The Primordial Record

Apart from his eye peering through his shell, Rowan had not seen his appearance. He knew he still appeared human, but only on the surface. He did not forget that he was still in the Mortal State of his bloodline, and already his bones were metal, his blood was golden and dense as mercury. He had three hearts and around them were three living snakes.

Oh. Was he still missing something?

He was still in the mortal state, yet he could bet his transformation had exceeded most Dominators, even at the Rift state, his growing height and an increasing alien physique was serving as a warning to him about the changes he might expect in the future.

His Sight brushed through his body once more. Maybe this was the most human he would ever resemble going forward. A faceless man behind a shell with the eyes of a Dragon? But who was to say what his future would be like if he survives.

He recalls a catchy song in his past life, that had flashy dance steps, he was not much of a dancer, but with his Agility Attributes he was sure he could throw down with the best of them.

This thought made him smile, and humming the song, he opened the Primordial Record. No matter the obstacles ahead, as long as he kept getting stronger, he was satisfied.

P

Name: Rowan Kuranes

Age: 11/11

Strength : 224.7

Agility : 223.9

Constitution : 362.4

Spirit : 58.7

Class: None

Title: Plane walker

Aspect : Spatial Sight (Tier 1)

Berserker (Tier 1)

Skills:

Enrage (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Vortex (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Bash (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Dash (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Smash (Level 10— Mortal State Completed) Combo Attack (Level 10— Mortal State Completed)

Passive : Decipher language (complete), Icy soul (level 4)

Records:

[ATAVISM]- level 0 [1540/4000]

– level 0 [0/1000]

Soul Point :2.4532

Remark: Divine Squire.

Damn. He was becoming a monster. Even with his inflated stats, he knew that could not accurately describe his abilities.

His body was different from any other Dominators, he may have not really understood how yet, but his physique made every stat he had to carry an extra kick.

With the toughness of his body, he would be able to truly push himself without fearing any adverse repercussions, and with his healing factor, it was easy to recover damage.

His stats almost made him desire to run back to the lake and have an earth-shattering battle with the Abominations, and he found himself considering that option for much longer than he had expected.

What tempered his enthusiasm was the head of that woman he saw in the lake. According to his understanding of Abominations. Their core would not move from their position, unless it was going to be leaving the area.

It was hard to judge the powers of an Abomination Core because he was not privy to that information previously as he was not a Dominator. But he knew it must be mighty, and he would not be able to fight it at this time.

The manor was protected by Sigils. He did not understand what it truly was, but it was only given to the seven Noble families by the God king. It was etched into Orichalcum plates, and it produced a mystical barrier that had great defensive powers.

Most notable of all was that, Sigils we’re mainly defensive, there were rumors about other uses for them apart from the defensive barriers they created, but he had never seen them.

Rowan walked to the window, and placed his hands on the iron bars, and pulled it open, it was so easy, it was almost like bending a straw. He should be going to that world with the Red moon, but he needed to relax for a moment.

He had just survived an ordeal that would break most humans, and the act of standing still while looking at the rising sun was cathartic. Rowan the prince had a habit when he was tense. He made sketches.

Rowan was going to push himself until he broke into the Legendary State in that world, nevertheless, he felt he needed to remind himself about why he fought and also to clear his mind.

Going to battle or to your death willingly was not an easy thing to accomplish, he sometimes wished that he was broken, able to perform feats of incredible brilliance or cruelty like the heroes from the books he had read without it affecting his mental state.

But that was far from who he was, at the moment of action, he did his possible best without flinching, but after the events had passed he usually finds himself beset by doubts.

He was wasting time which he needed above all else, so he would have to be quick, he turned away from the window and moved to the metallic table he used for experimentation.

Rowan moved the beakers, pipettes, an alchemical cauldron and a pair of tweezers out of the way and set down his sketchbook. Besides it, he placed the wooden box.

Rowan gently opened the box and within were a dozen graphite pencils, their tips were all sharpened until the desired length. Their colors on the pencil wrappings ranged from dull bronze to green gold, and carefully numbered on each was the number one until twelve. On the side of the box was a circular opening where Rowan knew he could sharpen the pencils if he so desired.

The prince took painting lessons as one of the required learning courses for alchemy studies. He soon came to fall in love with the art itself. Finding the process of placing pen to paper as freeing.

Rowan decided to follow the habit of the prince when he was feeling stressed and despondent. The act of placing his memories on paper seems to dull the edges on the sharper sides of his recollection. Easing him into analyzing his shortcomings and the events that transpired.

As far as he was concerned, this would shorten the time it took him to properly go over the events of the past few days, and maybe reveal to him certain shortcomings he had made.

He opened the sketchbook. It was a relatively new copy and had only a single picture drawn.

It was of a smiling woman. Rowans mother.

The sketch of the woman had been done with utmost care and attention. From an artistic perspective, it had all the necessary elements to bring a face to life, from the shades and the contours to the deft trick he used to make the eyes look real. Yet for all the subtleties here, there was still emotion here. For he kept all her flaws.

A small scar by the side of her eyes when she fell as a child, the slight wrinkle in her nose as she smiled, Rowan had captured his memories of his mother and placed them on paper.

Rowan had created an alive picture. Her hair was long and slightly curly as it tumbled over her shoulders. She had an oval face, and expressive eyes. What drew Rowans attention was her smile. He had been able to capture its warmth in his drawing.

" . . ."

These words were written just below the picture. Rowan’s mood when he wrote them was a memory he did not have.