The Primordial Record

Telmus might seem to be at the edge of defeat, but he could not understand that this brought no relief to Primordial Demon, for the demon knew the potential of Telmus and understood that time was this warrior's greatest advantage.

Telmus needed to be immediately crushed, else all the demon's advantage was gone. However, with its center shattered, the ability for Primordial Demon to push essence into the Ancestors of Trion had diminished, and Xylos, the Primordial Demon, instantly understood that his chance for winning had just turned to zero.

Telmus seemed on the edge of defeat. It was as if, at any moment, he would be swept away by the barrage of seven opponents whose powers had reached the level of Primordials.

Yet the Primordials saw far, and they could see the rising momentum in the heart of the warrior, as it seemed he had finally found his footing. What accelerated this process was the move that Rowan had made, which more than ensured that Telmus would win.

Primordial Demon asked Primordial Life, "Would you watch your work be unraveled before our sight?"

"What will be will be," Life spoke slowly, "We have been beaten in this area of the game, focus on what's next."

"There is still a chance to change this outcome." Primordial Demon argued.

Primordial Life shook his head, sending a wave of refutation, "No, that would fall into his game. This next part of it, let me be the one to make the move. I believe I have something that flips the board."

Saying this, he looked at Primordial Imagination and smiled.

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Telmus was surrounded by a chaotic rampage that could extinguish his life if he made a single mistake, but he was calm. The first attacks needed to be defended against, and that was all he needed to take a basic measure of his opponents. Unfolding Lotus was used perfectly, and despite the strain of holding all of this power back, Telmus was still in control.

As the last of the initial barrage was negated, his spin halted. He chose his first target: the Vessel of Pyanop, because it was the most dispersed and the least cohesive. A weakness, and in battle, you always target the weakness.

Not even thinking about his next move, Telmus just followed his heart and unleashed his River-Cutting sword form, and his body became a single, piercing motion. His will-blade led the way, its point aimed at the heart of the swirling autumn leaves. He didn't try to cut through the whirlwind; he cut the idea of the whirlwind.

Killing a concept, Telmus discovered, was the way to hurt a Primordial.

The blade pierced the chaotic mass. There was no impact, only a silent cessation as the swirling leaves, the whispering husks, the essence of barren autumn—all simply unraveled and vanished around the point of his thrust.

The form of Pyanop collapsed in on itself with a sound like a final, weary sigh, and was gone. The Will of Primordial Demon infecting the body of Pyanop had no chance to escape before it was destroyed in its entirety; it could not even scream.

'One.'

Telmus turned towards the others, noticing that seven green leaves were beginning to swirl around his body, but noticing no intent for his harm, he allowed it to happen. He was confident that he would be able to respond even if this was to change.

The others reacted with furious speed. A root from Truiplop erupted from the cracked disc beneath his feet. Telmus was already moving, his preternatural battlefield awareness—a gift from countless centuries of real war and eons of mental combat with Xylos—allowing him to anticipate the attack.

The demon's torture inside the mental prison he kept Telmus was a rich form of experience that he was using to level up his capabilities faster than he normally should.

Telmus leapt, but as he did, the Vessel of Yuleti unleashed a focused beam of absolute cold, aiming to flash-freeze him in mid-air.

Caught between two absolute attacks, Telmus used Scarlet Sunset Whirlwind sword form.

In the air, with no purchase, Telmus became the whirlwind again. But this time, it was a controlled, offensive spin. His body rotated, his blade a helix of negation that met the beam of cold. He didn't stop it; he drilled through it, the absolute edge of his will severing the beam's continuity, unmaking it from the inside out.

With a roar of defiance, Telmus rode the disintegrating beam back toward its source. He landed before the Yuleti Vessel, its cracked, icy form reflecting his own determined face. It reached for him with hands that could freeze time itself.

Twirling his blade in a helix pattern, Telmus unleashed Mountain Root Unmoved and he planted his feet and became absolute stillness.

As the icy hands grasped for him, his blade moved in a micro-pattern, a series of impossibly fast, tiny cuts. He wasn't trying to destroy the vessel; he was surgically removing its points of articulation.

The wrists, the elbows, the shoulders. Each touch of his blade resulted in a silent, perfect amputation. Shards of ice fell and vanished before they could hit the ground. In less than a second, the Yuleti Vessel was reduced to a twitching, helpless torso, its limbs negated. A final, precise thrust to its core, and the absolute cold was extinguished.

'Two.'

At this moment, the crowd was going crazy. They had never seen anything like this before. To an outsider, Telmus's moves were not flashy, no explosion of light or radiance. He was just using a blade, and this was all he needed to tear apart everything in front of him.

A blast of cold air surrounded Telmus from

The death of Yuleti, joining the seven swirling green leaves around his body. He had barely recovered from his last sword stroke when a lance of lightning from Hekaton caught him in the back.

It was a glancing blow, but the pain was incandescent. It wasn't just electricity; it was pure, chaotic energy that sought to fry his nerves and shatter his mind.

His muscles seized as he screamed, falling to one knee, his sword arm trembling. The Hekaton Vessel crackled with triumph, gathering energy for a killing blast.

This was Telmus's weakness. He had not spent time understanding the powers of the higher dimension, and he could be seriously hurt by the smallest missteps.

The Vessel of Truiplop took advantage, its thorned vines shooting out to bind Telmus's legs and sword arm as the Vessel of Anthesterion scuttled forward like a gigantic crab, its featureless face splitting open into that worm-filled smile, reaching to touch him and initiate a full, instantaneous rot.

This was the moment—the tipping point of this entire conflict. Victory and defeat hung in the balance, and time seemed to come to a standstill. No matter how Telmus had fought, he had reached his limits. His body was not like Rowan's, with infinite endurance.

But Telmus's will was not a thing of muscle or nerve. It was a thing of the spirit. And pain was just another sensation to be mastered.

His roar shook the entire Arena, reaching far into Reality as he forced his body to unleash the sword form, Sky-Rending Divide.