The Primordial Record

There were a billion techniques in the mind of the Reflection, a billion ways of wielding his strength effectively, a billion ways of unleashing devastation on his enemies, but as Rowan has come to realize after so long, in a battle where you fought as one against many, having a fixed form was simply a hindrance to the flow of battle.

The Reflection stayed in place as the trillion rushed towards him, their momentum so great that space and time shattered, as an eighth-dimensional being his enemies were only to be found among his equals, as for the rest… they were all ants.

Using his Essence alone, he reached across time and space, and he gathered the destinies of every immortal that was lower than the eighth-dimensional level, their fate, and their time streamed towards him, and although the rest of the eighth-dimensional immortals fought against him, they were a bit too slow, and he has already snatched at least forty percent of his target, and then he burned them.

The flames emerged from his Undying Will that had reached the eighth-dimensional level, and it did not matter the defenses that they had, not everyone could be like Rowan who was able to fight far beyond his dimensional level. They burned…. They died, and the realm of Doom Star from afar resembled a star made from green flames.

His real battle was against the other eighth-dimensional immortals here, and he could not handle them as easily as he did the rest, this was not to mention that as an immortal that was new to this level, there were various aspects about wielding the powers of space, time, memory, fate and destiny that he did not fully understand. He would just have to survive long enough to learn from his enemies, as battle was a great teacher for those who were astute to learn from it.

The clash against the eighth-dimensional immortals broke him, his body was crushed to pieces and his essence scattered to the wind, but his Will was eternal. Dragging himself from death, and wielding a spear that tore his mind to pieces with every move that he made with it, the Undying fought, and he died, again and again, and again and again and again and again..... and again...…. and again…..

Until he was the last immortal standing. He pulled out the spear from the chest of a Celestial that had a million wings and a million eyes, he staggered to his knees, breathing harshly, every drop of power in his body had been wrung out, to the extent that the massive injuries that filled his body was not healing quickly, however, his eyes they glowed with the power of a Will that defied all meaning.

Using the spear as a crutch to rise to his feet, he squeezed it, his blood running down its shafts and falling from the blade, when they touched the ground they detonated like an erupting volcano, the falling blood was a result of him purging his body of the corrupting influence of those that he had battled,

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Bleeding Edge obliged his request, a hum growing that exploded forth, and everything that he had killed returned.

The Reflection roared, "Come at me!"

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A thousand waves passed and the Reflection pulled out the spear from the body of a Demon Lord, this particular Demon Lord was extremely annoying to battle because of the weapons he wielded, a pair of Sin Weapons that could stand against the might of his spear.

At this time Bleeding Edge had no abilities except for the fact that it was heavy and sharp, before he completed the burden of cleansing the shame of the Primordial Demon, he could not have any access to the power of this weapon, and the Reflection, despite knowing that this spear was a burden to him in battle, did not stop using it to fight.

He had died countless times, and his Will drew him back from death countless times, and at first wielding this spear was hard, as it tore through his consciousness, making it impossible for him to form thoughts quickly enough to respond to the challenges of battle, but he did not stop him from continuing his mindless pursuit of using this weapon

Any other immortal would place the spear aside and battle with the weapons that would take more advantage of their powers, but the Reflection believed that if he did such a thing, although he would possess the spear in the end, he would not become its master.

Bleeding Edge took more from him to wield than it took to fight against the enemies coming for him, and the true battle was between him and this weapon.

This wave was over, and the Reflection growled, "Summon the next."

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Ten thousand waves passed and he no longer needed to ask the spear to resurrect his challengers, the Primordial Weapon understanding that he would not stop until it was done.

There was a constant inside the mind of the Reflection, the words from his creator that were slowly merging into his Will, making it the center of his undying nature,

"It is not the power at the end that I Crave, it’s the pursuit of it."

These words melded into the core of his being, it was not the prize at the end of this challenge that he craved, it was the battle. The spear was heavier than a universe but he twirled it around in a single hand, and it was almost as if it was dancing, his eyes glowed, the light coloring the armies that had risen up against him,

"Come at me!"

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A hundred thousand waves passed and now he was silent, he did not know how long he had been fighting, but he knew that it seemed like it had been for an eternity, billions, perhaps even trillions of years had gone by, but the battle was everything that he knew…

"It is not the reward… it is the battle that I crave!"

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Three hundred thousand waves later, his mind had been rubbed raw, there was nothing… no light at the end of the tunnel, no end to his anguish, there was only battle… only battle… only battle… only battle… ṟάΝОꞖЕＳ

His spear burned red as it howled across the battlefield, and Doom Star glowed green with the flames of his Undying Will.

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Seven hundred thousand waves later.

Perhaps the Reflection did not know that its motion with the spear and the way he battled had transformed into something that would leave even Rowan in awe. The move he made was simple yet apocalyptic in power, every gesture from him ended lives on a scale that was measured starting from billions, and his eyes should be dull after fighting for what should be many Minor Eras, enough time when the stars would have burned to dust many times over, still burned bright…

"There is only the battle."

He had died so many times, but slowly as the waves passed, the number of times he was dying had begun to fall, his spear knew his enemies, and he danced in an endless field of death, as mesmerizing as a specter, as deadly as a blade.

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Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand waves later.

The Reflection stared at the last of his best friends. He no longer called them enemies or combatants, he called them friends, how could he not, after he had known them better than anyone else would ever know them in existence?

At first, the cool detachment in the eyes of his friends had transformed into frustration, then envy, and then deep hatred, their weapons poured down on him in an endless tide that should have drowned him a billion times over, but he always found a way to come out on top, using his spear alone.

He did not know when it first happened, but he began to see the light of recognition in the eyes of the eighth-dimensional entities begin to shift, although they had been brought back to life again and again with their memories wiped clean, these were eighth-dimensional immortals, and their memories could not simply be wiped clean, they all remembered him, and they honored him after they had died in his hands again and again.

There was no hatred in the eyes of his friends for a long time, only excitement, deep respect, and veneration.

For the first time in countless years, he spoke to the last of his friends,

"Come at me."

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