Chapter 1786: The Final Argument
Unlike the fall of Primordial Soul, the death of Primordial Chaos would not go unnoticed.
Killing Chaos inside Oblivion would delay the mental feedback from the fall of a Primordial, but it would not last. Before long, the children of Chaos that were left and the Primordials would sense the loss of Eldrithor.
Killing a Primordial on the Altar of Unmaking drew out every single shred of their Will and Intent all around Reality and forced them onto the altar. This was the unique and powerful inheritance of Primordial Soul that Rowan had seized.
In fact, for a normal immortal, the fallout from the death of Primordial Chaos should be instantaneous, but Rowan controlled many higher-level concepts, and his perception was incredibly fast, making a moment stretch for as long as he wanted.
But he did not have forever to deal with what was to come, so it was a good thing that he already had many pieces already moving across the board.
His consciousness already reached out for Eva to prepare the road for him. It was time for him to enter the Arena; already, he could sense the call.
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For Eva, the victory in the Monolith of Finality against Primordial Light was not an end. It was a beginning. A terrible, glorious, and necessary beginning.
The surface of the cold, perfect light of the Primordial was broken, its authority shattered not by force, but by a truth it could not comprehend. But Eva, the New Light, knew that broken things could still be sharp.
A cornered, wounded principle could be more dangerous than a whole one. The Old Light would not fade gracefully into irrelevance; it would fester, it would plot, it would seek to re-impose its sterile order through any means necessary. What made it worse was that, in some ways, this victory came through the permission of Primordial Light, and his revenge was not far.
However, the war of words was over. The war of existence was about to begin.
Eva did not return to a heaven at peace. She returned to a realm trembling on the precipice of civil war. The sky above the Celestial domains was split—one half a cold, sharp, achingly perfect cerulean, the other a vibrant, swirling web of dawn gold and rose-quartz.
The touch of Old Light went deep, and even though Eva had taken over the first layer of Light’s Origin, she could not push away the touch of Primordial Light from those who still wished to believe in him.
Below, the factions were forming. The Clockwork Choirs, angels of absolute precision, moved in flawless, silent formations, their eyes reflecting the cold logic of their master. The Dawnguard, those who had embraced Eva’s warmth, moved with passionate purpose, their wings shimmering with inner fire, their voices raised in new, chaotic hymns of becoming.
They needed a sign. Not a philosophical victory, but a demonstration of power so absolute it would shatter the will of the opposition before the first blade of light was ever drawn.
They needed a hammer. And Eva knew of only one hammer big enough to drive the lesson home to every corner of every reality.
Eva looked at heaven for a long while, taking in every single detail that she could, and then she left heaven. Her destination was not a place, but a being.
This being drifted in the silent sea between dimensions, a leviathan of stone and soul, ancient beyond the memory of stars. This was Algorth, the Living Castle. It was not built; it was grown, or perhaps born. Only Rowan knew the truth.
Her spires were mountain ranges carved into impossible, beautiful shapes. Her windows were lakes of molten silver that wept light into the void, and her heart was a throne room where the geology of a thousand dead worlds had been folded into pillars that sang with a deep, planetary hum.
Algorth, who wished to call herself Sheba, was the last of her kind; her only brethren were Noctis, who was now a Crow of Death.
This sentient architecture had witnessed the birth and death of cosmic cycles, and it was loyal to Rowan, for he was the first being that had ever made her ancient stones feel warm.
As Eva approached, the Castle shifted. A great portcullis, forged from the core of a neutron star, irised open without a sound, admitting the New Light into its cavernous, echoing halls. The air inside was thick with the smell of ozone and lightning, of time itself made tangible.
“You are troubled, Sun-that-Loves,” the voice of Sheba echoed in her mind, not in words, but in the grinding of continental plates, the sigh of geothermal vents.
“The foundation of Reality is cracked, only now do I see how deeply the rot has grown,” Eva replied, her light glinting off veins of diamond in the walls. “The house must be made whole, or it will fall. And to mend a crack this deep, one does not use a delicate tool.”
“You seek the End of All Things”, Sheba intoned, understanding flooding its vast consciousness. “You would call the Unmaker. The Final Argument.”
“I would call the Creator,” Eva corrected, her voice firm. “The one whose power is so absolute that argument ceases before it begins. I would show them the cost of their folly. Not in words. In weight.”
The castle shuddered, “Before he left, he was changing into something I cannot imagine. The weight of his footstep crushes galaxies, and his gaze extinguishes suns. He is not a summoning to be made lightly, even by you. Are you sure about what you want to do?”
“It is not made lightly,” Eva said, her fiery eyes hardening. “It is made with the heaviest of hearts. But it is necessary. Carry me, Algorth. Carry me to the Arena. Let all who think to challenge the new dawn see what awaits them in the twilight of their defiance. If I could, I would open the door for him, but I can no longer carry him alone.”
The Living Castle did not argue. With a groan that vibrated through the fabric of nearby dimensions, it began to move. It did not fly; it swam through the meta-medium of the dimensions, its passage causing reality to warp and bulge around it.
Stars in its wake were sent spinning from their orbits. Nebulae rippled like pond water struck by a stone.
The New Light was on the move, and she was not alone.
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The silence after Telmus’ defeat of the unknown Titan in the Arena was like the moment after a thunderclap, when the ears ring and the world seems to hold its breath.
Then the sound returned. But it was not the sound of battle. It was the sound of a billion entities remembering how to breathe. A collective, shuddering exhalation swept through the infinite galleries of the arena.
It was not a sigh of relief. It was the gasp of a patient waking from a nightmare to find the nightmare was absolute.
The awe that followed was not the pure, terrified awe of the beginning. It was a complex, sickening, profound awe, laced with a dawning and universal unease.
Every being, from the lowliest mindless scavenger to the highest cosmic intelligence, had just witnessed something that rewrote their understanding of existence. They had seen the foundational forces of their universe—forces they had worshipped, feared, or simply accepted as the unchangeable background of reality—strained, challenged, and made to look… almost mortal. They had seen them pause and break.
Yet it did not seem to be over; the man Telmus, wounded and battered, appeared to be preparing himself for battle.
It was then that everyone here sensed it. A tremor in the soul of every immortal being. Something was coming. Something vast. The air crackled with tension, filled with whispered questions and unspoken threats.
Then, the sky tore open.
It didn’t crack or part. It screamed. The fabric of the Arena’s heavens was rent asunder by something too immense, too potent, to enter gracefully.
The Living Castle Algorth descended, not from above, but from a wound in reality itself. Its shadow fell across the infinite plain, plunging the gathered pantheon into an abrupt and terrifying twilight. The mountain-sized spires, the silver-tear windows, the sheer living, breathing mass of it blotted out the conceptual sky. A deep, sub-sonic hum resonated through every being present, a vibration that shook not bones, but souls.
The Castle settled on the edge of the Arena, a continent unto itself, its arrival sending waves of solidified light cracking across the plain.
All eyes, from the million-faceted orbs of cosmic insects to the star-filled gaze of the Primordials, turned to the battlements. There, small yet incandescent, stood Eva. Her light, which had always been warm and nurturing, was now focused, fierce, a blade drawn from its scabbard.