Eos's actions in these last few monts had done more for upgrading and empowering Origin than all the Primordials combined in the last thousand Existences.
However, they could not be blad; the only reason Eos could reach this point was that he had used lots of the tools of the enemy.
His existence was always inevitable, and now that he was here, Origin itself rejoiced.
"I am duration," the seed whispered. "I am the space between heartbeats. I am the pause before the storm. And through you, Maker, I am eternal."
Eos closed his chest, and the silver seed joined the others, orbiting his core in patterns that were beginning to form sothing, a constellation, perhaps, or a cage, or a crown.
These changes happening inside him were both new and expected, but whatever will be… will be, Eos was ready for this final battle.
He had killed three of them now. mory, Chaos, and Ti.
Two Ancient Primordials and one who wore their skin, who had terrorized Existence for longer than any living thing inside Existence at this point could rember.
Three beings who had thought themselves eternal, untouchable, necessary.
And before the judgent of Eos, they had been wrong. They had believed that their might was supre, and now, not even their mory was left.
Eos slowly rose up, his body was still healing, but his powers were increasing.
New understanding, insights and countless new transformations were happening inside him, and only a mind like his own could hold all of these changes without flinching and still ready himself for battle at the sa ti.
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Vorthas, Primordial Life, stood at the edge of the devastation, his verdant form flickering between states of existence. Life was always closest to death, and in these last few monts, death had descended so quickly upon them that he was still a bit stunned.
The forests of bone and screaming skin that composed his body were wilting, the blood-dripping fruits that hung from his branches shriveling as he watched his brothers fall.
He had always imagined that the final battle between the Ancient Primordials and Eos would be epic, the clash would shake all of Existence as the New Primordials and the denizens of the Temple of End, watch the Ancient Primordials take back their throne.
The event would be bloody, and maybe one or two of them would perish, but at the end, they would be the ones left standing, and all of Existence would be bowing at their feet.
This was how it was ant to be… this was their Destiny! Why… What is happening?
Vorthas had created the Necroflores, he had turned existence's greatest gift into its cruelest curse, and he was one of the individuals who delighted in death above all, and yet, this Primordial… was trembling. His body, which had always seed so solid and real, was beginning to show cracks. Through them, sothing else could be seen that was not flesh or essence, but a void where sothing should have been.
He turned to look at Xylos, and he saw that sa shock and loss in his form, but everything changed when he looked at Nyxara.
Sothing about his sister was different. Nyxara had always been cold and calculating, but now, the look in her eyes was different, it was almost wistful.
If Vorthas could notice this, then Eos could as well. He had seen a change happen inside Nyxara the mont he had killed mory, or was it when mory had revealed himself to be a Luminious?
With all of the evidence stacked against them, Eos had long realized that like mory, Nyxara was not an Ancient Primordial, she just wore their skin… but unlike mory, Nyxara seed to have lost the mories of her Luminious side.
However, Eos was beginning to understand that perhaps killing mory may have been the final lock to unleash whatever being that was inside Nyxara.
It was as if the essence of mory as a Luminious was to ensure that Nyxara never awakened.
If Eos was not wrong, Luminious mory's purpose inside Existence was not just to ensure that the inhabitants of Existence did not know the true face of the sixth dinsion, it was also to chain the mories of Nyxara.
It was always a weird point of interest for Eos when he rembered that the Primordials had done sothing similar to Nyxara when they placed her inside Oblivion.
The answers were always there right in the open, but without knowing the right questions to ask, this answer would never be known.
'Why did they always try to imprison the mind of Nyxara in every Incarnation that she had?'
Well, whatever the reason, that shackle had dropped from her body, as Eos could see it in the way her form flickered, and the unknown matter that composed her being whispered to her in frequencies that even he could barely perceive. She was not afraid of dying here, nor was she angry that Eos had killed three Primordials and had not given her their Origin as they had previously agreed, she almost seed to be waiting.
"You're not like them," Eos said, his thousand eyes fixed on her. "You were never like them, were you?"
Nyxara's form rippled, for a mont, sothing almost like a face appeared in the void where her features should have been, a suggestion of eyes, a hint of a mouth, an expression that might have been a smile.
"No," she said, and her voice was different now. It was not the voice of a Primordial. It was sothing older, sothing that had been waiting in the darkness since before the first Existence was born. "I was never like them."
Xylos and Vorthas turned to look at her, and in their eyes, Eos saw the sa realization dawning.
"You…" Vorthas's voice cracked. "You knew. All this ti, you knew what he was becoming. You knew what would happen. And you let it."
Nyxara's almost-face turned toward him, and the smile that had been forming there widened into sothing that was not quite sane.
"Of course I knew," she said. "I made it happen. Did you think it was coincidence that Eos was born? That he found the Primordial Record? That he survived your little gas and grew stronger with each one?" Her laugh was the sound of galaxies collapsing. "I chose him. I chose him because he was the only one who could do this. The only one who could kill you all and free ."
She turned back to Eos, and for a mont, just a mont, sothing almost like affection flickered in her not-eyes.
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