an impossible Will. He could dimly hear a rapid series of dull cracking sounds, as if he were a miner digging through the earth, which was not a far-off analogy from what he was doing now.

With a loud roar that only he could hear, the hundred-dimensional pockets reduced to fifty, and Rowan’s dimension was pushed deeper into space. He felt himself reach a barrier, and he stopped.

Rowan shuddered. In the fifty dimensional pockets that made up his body, there were fifty of him sitting on an ocean of death essence. This essence was the fuel used to degrade his body, and his command over space was the tool he used to reshape his dimension after it was degraded.

After heading deeper into space than any immortal in existence could ever claim, his Will of Space finally began to react. It was as if all of his senses were thrumming like a guitar string that had been stretched to the limit.

Rowan reached forward and touched the barrier, but incredible pain flooded his entire existence. He kept his consciousness in touch with the barrier for a while before he pulled back.

What he had sensed was not truly pain; instead, it was a rapid influx of data of such great complexity and size that his dimensional flesh, which had been severely restricted to the third-dimensional level, had a hard time comprehending all of it, so it appeared like pain.

Rowan paused in contemplation as he decided the way forward. From what he could tell from touching this barrier, his dimensional flesh was not powerful enough to comprehend it, not while he remained shattered into fifty pieces.

Coming to that conclusion, Rowan knew that his experiment of degrading his body had reached the limit, and he began calling upon all the scattered dimensional pockets to merge them into a singular body.

He did not consider this experiment a failure because it had brought him to the gate of space origin. Although pain had bombarded his consciousness, Rowan had still been able to glean certain truths from that contact, and he knew he was on the threshold of something amazing.

Rowan may have gained Fate’s Origin, but he could hardly comprehend all its complexities and was only using its power instinctively. For Space Origin, Rowan was determined to understand it by himself.

If it was going to be the foundation for his dimensional flesh, then Rowan had no choice but to delve into it from the beginning, take it apart, and make it his own.

Shattering himself took decades, but bringing himself together hardly took three years. It helped that he had less than fifty dimensional pockets to work with.

Finally, Rowan’s dimensional flesh had become whole. His appearance had changed; he resembled a child of ten with hair that was as black as the void that surrounded him, his eyes were twin holes of void-darkness, and there was nothing about him that suggested he was a seventh dimensional immortal, instead he looked like a mortal child but one whose breathe was like that of Reality itself.

He stood upon the gate of existence, the true beginning of space, and his eyes widened in wonder and a bit of melancholy.

Before him were the bones of Eosah.

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