The Primordial Record

Nezrakim had only one vocation from the time of his birth— He was to bury the dead.

His father did the same, and his father's father, and their fathers before them. He came from a long line of Sacred Undertakers, and now his calling would end with him, as he was the last.

He was blessed with two sons, but Nezrakim lost his wife and youngest son to the beast horde, his eldest wished for nothing else but to become a Dominator, to hold power like those that conquered their world and made them slaves, a foolish dream, but a dream, nonetheless, and now he was burying his son.

He had carried his body to the top of the mountain, it was a long and slow climb, he was old, and he would never let the height of the mountain mock his faith.

He made his prayers at the top of the mountain, shivering despite the sweat that covered his body.

Nezrakim used his hammer and chisel to break his way through the stones to bury his son. It was the way for Sacred Undertakers to bury their own on the top of the mountain, it was the only reward granted to them by the gods. But who would perform it for him when he perished? And so he dug two graves, side by side to the smaller one he dug a week ago.

For someone so familiar with the dead, you would think it would be easy for him to do his assignment, and it was, his hands were steady, as he made his oblations and committed their souls towards Erohim. What stung him however was the wastefulness of it all.

They did not serve their purpose to Erohim before they passed from their mortal coil. Their lives were purposeless. His wife gave him weak children, who fled from their duties, and it was his greatest shame to die without passing his craft to the next generation. What higher calling was there than to serve god?

Nezrakim was ninety-six years old, and he had performed his duty to Erohim for ninety-two. He was thin, with stingy muscles that resembled cable wires, and he was deceptively strong for his age.

Stacking the last rock on his son's grave, Nezrakim entered his grave and knelt inside and sighed, the sky was red like blood, and he felt regret that he could not do the work his sons had failed to do in their stead, but he was too old and weak, how else can I serve? He felt lost, but that was before he saw the golden glow, it rose to the heavens and bathed the world in all its glory, and in that light he saw his answer, and Nezrakim fell down and worshiped.

The words of his heavenly messenger cemented the belief in his mind,

"Nezrakim, you have conducted your purpose to the best of your ability, but your work is not done. The souls due to the Creator are being stolen, and their lives are spent without purpose. The lives of men are wasted in everything but service to his glorious majesty. You have spent your life in service. Now your real task begins. Nezrakim, do you accept the creator's grace."

With tears in his eyes, Nezrakim took in the creator's light, and the man who emerged from the flames was no longer old but reborn, his eyes shone with glorious purpose, and he set out to do the will of the creator.

®

Rowan words hung in the void, carried by Aether so his words could be heard all over the moon, Dorian's reply was a red line that shot at him so fast it was almost teleportation, behind that red line was three bright lances of flames shot out from the eyes of Dorian and from a gap in his forehead that resembled a third eye.

Dorian was going all out at the start, he did not know the method he was transported to the moon, much less who stood before him in challenge, but he would respond with deadly force. He had already begun priming his Territory and he summoned his Incarnation, and a Mayfly Tree appeared above him. He wasn't concerned about who stood before him, he was going to crush them and make them know despair, he would break their spirit and bask in their pain.

But he had to rethink his action when the man before he snatched his blade out of thin air, the force from that incomprehensible act blasting a crater below his feet, and used the blade to block the flame blasts all in one smooth motion. He held the struggling blade for a while as if he were admiring it, and discarded it to the side.

Rowan laughed, "I'm not impressed Dorian, I brought you to the most elaborate of theaters, and for your death dance, you're a bit too stiff."

Dorian frowned, "Who are you?"

"Tell you something." Rowan said, "If you make me bleed, I shall tell you my name."

Dorian eyes tracked the blade Rowan discarded by the side, and Rowan cocked his head and looked at him, "Don't bother wasting time going for that weapon, even if it can kill you, instead you should search for other option, because it cannot kill me. Oh, don't worry, I won't use it against you, as I will not make your death so easy."

"Is that so? You talk as if you know me." Dorian snarled, "you know nothing."

"I know enough." Rowan said.

The area surrounding Rowan began to shimmer, and four doppelgangers appeared beside him, Rowan discovered that his Combo Attack scaled with the amount of consciousness pillars he had. So instead of two Avatars, he now had four.

Dorian took a step back as he assessed the new threat before him, and to his astonishment he could barely tell the difference between all of them, but he could spot the differences with some degree of accuracy and for someone like him, that was enough.

Rowan attacked, and his doppelgängers all used Dash and appeared beside Dorian, each of them holding great swords, and they all simultaneously attacked him. The ground below was blasted apart as the battle commenced.