Chapter 1774: I Have Their Memory With a roar that tore from his very soul, Telmus channeled the pain of the lightning strike while using its chaotic energy as a catalyst. He didn’t fight the vines binding him; he focused his entire being into a single, upward diagonal cut with his will-blade. It was a cut that sought to divide the very sky, to sever fate itself. This was the first time he was doing something like this, and even with his comprehension, there was a chance for failure; however, a quiet power of the cold breeze and the green leaves surrounding him seemed to aid his sword, and the move that was nearing perfection, instantly became perfect. The blade passed through the vines, through the air, through the approaching vessel of Anthesterion, and through the crackling form of Hekaton in a single, flawless motion. The thorned vines ceased to exist. The vessel of Anthesterion stopped moving. Its blooming-rotting cycle froze. Then, a clean, diagonal line appeared across its torso. The top half slid from the bottom, both parts crumbling into inert, meaningless earth before they could hit the ground. ’Three.’ A tiny vine like a snake began to circle around Telmus, and he turned towards the vessel of Hekaton, who similarly had been cleft in two. But being pure energy, it didn’t crumble. It dissipated. The contained lightning, finally free, exploded outward in a spectacular, harmless shower of sparks and light that briefly illuminated the entire arena before fading into nothing. ’Four.’ Those sparks surrounded Telmus like stars as he turned towards Metagei and Maimak in their Golem bodies. They both charged at him, enraged, their bodies freely bleeding magma-fissure as they resembled battering rams of stone and fury. Telmus, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion, nearly fell to his knees, but his Will held him steady. He was wounded and exhausted, but the elimination of four foes had shifted the balance. His will felt sharper and clearer despite his weakening body. Maimak attacked Telmus, who brought his blade to defend, but the titan suddenly vanished, and in the split moment where Telmus’s form was a bit out of order, Metagei, as a fiery golem who had been coming behind, threw a punch that could shatter a Primordial Domain. Telmus felt the cold hand of death touch his soul. In fact, he thought he could see a black crow at the edge of his perception, and he responded the only way he knew how: he brought up his sword, while growling inside his head, ’I cannot be defeated!’ He did not use a form; instead, he used a principle. Telmus’ growth in this battle had been insane, as his Will strikes were slowly encroaching into the realms of Origin. The principle he used was that of the weak defeating the strong. He didn’t meet the punch. He sidestepped it by a hair’s breadth, and as the massive stone arm passed him, he laid his will-blade against the deep fissure in its chest. He didn’t need to cut. The Golem’s own momentum did the work. It essentially ran itself through on his blade. The absolute edge of negation met the raging magma heart within. There was a silent, internal detonation. The magma, the source of its power, was negated. The light in its stony eyes died. The granite body froze, mid-motion, and then cracked apart into a million mundane, lifeless stones. ’Five.’ A burning heart of stone arose from the broken golem and began to circle Telmus. The heat emerging from it healed his wounds and slowly removed the pain he was feeling. All this time, the remnants of the Ancestors of Trion circling him had been pouring strength into his body, but because Telmus had been using so much power, he had not felt the effect. With the addition of the fifth remnants, the revitalization effect grew potent enough that Telmus was able to feel himself healing better and faster than his innate resilience could achieve. Only two remained: the vessel of Truiplop, its fungal blooms now weeping a black, tar-like substance, and the vessel of Maimak, who no longer took the Golem form of Metagei but became the ice of Yuleti. These two titans hesitated. Telmus’s relentless, technical perfection in dismantling their siblings had instilled something alien in their stolen essences that they could not define, but it aided them in pushing the corruption of Xylos aside for a brief moment. Enough for Telmus to look across and see who they were... their true form and spirit under the corruption of the demon. He nodded at them, an acknowledgement to his ancestors, and they smiled at him. Their gazes held for a brief moment before the furious Will of Primordial Demon suppressed it. Xylos’s consciousness, now confined to these two vessels, raged silently. This was not possible, but Rowan had found a way to break the Agreement in a manner that Primordial Demon could not refute. Telmus stood. He was bleeding, burned, frozen, and crackling with residual energy. But he stood tall. His white hair was a banner of defiance. His black skin was sheened in sweat and blood, a map of his endurance. His will-blade was steady in his hand, its darkness seeming deeper, more absolute than ever. He looked at the two remaining vessels, and despite the corruption of the demon, he saw not monsters, but perversions. He saw the stolen legacy of forests and glaciers. "You took their power," Telmus said, his voice hoarse but carrying across the silent arena. "But you never understood it. A forest is not just growth. It is patience. It is community. It is a system. A glacier is not just cold. It is time. It is persistence. You saw only the force, not the wisdom behind it." He began to walk toward them. Slowly. Deliberately. Each step was firm. "You have the strength of my family. But I... I have their memory." The vessel of Truiplop lashed out with a final, desperate wave of corrupt growth, a wall of thorns and toxic fungi. Telmus did not break his stride. He executed his first sword form, Unfolding Lotus, but it was different now. It was not a desperate defense. It was a serene, unstoppable advance. The wall of thorns ceased to exist as he walked through it. The vessel of Maimak unleashed a last, concentrated beam of cold, a final winter. Telmus brought his blade up in the Second Form, River-Cutting Stroke, piercing the beam, severing its stream, unmaking it step by step as he continued his advance. He was before them now—the corrupted tree and the cracked glacier. "For my Ancestors," he whispered, and his blade moved in a complex, beautiful pattern of his third sword form, Scarlet Sunset Whirlwind—not around himself, but around the vessel of Truiplop. It was a whirlwind of negation that did not destroy, but pruned. It carefully, precisely, severed the corruption—the black sap, the violent thorns, the pulsing fungi—leaving only the core, petrified form. Then, a single, respectful thrust negated that too, returning the stolen essence to the cosmos. ’Six.’ A small mushroom joined the five remnants around Telmus, who turned to the vessel of Mainak now standing alone, its cracked form radiating a pathetic, dying cold. It was the last. "For my family," Telmus said, his voice filled with a strange sorrow. The vessel struck out with an ice blade. Telmus parried it with a minimal movement, his will-blade shearing through the ice. The vessel created a field of instant frost around its feet, trying to root him. Telmus simply stepped back and then used the fifth sword form, Sky-Rending Divide, in a downward vertical cut. The blade passed through the vessel’s core. A loud shattering sound resounded all through the Arena as the absolute cold within the core was negated. The ice did not melt; it simply stopped being ice. It became inert, lifeless water that collapsed into a pool at his feet. Before that, it had also vanished, unmade by the arena. ’Seven.’ The white disc was empty save for Telmus, standing alone, panting, his will-blade slowly dissolving in his hand, its purpose fulfilled. A shifting mass that resembled ice appeared, the remnants of Maimak, and it began swallowing and integrating all the floating remnants around Telmus. The cosmic audience offered no applause—only a profound, ringing silence of awe and respect. From the space where the last vessel fell, a wisp of shadow, faint and bleeding energy, coalesced. It was the seed of Xylos, diminished, fractured, its stolen banquet taken from it. "THE STORY..." it whispered, its voice a faint, dying echo. "THE MEANING... IT... HELD... WEIGHT...YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND." The admission was its final act. The wisp of consciousness unraveled, not with a bang, but with a sigh, and was gone. Telmus stood alone on the disc. The wounds on his body were real, but the cold in his side was receding, the burns fading. The bond in his soul, the presence of Xylos, was... gone. Severed. The arena seemed to dissolve around him; its purpose should have been served, but Telmus knew that this was the beginning. However, this did not stop him from celebrating his achievement. He had done it. He had fought the ocean with a needle, and the ocean had broken upon the shore. He had won his freedom not just from the demon, but from the doubt. He had proven that meaning was not a frail construct. It was the strongest material in all creation, and his Will took a step further. The light of the Memorial Pantheon he had seen inside his temple seemed to appear around him; they welcomed him back. He stood once more in his own body, before the mosaic of his family. He was no longer a statue. He was a man. A man who had carried the memory of his family through hell and back, and had used it to slay the Will of a Primordial. He was free. Looking up in the air, he searched for the face of his daughter, and when he saw it, he smiled. Then the voice of Rowan entered his heart, ’You know this is not over. The battle has just begun.’ The transforming remnants around Telmus suddenly flowed into his body, and he froze in place. ’Primordial Demon used your body in a crude manner, let me show you what they missed.’