The Primordial Record - Chapter 1424

Chapter 1424 The Flow Of Battle

Rowan observed the shrinking body of Drakul as tens of millions of soul crystals kept pouring into his body; he could tell with ninety-nine percent accuracy the thoughts ongoing inside the head of this Old One. This sensation was odd, it was the first time he was battling against a dangerous foe while still retaining so much control over the flow of battle. He could never have done the same thing with Sheol because his enemy would be already dead before he could read their memories, but with Serathis, he could read them like a book, and as time passed, the knowledge and power he had over them would continuously deepen.

With this power he had already judged that this battle was his to win, there might be some unexpected changes in the future, but Rowan had already determined his victory to be more than ninety percent, so he had the leeway to understand the power of Serathis more deeply as Drakul had changed from the status of an enemy to a lab-rat.

Rowan entered the mind of Drakul, embodying it, as the battle took a weird turn.

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All of these fleshy body parts that imitated the physical form of Drakul were simply a spell intended to shield the soul of this Old One. Originally, this ancient vampire would have been able to endlessly recreate this ghoulish bat form without limits, no matter how many were destroyed. The blood spent in creating them would return back to him, and a new one would be born; after all, blood was his soul, a unique trait that every eighth-dimensional immortal had, which was their soul embodying their elements. Although this power was something Rowan had already gained at the third dimension level when his soul became an aspect of Time.

Drakul would also be able to duplicate these ghoulish bats; in an instant,, he could create trillions of them, enough to ravage countless universes, feed on every living thing, and empower him with their blood, and anyone who battled these creatures would only be wasting their energy while Drakul could maintain this spell forever with little cost whilst still getting stronger. This was a spell that he was very proud of, as it had given him a stable position among the Old Ones who were able to decimate all of existence when they needed to.

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Rowan's senses were filled with the thoughts and emotions of Drakul, and he could almost taste them with his tongue. Odd, Serathis seemed to have associated taste with a lot of her powers, was it because the first thing he did was to feed her? Anyway, those did not matter; he should focus more on what was going to happen next; he was getting used to this process.

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Drakul would have been a great threat given enough time to regain his strength, but his Destiny had been obscured, and his Fate was no longer in his hands, he could feel the tides of destiny shifting away from him, and if he waited for long all would be lost, but such a disaster was not enough to bring him down, how else could he have become an Old One if this was all it took to kill him; he could still fight!

From the butchered and shrinking body of the bat, a large drop of blood that was almost black exploded out of it, riding a few miles upwards before bursting into a bloody haze that would have enshrouded the entire dimension, however, the moment the blood exploded, Rowan opened his mouth and inhaled, sucking the bloody fog into his mouth, thereby exposing the new form of Drakul who looked equally startled, frightened and angry.

This haze was not simple, made from his very soul, it could distort the perception of reality to a lesser extent. So it did not matter how high the perception of his enemies was when the reality around them had changed, and when they were struggling to escape this dilemma, Drakul would have transformed into his favorite battle form, and he had barely begun this transformation before he was interrupted and his haze was lost.

The Old One had taken the shape of a Werebat, humanoid in appearance but his head was of a bat, and his hands had wings attached to it like a wyvern. The joints of his knees were bent backward and there was the beginning of an unknown armor filled with strange scriptings growing out of his body, but they had not yet been completed. This should be the Memory of his lost armor that he was slowly resurrecting.

If he gained access to that armor, his strength would multiply and Rowan would die. It was that simple. This armor was a Source-level weapon called Bloodmort that had been destroyed in the Primordial Era, but such weapons of that level could be recalled when their owner summoned their Memories from the past. Drakul was still too weak to be summoning this armor, but he had become desperate, and Interrupting the process caused a backlash as the back and the left hand of the Old One exploded, and he fell to his knees in anguish.

Rowan's chest visibly lit up as if a giant furnace had been placed within, and screams of pain that sounded like they came from a billion throats resounded from inside his chest, the light from his chest flickered as the screams increased, but it soon brightened before going out, ending the screams with a harsh finality, patting his chest, black smoke poured out from Rowan's nose and mouth as he spoke,

"Even roasted, you still taste foul, and I have eaten a lot of crazy food in my time." Drakul's eyes widened, and he shrieked, his body exploding in size as he healed from the backlash from the failure of summoning Bloodmort.

A black sickle appeared on his hand made from black bones and he charged at Rowan, guided by rage and fear because he was under constant attack; he was dying, and yet he did not know from what, which for an Old One should be impossible. Serathis was still deceiving his senses, and when he thought he had figured out the reason why his strength was fading, another thought would take its place, and he would forget the conclusion that he had previously made.

Rowan could see all of this at a glance, he could read the frustration in every muscle of the Old One as Serathis stole everything from him, making Rowan the beginning and the end of this ancient immortal.

Rowan knew he was going to attack using this black sickle. He knew his patterns, and he decided to dance with this Old One in combat, deliberately lessening his ability to perceive the moves that were coming just so that he could understand the limit of his Weapon Master Title.

Using the chains of his Sin Weapon, he blocked several slashes from the sickle that appeared wild but were extremely cunning maneuvers that would have decapitated him in an instant, he weaved and ducked past several strikes and his chains flicked out constantly like strikes of a serpent, tearing through the body of Drakul as he gouged out the flesh and crush bones, flinging blood and gore for hundreds of miles in a pattern that was almost like Scripting—which it was, Rowan was creating a formation out of the blood and bones of Drakul.

After damaging more than forty percent of his body, Drakul's body blurred backward, and when he reappeared, he was healed, A terrifying red light emerged from his eyes, and he growled a word of power that drained a healthy chunk of his soul that Rowan understood to be similar to Banish.

The power of the word lingered, forcing Drakul to remain frozen in a single position and filling this entire space with a weird power that brought chills to Rowan's spine and he almost laughed in glee. As much as he loved the thrill of battle, the power of his Serathis bloodline was trivializing his battle against an Old One.

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This spell was born from Drakul's understanding of opposing his Will of Endless Assimilation.

When it was unleashed it could banish entire dimensions. In battles that Drakul was about to lose, or he could not escape from, this was the spell he used to disperse the might of his enemies, throwing them into faraway dimensions without them being able to understand or resist long enough before the damage was already done.

Without the knowledge of Drakul's method, Rowan would have been caught unaware, and he would have most likely been banished.

His dimensional soul that was outside this dimension had been reinforcing its walls to resist shattering, and when the understanding of what Drakul was about to do even before he did it, changes were being actively made to combat it.

Inside the Dimension, Rowan braced against the dispersing influence of that word, setting himself firmly in this reality and then he realized that he did not have to. He possessed far too much weight to be easily taken out of the board by a weakened Old One, who was on the verge of dispersal under the light of Serathis.

At this time, Rowan had harvested more than a billion soul crystals, all of whom were equivalent to killing a billion fourth-dimensional immortals.

Drakul was finished.