The Primordial Record-Chapter 2140: The Guardians of The Primordials

It was almost a comical sight to see the vast horde screaming down from the heavens, only to see their bodies halt in place before they were squeezed into a thin spiral and then even that spiral vanished, and even some of the primordial level abominations did not survive this process, after all, this was a weapon made to kill Primordials, and killing all these trillions of small fries alongside them was nothing.

But the hordes were relentless, and their numbers could not be counted. These mighty machines began to break down underneath the strain of repeatedly compressing space-time to its smallest point and extinguishing it.

Power from the core of the realm was pumped into it, but even the divine alloys used in their creation could not withstand the strain, and one by one they were slowly collapsing... and this was not all.

Running the machines were Old Ones and lower-dimensional immortals, but at the moment, some of them began making mistakes, causing the machines they were operating to begin failing, and before long, half of these gigantic machines became floating wreckage, leaving the heavy burdens for the rest to bear.

They could not hold out for long before they collapsed. In the short time that these machines were in operation, they had killed countless abominations, and while they were successful, another massive crystal was growing above, drinking in the deaths of every abomination, and although it was a third of the size of the first, it still cracked open and exploded.

"VHROOSSSHHH!!!"

Another wave of darkness erupted from it, further suppressing the power of Origin on the Realm and causing the strength of the abominations to rise. Their bloodlusted roar left space and time trembling, as trillions of abominations broke past the cloud layer, and then they could now fully see the defenders of the Origin Realms.

Leading the charge were Nyxara’s Soulwraiths, billions of them materializing from the rifts like ghosts born of nightmare. Each seven-foot silhouette of translucent black mist glided silently, with its vortex-maws swirling with the harvested screams of murdered realities.

"Soulwraiths!" A General who was an Old One screamed, as he bravely led the charge into the sky, followed by billions of fellow warriors, all clad in armor of pure causality.

They knew that they needed to hold back the horde long enough for the Primordials to recover, and even when they understood that this action would most likely lead to their death, none of them turned back.

Warriors with tears streaming down their eyes raised up blades of light and shadow and hurled themselves into the sky to cut down their end. It was worth noting that this battle was to be fought in total darkness, and only the light of the armor worn by the defenders lit up the way.

Billions met trillions, and the air turned into a grinder of death and destruction. The weapons and the armor of the defenders were the greatest in Existence, forged by Primordial Crafters. They enhanced the survivability and power of every single warrior on the battlefield, and something amazing happened... the smaller party was holding back the tide.

For a hundred million years, the Primordial had guarded and protected them. For the Primordials, a hundred million years might seem like a small period, barely a blink of an eye, but for everyone here, they had lived lives that stretched for millions of years, loved, laughed and cried... some of them here were even as young as ten thousand years, and for lesser immortals like them, this stretch of time was long enough for them to live and enjoy the peace and prosperity granted to them by the Primordials and the Grand Creator.

No one here fought with regret, and for those who cried, it was only for what they were leaving behind, and they were not strong enough to defend their home and return to it... But their families would know that they were here, and they were the guardians of the Primordials.

What glory it was to die like this.

Many of them were dying, but it did not stop the fact that they were still holding them back, and giving the Primordials a chance to escape from their bindings.

There were many hundreds of billions of defenders spread across the realm, but due to the darkness and the effect of the repeated blasts from the strange End Crystal, many of the defenders could not rush over in time, leaving only a few billion directly below the crack in the heavens as they shielded the Primordials struggling to break their bindings.

And yet, despite their bravery, the enemy had Primordials that were free, and they entered the fray, and the losses began to rise, as they tore apart the defenders, millions at a time.

One Primordial-level Soulwraith latched onto a guardian named Lirael, an Old One who had once been a galaxy’s collective consciousness, she was now extremely close to the level of a Primordial Candidate, and perhaps in a million years, she would have crossed that mark, making her one of the first of the sixth generation of Primordials, but that chance would never come again

The Soulwraith forced her mind through the path of Karma to return to her previous existence before she reincarnated into the Origin Realms.

In all her past lives, she had been a galactic consciousness, and she inevitably met the disaster that fell on all life as the Ancient Primordials plundered all of Existence.

She was made to relive every betrayal that led to the fall of her home stars, the extinction of species she had nurtured, and the hollow longing of lovers separated by cosmic distances.

Lirael’s form flickered, her light dimming as existential dread choked her essence. She forgot how to breathe the ether of existence, her body unraveling like wet thread.

The Soulwraith drank her fragments, growing taller, its misty form reshaping into a twisted parody of Lirael herself, eyes hollow, mouth a perpetual scream.

This same thing was happening across the ranks of defenders, as multiplied by billions, this horror spread like a plague. Guardians collapsed in droves, their defenses crumbling as dread paralyzed entire legions.

However, their great sacrifices were not a waste, as Aetheron, under the assistance of his Origin Realm, broke the shackles binding him, screaming in rage and pain because most of the dead belonged to his bloodline.

His brilliant body exploded into a colossal figure of swirling nebulae and infinite horizons, and he roared in defiance and pain.