The Primordial Record - Chapter 1087

Chapter 1087: Reaffirming His Will

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Rowan was no longer alone and his responsibilities were greater than anyone else he knew. He had killed countless innocents in the past in the pursuit of his goals, in the future he might kill countless more, and although he had felt a slight disturbance in his mindset when he did those acts, as a soulless entity, they did not bother him that much, existence could as well be food for him, and when he discovered the truth behind Soul Origin... When he knew that everyone he killed would be reincarnated in the future, he became much more liberal in his handling of death, as he saw life and death as both sides of the same coin.

How could the mortals, even the immortals, ever understand that everything they knew was simply a phase in a long line of reincarnation that stretched from time immemorial. Except for the Primordials and other entities at their level, everything and everyone was purposeless.

Standing at a certain height rendered all the games of existence worthless. Life was meaningless alongside death, everything was simply energy that was transferred from one point to another.

He stood on the shoulders of giants and he looked down and discovered that nothing mattered but attaining his goals.

Rowan had long believed in this, and in his memories were countless scenes about the lives he had taken.

A mother holding her child as she watched the world turn to fire....

A man celebrating his wedding to the love of his life, only for his world to end under the casual swipe of Rowan's palm...

He was a cosmic storm, a cataclysm that had swept through an entire universe, and he was still young with time left to commit more atrocities.

He ended lives on a scale that was unimaginable to mortals, to all of reality, between the Blood Slaves and him, he would be perceived as the worse option. Combined, no matter how long the Blood Slaves would live, they could not near a single percent of the devastation he had caused. Who was he to weigh his atrocities against the likes of others and consider them wanting?

He killed his enemies and in the process of growing powerful he ended the lives of countless trillions, how could he be angry over the likes of the Blood Slaves who did the same, but in a more perverse manner?

Rowan would love to light a fire in the hearts of all, let his example be a beacon to the next generation about what it took to live a life that was worth living outside the pursuit of power, but that was a childish concept, before the endless weight of time and space, what was compassion or pity? Only power would sustain you through the dark.

To win, he must be willing to get his hands dirty, because no one else could become as powerful as him. This was not hubris, this was a fact.

Rowan would accept all the sins he had done, he would lie, he would steal and he would destroy, and when it was all over, when he arose from the ashes of the final battle, then he would recreate reality in his image, and when he saw that all of existence were fit to rule themselves in a fair and just manner, then he would call for judgment. His own.

'No one can bear this burden but me.'

Rowan sighed and opened his eyes.

"You seemed to have made a serious decision," a familiar voice spoke behind him, "Oh, how time flies, and we of the Blood do naught but walk down the path laid out for us. Do you remember the last time we spoke, brother? I told you we shall meet again in places you did

not expect."

Rowan turned around and smiled as he looked at the familiar figure behind him, "How could I not remember you, Labaletai, what took you so long."

"Me? Hahaha... I've been here for ages, I should be the one asking you that question. What took you so long?"

Rowan shrugged, "Died a couple of times, didn't stick, but delayed me long enough for you to brag here."

"Oh..." the Chaos Door said, "In that case, I guess that is a good enough reason. Now it's time for you to take the hot potatoes you have dropped on my lap for so long."