Inside Rowan’s dinsional flesh, the final monts proceeded without any interruption. All of his defenses had been broken down, and his fortresses had collapsed.
Everywhere the golden spikes pierced, they beca crystallized. Transforming into jagged, amber prisons. Light bent unnaturally, curving towards the spikes as if in worship.
There was intense divinity here that had been hidden behind the corruption of the Abyss, and they revealed themselves, and Rowan gritted his teeth and removed his perception from his body.
His dinsional flesh was lost.
Rowan’s only eye found the figure of Primordial mory watching him die. There was a strange look in his eyes, as if he were admiring the last light of a dying star.
In the distance, Rowan could hear deep rumbles as if the heavens were breaking, and he knew it was coming from his Origin Ouroboros. Sothing was blocking them from getting to him, and he knew they would not save him in ti.
Grunting with pain, Rowan stood up, spat out red blood, and took a step forward. Primordial mory took a step back. Rowan grinned,
"Even now, you fear ."
Glancing at his arm that had been cut off, Primordial mory replied,
"I will be a fool not to. You have proven yourself beyond all reasonable doubt to be the most dangerous entity I have seen. There is no way I would allow you the chance to kill ."
Rowan gasped as he gathered the last of his strength, slowly testing the range of motion he had with his body that was rapidly fading into mortality, with the stars of death overhead consuming his vitality in impossible amounts.
He was in bad shape, but when has that ever stopped him?
Rowan took a step forward, and Primordial mory began to hurriedly retreat. He gestured towards the Archon in the distance, and the mighty war machine created to annihilate dinsions in a single blow ca to life.
A hatch rippled open in its chest, and another Legion of Angels erged from it. The lowest among them was Powers.
Three hundred thousand Powers, four hundred Cherubims, and twelve Seraphims.
This number of angels might be nothing but a drop in the ocean compared to the previous Legion that Rowan had slaughtered, but the power they held was a hundred tis greater than the last legion, and that was not all.
Leading them were seven new Celestial Creators, and among them was Nariel, the Fla of Purity.
Primordial mory gestured violently, "kill him."
No words were exchanged, like jackals surrounding a dying prey, they circled Rowan before they descended on him, but this mortal had the sharpest teeth in existence.
His strength was failing, and so Rowan leaned towards skill. His defense was gone, and so it ant he could not be touched; if he did, he would fall. He could no longer kill with a single blow, and so it ant he had to deliver a hundred blows in the ti he had previously used to produce a single slash.
Rowan fought with skills that had never been seen from the creation of Reality, and would never be seen again, because no one could match him.
Angels began to fall, at first in dozens, then in hundreds, as Rowan’s familiarity with his mortal body and fading life began to increase.
Freed from the constraint of planning for the future, Rowan fell into the dance of slaughter, and he began to laugh as his heart opened up, and from his laughter, a song blood as Celestial Blood poured like rain around him, and he danced through their number—the end of all things.
"To stand against my might, the pillars of heaven have revealed themselves to be cowards.
The heavens have torn open, and Celestials descend on with wrathful might.
With golden spears and crowns so tall,
Yet here I stand, unbowed."
Rowan fought and killed but his body was broken and despite his skill, a Celestial Creator’s Axe fell on his shoulder, carving it to the bone, but Rowan did not allow him the satisfaction of knowing he could touch him as the Destroyer plunged into the Celestial Creator’s skull before coming down and cutting him in two.
This was the first injury he had taken, but he had already killed two Celestial Creators and tens of thousands of Angels.
Withstanding the explosion erging from their death, Rowan weaves through the Legion like a dancer, dealing death with every passing mont. Still, his second injury ca not long after as a Celestial Creator’s lash lashed around his ankle, snapping tendons.
Rowan settled his weight on a single leg and continued his dance of death, as the third Celestial Creator fell, the fourth, and the fifth.
"See as the heavens cry before my blade.
I am but dust— but dust can rise!
With mortal hands I shall split the heavens,
And carve my na in your soul. Never to be forgotten.
I will not die on my back, and if I fall, the Primordials must dig my grave with their bare hands!"
Rowan was blind; his right eye was gone, lost to a Creator’s dagger. Yet still, he fought. Blindness ant nothing to him when the battle song was all he needed to perceive his surroundings. They fell, one by one, and no matter how much blood he had lost, there were barely a few drops left in his body. Rowan did not stop moving, and he did not stop killing.
He did not need sight to see the fear that had filled the hearts of those who battled against him.
As a seventh-dinsional immortal, killing an entire Celestial Legion with seven Creators was almost impossible to comprehend. It left them in awe, but now broken and beaten and in the body of a mortal, he could still not be stopped.
’What sort of man is this?’
If a part of them could understand an immortal killing them, nothing in the minds of the mories of these Celestials could understand how a mortal could be doing what Rowan was performing.
And his song, oh, how it burned the soul.
They wanted to shout in fury, but sha and shock bound their lips.
Apollyon, the Destroyer, sang alongside its master. It was no longer a sword—it had never been a sword but destruction taken shape.
It beca a starved beast feasting on divine flesh. Every kill made it heavier, every fallen angel’s essence was absorbed by its hungry edge.
The reason Rowan could remain on his feet for so long was because the Destroyer fed him as much vitality as it could, and although it was a thing of destruction, not ant to nurture life. Apollyon began to evolve just to keep its master alive as long as possible so that he could kill every back-stabbing Primordial!
The last Celestial Creator fell, and the battlefield went silent. Rowan could hear the Archon walking towards him. Every step it took shook the space around them.
He heard the voice of Primordial mory, and Rowan smiled when he heard the hint of barely controlled fury.
"You cannot win. The Will of the Primordials is eternal."
Rowan coughed blood, swaying on his feet,
"No," he admitted, "but I can make you all rember my na for all eternity. For , that is enough."
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