Chapter 1631: The Bleak Gate This realm was known by many names. Mortals called it the Underworld, gods called it the Grave Eternal, Demons called it the Netherrealm, and Celestials called it the Shadowlands. Its name was endless, as all races gave it a different name, but that did not matter, for this was the kingdom of Death, and its domain was greater than any being in Reality could understand. Stretching across countless dimensions that exceeded the scope of Reality, the realm of Death was truly vast, and the entirety of Reality was a small corner inside its endless immensity. Not even the Primordials had ventured to the ends of this realm, and there were countless mysteries within it that had not been revealed. Across the realm, countless regions of power were in charge of various Realities. One of these regions could manage multiple Realities, and on this day, the Region in charge of the Sundered Reality, Eosah, was shaken to its foundation. ® The region in charge of the Sundered Reality, Eosah, was called the Bleak Gate. It was a vast region whose size was impossible to be determined by any being not at the ninth dimensional level. To enter this region, the dead had to travel through the Bleak Gate, a colossal archway made from bone and black iron, etched with the name of the dead. The size of this gate was unfathomable, and the names it held were beyond counting. These were all True Names, and they belonged to the dead who had become worthy of earning a Name in their lifetime. Not all who lived would earn a True Name during their life, and for those who did not earn a name, their souls were consumed by the Gate, adding more strength to its endless might and increasing the power of the region. Because even in the land of Death, competition did not end, and a powerful region would swallow a lesser one. There would surely come a day when there was only one region left in the land of the dead, and when that day arrives, who knew what would happen. Even the Primordials themselves could not claim they understood what that day might bring. Some say that on that day, it would signify the true end of everything, where even Primordials would fall and become slaves to Death. Nevertheless, that day was so distant that it might not come around even after a trillion infinities had passed. It was apparent that the various regions of Death grew with them collecting powerful souls and True Names. The more outstanding a soul collected by the region, the more benefit it would gain. On this day, Rowan descended into the dimension of Death. ® It began as a whisper—a slight breeze blew against the Bleak Gate, but that breeze grew into a green storm that stretched for an infinity. The massive gate began to vibrate, sending tremors that extended deep into the land of Death. Did an Ancient Emperor fall? Or perhaps the consciousness of a Reality? This storm continued to grow until it reached a critical mass, and it seemed as if something was about to break. Space for infinite distances was holding its breath, but this storm seemed like it would never end or stop growing. In Reality, Rowan’s life force, drawn by the billions of green suns of Death, was funneled before the Bleak Gate, and it was this life force that created this storm. Yet the purpose of the storm could not be completed unless the final component was added, which was the entirety of Rowan’s soul. Only then could his True Name be acquired and written on the gate, sealing his Fate for all eternity. The storm had lasted for too long, and it had begun to disrupt the operation of this gate, as no new soul could enter when this massive storm raged. But to the Bleak Gate, that did not matter; there was nothing more patient than Death, and if it could acquire Rowan’s soul, it was worth more than all the souls it had acquired upon gaining access to the Sundered Dimension of Eosah. It waited patiently—time was meaningless to it—until its patience was rewarded, and the storm reached its peak before it began to collapse. A sound like the cry of a billion heavenly hosts in agony resounded over the horizon as the storm tore through this space in its convergence with speed that made no sense until... he was there, standing before the Bleak Gate. The space surrounding the Bleak Gate trembled as the countless souls who had been waiting outside the gate during the storm fell to their knees, burying their faces against the ground in worship and profound fear. At his arrival, there was no fanfare, no lament, only the silent shudder of the unseen. The realm of Death had made a mistake and could not welcome him; instead, it unfolded around him, like a wound parting to admit a blade. There were beings that were never meant to die, and even in death, Rowan’s nature refuses this Fate. He had suspected that this was a possibility, and now he was assured of this fact. Rowan could not die as long as a single dust from his Origin Land remained. His dimensional flesh and soul were powerful, and before his evolution, they had been the core of his being, but now he was an Origin entity, and his soul was attached to something he suspected had the potential to be greater than a Primordial. Rowan observed the Bleak Gate before looking down at the ground, where countless souls bowed in worship. Among them were the billions of Angels he had killed. Not all of them were present here; maybe fifty percent of his kills were here, and he understood that he had not been able to acquire all the souls of his kills. Death was a sneaky bastard, and it had taken a lot from Rowan over the years. Now with the full range of his consciousness, Rowan’s observation of his surroundings reached its previous peak and exceeded them. The battle had truly been favorable to his growth. The ground beneath his feet was not ground at all, but the memory of ground, blackened and porous, as if the earth had been scorched by a fire that burned nothing visible. The sky, if it could be called that, hung in tatters—a shredded veil of half-light, neither dawn nor dusk, but the eternal gloaming of a world that had never known the sun. As Rowan observed this manifestation of Death, he was also aware that it was observing him too, and it was the first to make a move. It began as whispers. Not voices, not words, but the impression of sound, the echoes of things once spoken, now frayed into sighs. The voice of the Bleak Gate coiled around him, testing, tasting the eternal vitality that ran through his veins. Rowan could not rot, he could not wither, but even his undying nature had to change when it was in the realm of death, and a weird transformation began to happen to his dimensional flesh and soul. He could fight against this change, but Rowan’s instincts did not seem to oppose this transformation, and his Fate was still stable, so he allowed it to occur. His presence began to mutate, growing heavier; it was as if Rowan was missing something, and only until he reached the realm of Death did that missing part of him become complete. The weight of his eternity pressed down against the presence of the Bleak Gate, heavier than any mortal burden, for death had no dominion over him, and yet, with his arrival, it knew him. His presence began to draw the attention of the other regions of death, as they all came to find the presence that defied Death yet knew its touch so intimately. The shadows deepened. Shapes moved at the edge of sight, not the dead of the living, but the in-between things, the ones that fed on absence, the endless personifications of Death from all the regions of this fell place. They could not touch him, no matter how much they longed to reach for the light buried inside Rowan’s chest that burned brighter than anything they had ever seen. Rowan’s presence was an aberration here, a light cast no illumination, a breath that stirred no air. As the presence around him increased, so also did a faint premonition in his heart that Death, its true self, was arising. Rowan figured out that if these presences reached a certain amount, then Death would descend here. He would wait.