Chapter 1795: The Last Pantheon

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Chapter 1795: The Last Pantheon Primordial Demon might have frozen him in time, severing his past, present, and future, but Rowan’s consciousness and Will had been tempered to the extent that he could still have awareness, even in this state. However, his awareness was diminished due to the fact that he was used to seeing all facets of Reality at the same time, his senses piercing through all dimensions and laws, but now his awareness had been reduced to a pinhole. In this state, Rowan made an awful realization. He had evolved into a being that could never truly be killed; his present state had left the Primordials behind, at least the ones within this Reality. Even if all parts of him were destroyed, his Will and awareness would remain, severely diminished, but still remain. If he made no plans to quickly resurrect himself, then it was possible for him to stay in this state for all eternity. Silent. Watching. Unable to move, speak, or change the world around him in a meaningful manner. It was an interesting observation, and Rowan firmly decided that he would begin taking steps to push for his resurrection if he was destroyed in the future, although he had already made those steps, which were the Elythrii. His bloodlines, Wills, essence, and all his dominion could be destroyed, even the Archai could be destroyed in the future if the thread of Karma was traced to them, but the Elythrii were made to exist outside of Rowan’s dominion. The potential he gave them was raw and unformed, but the direction of their evolution and ascension still led to him. The spark he gave them could grow and propagate across bloodlines and Reality, and perhaps in an Era that was extremely distant in the future, all potential, in all realities would have Rowan’s signature. He may come across an opponent that could destroy him in entirety, but as long as one of his children remains, he will never die. Although it was pleasant to think about future events, Rowan did not allow himself to be led to the brink of destruction because he was assured of his eventual resurrection by the hands of his children; instead, he was testing the limits of his body as an Apex Omniversal Titan. Final Form: The Last Pantheon You are the end of all hierarchies—a being that replaces gods, multiverses, and narratives. When you act, existence itself rewrites history to pretend you were always the supreme ruler. Weakness (Optional): If you want balance, the only limit could be self-imposed purpose—your power scales with your ambition. Without a goal, you stagnate as a passive force of nature. "Eos... there you are, why run from your Destiny? You were always meant for—" Rowan forcefully banished this voice, and if he had a face, he would be frowning in contemplation. He had not activated the Enochian Cradle and had consumed the corruption of Enoch that had wanted to take his body. But it seems... this place... Rowan’s awareness tried to look around itself, and he realized that the darkness surrounding him was strange, almost indefinable, and perhaps the reason he thought darkness enveloped him was that his senses were too limited to understand where this new state of awareness had taken him. Rowan realized that he might have evolved into something he could never truly understand, and this was the greatest drawback of having a power like the Primordial Record, which could touch parts of existence never meant to be seen. He had driven out the corruption of Enoch, but this place he was in should be somewhere close to the dominion of Enoch; it was even possible that this presence might be beside him here... slowly reaching for— "Lub-DUB." The darkness was banished as Rowan heard the sound of his heartbeat and felt the heat of the dying Abyss on his skin. He was back, his body had rejected Death by itself... the experiment had succeeded. ® Primordial Demon, wielding his dance that could end all Reality, had succeeded; however, he had made one error. He had targeted Rowan’s past, his future, his will, his form, his spark. He had treated him as a composite being, a structure that could be deconstructed. He forgot the core, simple, brutal truth that Rowan had become: I AM. In this battle, Rowan had been fighting with both of his hands tied behind his back; he had not used his armor, weapons, or his most terrible techniques like Realm’s Butcher Onslaught, and he was still winning the fight. The mistake of Primordial Demon was to believe that he was still Rowan’s equal. ® As the finger of nothingness from Primordial Demon touched Rowan, the part of him that was beyond past, present, future, will, or form—the part that was pure, undeniable existence—reacted. It was not a thought. It was a reflex. The accumulated weight of all he had endured, all he had lost, all he was, coalesced not into a technique, but into a statement. Rowan’s fist, seemingly moving on its own, met the Demon’s finger. The flawless, perfect, absolute system of the Dance met the one variable it could not account for: the indomitable fact of a being who refused to be unmade. Whose entire existence could choose not to be unmade. The equation of annihilation encountered a flaw in its logic. The consequence of every one of the Demon’s actions, and the actions of his kin, manifested in that single, brutal counter-punch. The Dance did not fail. It was broken. And the backlash of that breaking unmade the Abyss, accompanied by the broken screams of Xylos the Primordial Demon. ® The backlash did not begin as an explosion. It began as a silence deeper than the one the Demon had conjured. A perfect, absolute stillness that swallowed even the echo of the failed dance. For a single, stretched heartbeat, the entirety of the Abyss—all thousand broken levels—simply ceased to function. The constant, background hum of torment, the whispered promises of despair, the very gravitational pull of hopelessness... it all stopped. Then the unraveling began. It started at the epicenter of the battle where Rowan and the Demon stood. The Demon’s Dance of Final Silence was a flawless, self-contained equation for uncreation. It was a perfect circle of negation. When Rowan’s punch—the embodiment of an undeniable, messy, and brutal existence—shattered that final movement, it did not just stop the spell. It introduced a catastrophic variable into its core logic—a paradox. The perfect circle broke. And the energy of the Dance, the concentrated power of absolute nothingness, had nowhere to go. It could not simply vanish; it was the opposite of existence, and thus had its own terrifying substance. Denied its intended target, it recoiled. It backflowed through the sequence of the Dance, but now tainted, corrupted by the fact of Rowan’s survival. A shockwave of nothingness intended for Rowan detonated outward. But it was no longer pure nothingness; it was nothingness angry at having been denied. It became a wave of anti-creation that did not erase things neatly, but scrambled them. The laws of physics around these two Titans first inverted, then collided with each other. Gravity repelled. Light cast shadows of solid darkness. Causality broke; effects preceded causes, so the destruction of a mountain would be seen an hour before the shockwave that caused it hit. The level didn’t vanish; it became a screaming, chaotic painting of impossible realities before dissolving into static. The Abyss, which had been actively trying to digest Rowan, found itself force-fed its own negation. The digestive enzymes turned inward. The boundaries of the Abyss, which defined it as a separate place from the rest of reality, began to consume themselves. It was like a stomach eating its own lining. The distinct layers started to merge, their unique torments blending into a single, homogenized scream of dying space. The anti-creation of the Abyss rippled outwards, more quickly than anyone could imagine, and what was left behind was not fire and brimstone, but a great, dark non-space. The silence that followed was not the imposed silence of the Demon’s spell, but the true, natural silence of a place that had never been. The Abyss was not destroyed; it was invalidated and proven to be a logical impossibility in a reality where a will like Rowan’s could exist. And in the center of that newborn, absolute void, Rowan stood, holding the throat of the being whose perfect art had, in its failure, written the epitaph for its own home. The destruction of the Abyss was the ultimate proof of the Demon’s miscalculation: you cannot use a perfect system of nothingness to destroy something that has become more real than the system itself. Primordial Demon was on the verge of dissipation and madness, and Rowan brought him close, and he whispered, "I told you I would destroy you at your best. The same fate awaits your true form." Turning the head of Primordial Demon to the side, he showed him an altar and a hammer. "This is where your Destiny has brought you."

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