The Primordial Record
chapter-1080

This continent below seemed not to follow any of the normal conventions of continents in this realm, for one it was so large it defied all concepts of size when it came to lower

continents.

There were no mountains on this land, nor were there trees, nothing could grow on its surface because its nature was alien to this world, and despite its massive size, it floated on the surface of the ocean. The inhabitants of this land were stuck with exchanging the rare resources they could find on this land for food, weapons, and other living necessities.

They were stuck in a vicious cycle where they had to perform back-breaking labor for just the barest necessities for survival, as they fought against the land and the Calamities that inhabited its dark corners, despite all that when the time was ripe, Ascendants would swoop down and gather the youngest and strongest of their numbers and send them to other continents to be used as fodder in the endless war.

Ascendants were not afraid of the number of Blood Bounds running out because they would regularly gather mortals from other continents to this forsaken land where in a short while, the alien nature of this place would corrupt their bodies, mutating them into Blood Bounds whose distinctive traits were their heights, enhanced strengths and bronze scales on their bodies.

At lower levels, these scales only covered a small part of their forearms and spine, but as they grew stronger, the scales covered more of their bodies and hardened like armor. With this natural defensive armor and their increased strength, they could fight and survive in harsh conditions, but the inability of any of their members to become Ascendants meant they would forever be slaves.

Usually, continents grow in size when they ascend to higher ranking, but the greatest lower continent in existence could not reach a thousandth of the size of this one, meaning the number of Blood Bound in this single location was in the tens of billions, despite the horrifying death rate.

Rowan kept his presence shielded and descended toward the continents below, his golden robe rippled as if it was being attracted by the continent below, their similar roots drawing them together, the bones of his children called to him.

As he came lower to the ground he began to observe the changes across its surface and the billions of minds that brushed across his own as the bloodline resonance between him and the Blood Bound intertwined. They could not sense his presence, he did not allow that, but he could sense them, from the newly born to the old at the edge of death, surprisingly there were some among them he could not easily sense, as if they were shielded from his senses.

The presence of so much of his bloodline, even though incredibly corrupted and diluted scratched an itch deep inside him that he had suppressed.

This was a mystery that he intended to investigate thoroughly, but for this moment, Rowan closed his eyes and allowed himself to luxuriate in this feeling for a while.

For so long his mind had been linked to his Angels and his other children, their lives and purpose enriching his own, balancing his great power and giving him a measure of empathy and compassion that his increasingly alien mind lacked. His mental space was never silent, now the only thoughts inside him were his own and not the countless multitude that filled his mind even if their thoughts were whispers, they came in such massive numbers that they could drown the mind of a thousand gods, and yet Rowan loved it.

As a creator, he was never meant to be alone, and sleeping in death for nearly a million years while knowing that so many of his children had perished. With his dormant consciousness, he could not tell which of his children had perished, but he knew that the Primordial Weapon destroyed not just their souls, but their Soul Origin as well.

It was the reason that despite his alone consciousness who saw life and death as just two sides to a coin, he still mourned because he had lost something he was not sure he would be ever able to get back.

Rowan swallowed his hatred as his appearance began to change. He allowed the minds of the Blood Bound below, who did not know him to influence his shape, and the moment his feet touched the ground he was a skinny old man whose red hair had turned white. His golden robes transformed into a beggar's wrap and he began walking through the harsh streets of this land.

This shape was rather interesting, for there were few old people among the Blood Bounds, and for that reason, they were treated with reverence, called Old Fathers or Old Mothers, these Blood Bound were allowed to live a life of relative peace and security.

Rowan roamed the continents for eight months on his feet, not using any of his powers, he only observed the world and he learned, and he felt pain about what he would need to do going forward.

The Blood Bounds had his blood but it had been corrupted. He could not integrate these mortals with himself, what was coming would kill them all.

Before he stepped foot on this land, Rowan would not have cared about this but after eight months of understanding the plight of these mortals, especially those who had unknowingly shared his blood due to being corrupted by the shattered bodies of his Ouroboros Serpents, he could not wipe them out as easily as before, a small part of him saw them as his children.

He wondered if there was a small part of him that wanted to replace those that he had lost with these new ones. Rowan shook his head, surely he was not that lost and jaded. His children were irreplaceable.

Rowan was at a crossroads, he could make two choices, the first would be to go ahead, integrate this land into his Natal Treasure, become an Ascendant, and take the third part of his consciousness, pushing the battle against this world to the next stage or he could slowly strip his power from this land leaving just an empty shell behind, the Blood Bound would lose their fleshy body powers and when he integrated with this land, he would not be harming any of the mortals.

The second option would mean he would have to give up a sizable portion of his advantage in this conflict. After nearly a million years of slumber, his enemies had become stronger, the Eye of Time had grown, and the Undying was stirring as Ascendancy fell.

Without completing his consciousness he had no leverage against these forces, and every single second he could use to gain more power was necessary.

Was he willing to give it all up for mortals who had only a tainted version of his bloodline? Were they worth the sacrifice?

He could be done with gathering a third part of his consciousness, unlocking more of his abilities, and becoming an ascendant in less than a year, or he could spend maybe four to five years slowly stripping away his bloodline from mortals who would perish not long after he

was gone.

The answer to this was so simple, yet why did he hesitate?