Chapter 1829: Choosing The Right Path Telmus released his hold on his chimeric form. He allowed the consumed essence of the Primordial Demon to surge forth, no longer containing this power. It transformed into a raging, conscious entity, furious at its subjugation. The ghost of the Martial Artist, of the master of the Dance of Final Silence, rose within him, seeking to dominate, to use this ascension to reclaim its own existence. Even in death, the Primordial still struggles. Simultaneously, the thousands of other essences he had consumed as he reached Nascent Primordial began to war inside of him, the resilience of gods, the profound wisdom of dragons, the shattered lights of Celestials, the countless warriors and mages and beasts, all erupted into a cacophony of conflicting wills, memories, and desires. Becoming a Primordial meant being acknowledged by all, yet holding fast to your own Will. However, for Telmus, the challenge was not over, because he still held seven accomplished Wills of powerful entities with potential reaching the level of Primordials. The bloodline of Triuiplop with the Will of Growth was baptized by the surging tide of essence arising inside Telmus’s veins, faintly exceeding the Wills of the thousand essence that raged in his body, and it may have served as a counterbalance to the chaos threatening to tear his senses apart, but this Will was not alone. The Bloodline of Hekaton joined the fray, a brilliant, stubborn flame in the chaos of his ascension. However, Hekaton carried the Will of Hope, and no matter how it rose in defiance, it still fed Telmus the strength to push ahead... it simultaneously gave him hope even while taking him toward destruction. Telmus had no chance to observe this conundrum as the Bloodline of Pyanop became the bulwark that kept his sanity in check, with the Will was Endurance, his ability to withstand this ascension reached tremendous heights. The fourth Bloodline of Metagei flooded him with the Will of Faith, and Telmus had to struggle to keep his mental state in balance, else, with the urging of the Will of Faith, he would drive himself to madness and destruction as he forgoes all the limits he should impose on himself. The Will of the Bloodline of Yuleti was Justice, and it raged against the chaos in Telmus’s body; it sought to quell everything, even if it meant suppressing his ascension to the rank of Primordial. The Maimak Bloodline revealed itself through the Will of Sacrifice, which was determined to push Telmus into giving up all his accumulations and placing them upon his daughter. With his insight and power, the chance for Staff reaching the level of Primordial would be greater than his own. Why should he keep struggling when he knew that he had once handed the mantle of his power to his daughter? Now that he had resurrected, he should not be selfish and give it up to her. He missed his wife and desired to hold her in his arms again. As Telmus wrestled with the Will of Sacrifice, Anthesterion, who held the Will of Unity, began to compress all of this chaos into Telmus’s core, multiplying its potency to an unearthly degree. His body began to distort, and eight arms burst out of the sides of his body, flailing. His form began to bloat and shrink as different essences fought for dominance. Telmus had no idea, but he was beginning to scream, and the Ebon Host remained motionless, a perfect, silent circle around the storm, absorbing the cries of Telmus; else it would have reached all ears inside Reality and outside of it. Telmus screamed deepened, a sound that was like the chorus of the dead and the devoured. He was a universe at war with itself. He fell to his knees, his hands clawing at the formless ground as the ghost of the Primordial Demon showed him, in exquisite, painful detail, every flaw in his technique, every moment of his life where he had survived not by skill, instead it was by the Primordial’s manipulation born from the strength of his bloodline. "YOU ARE A PUPPET!" the Primordial Demon’s voice roared in his mind. "A COLLECTION OF STOLEN PARTS! YOU HAVE NO CORE! NO ART! YOU CANNOT BECOME A FUNDAMENTAL! YOU CAN ONLY BE A GRAVEYARD!" But beneath the onslaught, a single, stubborn thought remained, fueled by the Spear’s defiant flame in front of him that seemed to take the shape of a young boy, with hands on his waist, and was fiercely glaring at him as if saying, ’Don’t give up.,’ and the memory of a promise he had made not long ago. "I will always find my way back to you." What was keeping him in this fight was not a technique. It was not power. It was a reason to live. And then Telmus realized in a surging burst of clarity... that he could not fight this chaos. Perhaps it was because he had stood beside Rowan for too long, this truly omnipotent being, and he had begun to forget his path. "I am Telmus." With that announcement, he stopped fighting the ghosts of the past. He stopped trying to dominate the chaos. Instead, he began to listen. Telmus allowed the Demon’s perfect martial knowledge to flow through him, as one stream of data among many. He let the power of the bloodlines of Trion become the foundation of his ascension. Their numerous Wills grew stronger, but he no longer fought them; he accepted them all. Where he may have reached a limit, his abundant heart broke that limit to pieces. This was a defiant act of taking all that was broken, all that was stolen, all that was contradictory, and declaring that it would all be made to serve a single, greater purpose. This was what it meant to become a Primordial of Defiant Ascension. His form began to stabilize, shifting into something new and disregarding his previous body. His multiple limbs settled, each now thrumming with a different aspect of his power—one for martial precision, one for stolen resilience, one for deep-rooted wisdom, one for healing light, one for temporal adaptation, only for accumulation, one for psychic fortitude, and one, the central hand, that glowed with the pure, defiant will that was his alone. He rose to his feet. The internal cacophony was now a chorus, and he was the conductor. He looked at the Spear of Defiance, and for the first time, he understood it. It was not a weapon to be wielded. It was a mirror. He took a step towards it. The true test had begun.