The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1845

Chapter 1845: The End(5)

Below Telmus was his pool of warm blood that he could feel slowly congealing around his feet. His body was broken and his bones were sticking out from his skin in a dozen places, but his majesty was unmistakable.

"Listen," he growled, a command, and silence fell across the Arena as the pervading psychic hum of so many Primordial minds clustered in one small space was shut off. The judges flinched as if a whip had swept across their necks.

Telmus turned around slowly, his gaze meeting each judge, and they could not turn away from him. A balance had been shifted, and the tides were going against the pull of gravity.

The King of Silence leaned against the pressure from Telmus’s gaze, breaking his nature as he whispered in an airy voice like the last exhale of a dying man, "How?"

Telmus grinned; this was more towards his nature. Deliberately shifting his gaze away from this judge, he began to speak,

"You believe I stand in your court. You are fucking mistaken. You built this place to judge what is worthy. But you built it upon a foundation you do not own. You laid your commandments over a truth that existed before your first thought. You call this the Pantheon of Chains, a proving ground for the unworthy. I call it the First Layer of Origin, and it does not belong to you. It belongs to me!"

As he was speaking, his mortal body was beginning to recover. The blood on the ground started to rise, drop by drop, like raindrops caught in a field of inverted gravity, before rushing into his body.

Dull cracks resounded as his bones returned to their places and his flesh closed over them. If this process was hurting him, it clearly did not matter because his body and mind were steady.

Bringing up a hand that had perfectly healed and pointing to all those who stood in judgment of him, Telmus’ voice shook the Arena,

"The laws you imposed upon me...destiny, mortality, hierarchy, are not the pillars of reality, my reality. They are merely the furniture you brought into my house of existence. You arranged it, declared it absolute, and have been demanding that I should navigate your design ever since."

The throne on which the judges sat shattered, and they fell to the floor with a resounding crash that sent cracks to all corners of the Arena.

Screams of pain and surprise filled the air, but when Telmus began to speak once more, their cries were forcibly silenced.

Telmus raised both of his hands wide, " I am not a guest in this house. I am the foundation upon which it was built." Then he began to point at each of the judges, stating their fate,

"Your Inquisitor of Destiny could not bind me because my will is the author of fate, not its subject. Your Warden of Mortality could not frighten me because my existence is not contingent on this flesh; this flesh is a momentary expression of my existence.

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