The Primordial Record

Chapter 1844: The End (4)

The odds against him were ridiculous. Telmus was a mortal who stood before beings with power as close to Primordials as there ever was.

The only reason he had lasted for so long was because, even as a mortal, he had the knowledge of a Primordial, able to recognize that, although the concepts that pounded against his fragile mind, they were not the truth of who he was.

He was under tremendous amounts of pressure, but Telmus had faced such challenges before. From the moment he met Rowan, he no longer knew the meaning of normal or finding a limit; he was always pushing further, and for someone like him who longed to believe he was the best in all creation, this was a humbling experience.

Against the challenges of the judges, Telmus had a way to counter them. He should be on his knees, but he was not; his mind, in an instant, tore itself into seven parts, and he faced all the judges at once.

For the Inquisitor of Destiny, he could perform acts of pure illogical choices that could break his perfect hold over Destiny.

The blades of inevitability that were shredding his flesh would be taken to become his bones, and it did not matter that Telmus was still a mortal; he could understand the concept of inevitability, and he would mold it to his desires.

To the Warden of Mortality, Telmus disregarded his efforts; he had long learned to see mortality as a weapon and not a weakness. With his fragile body, he could hold an infinite Will, and this alone negated the power of this judge.

The mighty golem, the Architect of Hierarchy, Telmus’s presence was an abomination to its order, and no matter what the golem proclaimed to the stable order of things, Telmus disdained such labels.

He considered the Architects of Reality fools, not caring that it was based upon his power. Who was the one who proclaimed that gods should stand above mortals? Were they better than him, greater than him? Let them come before him and say that to his face.

If Telmus had not met a being as profound as Rowan, who broke all the rules, then this judge might have been his downfall, but after everything he had seen, orders of this nature were chains that were as fragile as cobwebs.

To the Tyrant of Prayer, the disgusting mass of flesh who whispered madness into his heart, Telmus had long believed in the strength of his arms over those of the gods since he was a child, and he wondered why this judge would ever think he would fall for such deceptive tactics.

More than half the judges had been perfectly countered, and Telmus showed no indication that he was going to be slowing down.

His mind pushed toward the fifth judge, the Jailer of Potential. This faceless warden with a thousand locked doors made Telmus’s mind itch; he wanted to punch him in the face in order to rearrange it into a dimension that would suit his taste.

The Oracle of End was met with silence. Of all the judges, this one affected him the least, because he knew for a fact that his wife would never cry. His fiery queen would laugh in the face of death and keep a blade hidden underneath her skirt to slice its throat.

This judge had a lot to learn if it took the shape of his wife and made her cry.

However, no matter how much he detested these tests before him, the last judge took the full weight of Telmus’s hatred.

The God King Golgoth was an undying fragment of Telmus’s past. He had tasted defeat for the first time at the hand of that being, and even though Telmus knew it should not affect him, he had to admit that a part of him could still feel the pain of the God King’s blade, tearing through his soul.

It was a hatred that transcended death, and the cold, mocking words of this judge touched Telmus in a manner that nothing ever could.

Still, he knew the response he should give to this being, and it was one that was not hard to make. His ability to hold back all the judges was the method he would use to silence the Silent King.

Telmus was prepared to launch his counterattack, and then he paused. Something was wrong… he had an eighty percent chance of losing and instantly dying in this test. Why was it so easy?

An outside observer would claim there was nothing easy about this test. Telmus had been placed inside the body of a mortal, and he was made to stand against judges who controlled primordial powers.

Who in all of existence would call what he was about to do easy?

Telmus fell to his knees; his hesitation cost him his chance. Holding so much power inside a mortal body was commendable enough, but when he should have released the power, he held it back, and so he had to suffer the backlash of holding so much potential inside of him, while enduring the pressure from seven primordial presences.

From his knees, he fell flat to his face, and his body began to flatten under the pressure. Telmus was being choked in his own blood and crushed bones, but his eyes were bright.

Under the shadow of death, Telmus saw the trap which he had nearly fallen into, and he could not help but laugh; however, in his present state, it resembled the last gurgle from a dying man.

In his consciousness were seven voices of the judges, all of them pulling him in different directions, whispering promises and salvation to him.

“SILENCE!”

It should have been impossible, but the roar that emerged from Telmus’s chest silenced the Arena.

He had nearly fallen for the deceptive nature of this Arena, all of these tests, all their voices, it was all to distract him from one thing… The core of who he was, Defiant Ascension, did not plead or negotiate with the enemy.

All of this… the judges, the Arena, this layer of his Origin, all belonged to him, and he was seizing it!

With a broken body that had no reason to be alive, Telmus stood up on his feet.