The Primordial Record - Chapter 1727: Loom of Maybe

Chapter 1727: Loom of Maybe

His experience with Space Origin had left a loophole in his understanding of Origin. Space Origin had not been fully claimed by a Primordial.

So he was not aware of the numerous changes that could have been made when they had fully inherited an Origin.

Rowan obviously did not know that there could ever be remnants of past soul origins inside the Origin he was devouring, and he was angry at himself for this apparent oversight.

He had seen how Origin was able to preserve the remnants of life after the entirety of a being had been destroyed; why should he not consider that it should be able to hold other dead entities that had no reason to be alive?

Rowan’s struggle came from the fact that he was presently consuming the Soul Spiders, which drained a lot of his consciousness powers, making it the perfect time for these four Echoes to possess his soul.

He could appreciate a good strategy, but at this point, it was getting irritating trying to focus on devouring this layer while these four were actively sabotaging his efforts as they tried to take over his soul.

These push-and-pull dynamics went on for a while before anger erupted in Rowan’s heart, and instead of fighting against these four Echoes, he opened himself up for their possession.

They paused as if in disbelief before rushing into the core of Rowan’s being, and began to take over, their longing and purpose filling his mind, but because they all conflicted with each other, it created a silent war in his head.

Rowan fully experienced all of their being, and when he did, with a single burst of Will, he silenced the chaos in his mind.

“You are all broken, each forgetting there is more to existence than walking a single pathway.”

He mentally grasped the four of them and began bending them to his Will, assimilating them into his Will, to the weeping child cradling a dying star, he said,

“Your pain is valid, but it is not all of me. There is more to this pain than you know, and destruction is a necessary part of creation. You did not fail; you were already on the road to success, but you were not shown the path.”

Rowan said to the conqueror in armor, “Your strength is mine, but your cruelty is not. What is the use of gaining the world but losing your ability to enjoy it? Your path is necessary, but balance is what I crave.”

And to the mortal woman and the watcher of the end, he accepted them without words. There were things that had transcended the barrier of speaking, and they could sense who Rowan was more deeply than the first two. As he reached out to them, they also reached out to him.

With each reclamation of an Echo, Rowan felt himself becoming more whole and more complex as strange alien concepts melded with his being. Things that should not be possible in this Reality or his own became seeds in his Will that would need to be watered in order to bear unexpected fruits.

Primordial Soul might have inadvertently given him more benefits than Rowan should have received in his quest to consume the soul origin.

Rowan opened his eyes, and the Echoing Corridors collapsed. Consuming these Echoes was as if he had taken away the foundations of this place, but he did not let any fragment of the passage vanish.

Tentacles of light reached across the expanse and attached to each shattered piece, drawing them towards him in a frenzy of light and spectacle that dazzled the mind. When the last of the tentacles vanished, this space that should be left in darkness had two presences left: Rowan and a gigantic Soul Spider, standing at the center of her web.

From the beginning, Rowan had seen the true shape of the Echoing Corridors, and it was in the form of a web, although one that was more complex than any web had the right to be. This gigantic glowing Soul Spider was the matriarch who weaved the Echoing Corridors, and it sat there waiting for him.

Rowan flew towards her, and even at his present size, he was still dwarfed by the spider, as any of her twelve eyes was bigger than his body.

The light in her eyes showed Rowan that there was a fierce intelligence in this being that would rival any immortal that he knew of. In a lost chittering language, the spider spoke,

“I am the Weaver of the Futures, and you have shattered my Loom of Maybe. How do you hope to repay me for this transgression?”

Rowan cocked his head to the side. “Repay you? I am curious. What exactly is your function here?”

The Weaver of the Future slammed one leg into the void, a glint of pride flashing past its many eyes,

“Even the Primes kept me alive after all these Eras because my function is irreplaceable. I spin my webs from stolen valor and resolve, creating countless futures that are perfect, where every choice is correct and no pain is ever felt. I create heaven!”

“A heaven for whom?”

The spider seemed to snicker, “Of course, for your weary subjects. I can give them nirvana, and my only payment is to keep me alive and fed, their potential is all I need, and my spawn shall fill all of Limbo, bending all things to your desire.”

Rowan regarded this beast for a while, knowing its usefulness, but he could also see more. This spider may gleam like the sun, but Rowan could still perceive the corruption in its core.

Once, it was a being that wove futures out of pain and delivered justice to the oppressed. It served as a sort of purgatory to all those who were willing to suffer its pain, and in the end, a new, bright future would be given to them. But now, the touch of a Primordial had perverted its existence, and it was a shell of what it once was.

Perhaps in the beginning, it knew its purpose had been hijacked, but now it had been so long that it had forgotten its own name and willingly served a master who made slaves of its children.

Rowan flew closer and placed a hand on top of her head. His motion was gentle,

“Little spider, the future you weave is utterly false, and your web is the ultimate temptation, a guaranteed paradise for self-delusion. Even I am not cruel enough to subject my enemies to such a fate, and it is better to go into the darkness.”

The Weaver of the Future was silent until realization entered its many eyes,

“Surely you don’t mean…. I can be useful, my touch can be…”

“Die with dignity, Weaver. In another life, I would have loved to see a heaven created by you.”

Rowan placed a second hand on the Weaver’s head, and his gentle touch became heavy. The Weaver only felt a brief moment of splitting pain on its head before it knew no more.

With a single ruthless motion, Rowan had torn this spider in two. Like her children, the Weaver was immortal but incredibly fragile.

Rowan fished a single thread from her heart that pointed the way to the final layer of the soul.