The Primordial Record

It was a short walk to his room, where Rowan retrieved his diary and, glancing around, located a sketchbook inside the drawers of his workstation, he also took out a wooden square box, that was beside it. The box was polished to a dull green finish, and embossed in the bottom left corner of it were the words: Rema Trading House.

Keeping all these close to him, he walked to the laboratory, denying Maeve questing hands to carry the items for him.

Realizing that he did not require her assistance, she hurried ahead and had the doors to the laboratory opened before Rowan reached them, she used the opportunity to run a quick scan through it, frowning at the broken windows. Those would have to be fixed soon enough, but at least the metal barriers were still in place, so that makes this place the safest for now.

She saw Rowan placing the Axe by his side, plus the books and the box he carried, and she decided to place a spatial anchor on the weapon, but she retreated with a flinch. The weapon had sliced through her links without any effort.

Shaking her head at another point of interest she would have to keep an eye on, she rapidly went through the wardrobe for a fitting wear for her Master, which she began to assemble by the door.

Rowan found a section of the floor that was free of any clutter and sat down cross-legged. He closed his eyes and made an effort to calm his spirit, his mind had been overworked, and he needed to be calm for his next upgrades to his bloodline. He heard the sounds of the door to the laboratory closing, and for a short while, silence prevailed.

Rowan called up the Primordial Record.

PᖇᎥᗰᗝᖇᗪᎥᗩᒪ ᖇᗴᑕᗝᖇᗪ

Name: Rowan Kuranes

Age: 11/11

Strength : 116.7

Agility : 115.9

Constitution : 200.4

Spirit : 58.5

Class: None

Title: Plane walker

Aspect : Spatial Sight (Tier 1)

Berserker (Tier 1)

Skills:

Enrage (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Vortex (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Bash (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Dash (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Smash (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Combo Attack (Level 10— Mortal State Completed)

Passive : Decipher language (complete), Icy soul (level 4)

Records:

𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗗 𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗢𝗦 [ATAVISM]- level 0 [1000/4000]

𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟 𝗦𝗘𝗜𝗭𝗘𝗥 – level 0 [0/1000]

Soul Point :542.1134

Remark: Divine Squire.

Rowan peered at the Remark and scoffed. Apparently, the Primordial Record had a weird sense of humor...good to know.

He was a Divine Squire by its estimation, which was amusing. Was it acknowledging the fact that Rowan had defended this land, and therefore he was the acceptable landowner?

He looked at the amount of Soul points he gathered and the increasing amount that was needed to upgrade the now Three headed Ouroboros, and he sighed.

He swept his sight through his shell one more time, to verify if there were any emerging tattoos, satisfied there was nothing, he prepared to push everything into this bloodline, and thereafter he would enter that world with the Red Moon.

It was dangerous, but it would be the best way to upgrade his bloodline, he did not plan to leave that place unless he was at the brink of death, or he became a Legend.

If he followed the previous pattern of his evolved bloodline, he expected many more attributes than he got when he uses the Soul point.

His Attributes at this point were beyond abnormal, and he could not wait to see the result of this new push.

Rowan shoved all the distracting thought aside for the moment and mentally thumbed the button to push Soul points into the Ouroboros Record.

He had Five hundred and forty point to spend, and leaving two points behind, he opened the floodgates and his bloodline roared in excitement, the tattoos on his chest began to move all over his body.

The three golden serpentine creatures crawled from his chest, down to his feet and then his head, more elaborate details were emerging from their bodies as they became more lifelike as faint hisses came from them.

Like water draining down a sinkhole, the point poured into the bloodline. There was a slight pause and the shell began producing Empyrean Essence, with the reaction from his bloodline he inferred that without the shell, his Soul point could not necessarily produce Empyrean Essence by itself.

Even though he had access to the Stuff of Creation, he could not create what he did not understand, it was the reason he was unable to use his soul points to produce whatever he desired.

Maybe in the future he would be able to use his Soul points in a more versatile manner, but not for now.

As his body eagerly drained the Essence, Rowan realized that he may have overlooked something important, and then he screamed in pain as his shell collapsed like an inflatable doll.

Rowan thought he knew pain.

His bones broke into pieces, then into smaller pieces until they were like grains of sand. His blood bubbled as they congealed and got denser. His muscles, including his heart, collapsed, and new fibers grew like steel wires. His broken bones were liquefied, and new bones began to emerge. The only thing holding him together was his shell.

His screams had cut off a while back when he became like putty.

All this change brought pain. His bones previously were now harder than steel, crushing it brought him an immense amount of pain, his healing factor had been placed on hold, and with his enhanced Spirit, he could feel every single shred of pain that would result from your body being crushed to pieces.

Rowan once created a list in his head, to rate the degree of pain he had felt throughout his life, it was his way of quantifying his torments, it did not make his pains easier to withstand, but it gave him a sense of control.

He had never felt he was unlucky, he had never believed in such ephemeral forces, what he believed in was that if you played with fire long enough, you will get burned.

He had lived a hard life and the nature of his job, made it an inevitable accident waiting to happen.

He had once had his ribs crushed by a collapsing mine shaft in an unregulated sector because he needed the cash. He had been pinned under debris. Where he stayed under the rock and in the dark for two days. And every breath came in a short gasps and every second he cried for death.

He would wake up after he fainted from the pain. Delirious, hungry and thirsty… He was in darkness and there was no sound except his labored breathing and his frequent dry sobs, and the pain would resume and submerge every other concerns.

He had prayed to God. Not only that, but he prayed to the devil. He prayed to the heavens and the earth. None answered. None helped.

In the darkness he forged himself anew, no one was there to help him, no one cared and if he did not save himself, he would die here, lost and forgotten.

Rowan dragged himself out of that tomb of rock and rusted metal. Bit by bit he crawled, gritting his teeth until his gums bled, as every broken bone in his body fought for attention over his senses… His blood stained the rocks, and he left pieces of his flesh behind.

After he survived that harrowing incident, his recovery also brought him a new phase of pain and humiliation, for he had mixed with the wrong crowd, and like jackals converging on a helpless prey, they had sensed the weakness of his flesh, and they sought to take advantage of it.

He had shown them that his body was broken, but his spirit was stronger.