The Primordial Record

Chapter 1819: The Toxin

The voice of Primordial Memory was heavy, like a storm; it was as if every statement he was making became truth.

“Second, we weaponize the present.”

Primordial Memory began to show his sibling the current state of Reality, and the fear and chaos left in Rowan’s wake. His intentions were clearly stated out in his Will for Primordial Light to comprehend.

They would not oppose this chaos; they would guide it. Their remaining agents, the echoes of their worship, would move among the terrified masses.

They would form cults not to the old Primordials, but to ’Stability’, to ’Order’, to the ’Sanctity of the Great Design’—all subtle euphemisms for their own return to power.

They would fund the armies fighting the demonic spillage, positioning themselves as the only sane alternative to Rowan’s world-shattering anarchy.

The laughter of Primordial Memory filled this layer of Heaven, “We let him break the world, and then we position ourselves as the only ones who can put it back together.”

Primordial Light sat in silence as he comprehended the plans his sibling was presenting to him. “There is still more you want to show me,” he flatly stated.

“Of course, brother, doing this would not be enough to stop a force like him. Third, we poison the future. This would be the most subtle and insidious part of my plan. Free up your domain so I can show you the core of my plan.”

Primordial Light hesitated for a moment before giving his sibling permission to push more of his power into Heaven.

There were risks to doing such a thing, but the threat of Rowan surpassed those risks. If Primordial Memory was to display his Will for the future anywhere else outside this deeper layer of Heaven, then there was nothing stopping Rowan from detecting the fluctuation of power that would arise from it.

The first two plans of Primordial Memory had promise, and if the third was the final nail to seal the deal, this was a risk that was worth his consideration.

The eyes of Primordial Memory shone when he saw the opened permission for him to exert more of his power. Without a force like Rowan present, then he knew this would be impossible. It was a shame he could not take advantage of this and gain more power from Primordial Light, not when the executioner’s blade was on all their necks.

He reached into the deepest, most fundamental layers of Memory, to the templates of existence itself, and showed Primordial Light his vision.

He proposed a slight, almost imperceptible, rewrite. A seeding of a memetic toxin into the substrate of reality. This was something only Memory could do. Previously, Chaos, Soul, Time, and Demon would have stopped him from accessing this layer of control over Reality due to its adverse effects on their domain, but they were dead.

This toxin would be a subconscious, universal bias towards order, towards hierarchy, towards the known over the unknown.

It would not force anyone to obey. It would simply make the concept of their rule feel… natural. Inevitable. Safe.

Rowan’s new world of chaotic freedom would feel, on a primal level to every newborn soul, wrong. Unsettling. Dangerous.

“Do you see the beauty of it?” Primordial Memory crooned, “We make our order not to be a cage, but a cradle for their consciousness. And we make his freedom feel like a fall. Of course, he would be able to see this manipulation, but it would be too late for him to stop it, unless he decides to wipe out all life inside Reality, and from his present actions… I don’t think he is able to take that step. No, instead, he would wish to fight us for our control over Reality. We are essentially forcing him away from using his strength in direct confrontation with us; instead, he would be using his heart. If he does not stop our infiltration, all life would slowly be corrupted and perish.”

Asteraoth observed the plan of Primordial Memory; this web of manipulation and psychological warfare was not the way of Light.

Light was revelation, truth, clarity. This was the way of shadow, of half-truths, of manipulated perception. It was the way of the slow death, and he liked it.

What this essentially meant was that they would be fusing their concept into the destinies of all life inside Reality. They would be letting go of their great advantage as Primordials, because they believed that Rowan would not be willing to cleanse all life inside Reality just to kill them.

This course of action was all they had left to them, after witnessing the death of multiple Primordials with no adverse effects on Reality. Even a fool would be aware that Rowan had discovered a method to hold Reality in place even after their death.

If the Primordials could not escape their Destiny, then the only course of action was to make their death so painful that Rowan would have to flinch.

“It is… elegant,” Primirdial Light resonated with the Will of Primordial Memory, “It fights his reality not with a greater reality, but with a more palatable fiction. You would turn all of existence into a prison whose bars the inmates neither see nor wish to escape.”

“Is that not the most perfect form of order?” Primordial Memory replied, his voice was an echo devoid of malice, only a profound, chilling pragmatism remained. “The sheep who love the shepherd, and fear the wolf, never knowing the shepherd plans their slaughter? We do not need to defeat Rowan in a fight. We only need to make the world he fights for utterly undesirable. We make his victory feel like a defeat. We drain his cause of all its meaning.”

The brilliant point of light that was Primordial Light pulsed, considering. The web of memories around them went silent, waiting for the conductor’s next move.

This was not a battle of power against power. It was a battle of story against story. Of a remembered past against a desired future, and if there were anyone who would be able to pull it off, it would have to be Primordial Memory.

“He will see it coming,” Primordial Light finally resonated. “He now possesses the Origin of Time. He will sense the manipulation of the timeline. He will feel the rewriting of his past as soon as you begin.”

“Let him,” Primordial Memory’s whisper was the sound of dust settling on a forgotten truth. “Let him see the monument we build to his madness. Let him feel the world turning against him. Let him experience the agony of being remembered as a monster. What can he do? He can kill us. But he cannot kill the story we will have written. He is the god of ’what is’. We will become the gods of ’what is remembered’ and ’what is believed’. And in the end, Memory and Perception are the only realities that truly matter.”

Primordial Light sighed, “Then I will give you the Third Layer of Heaven as your cauldron. Inside this place, you will have a barrier to block his senses. This would not last for long, and you have to take advantage of it.”

Primordial Memory grinned. “I will not fail us.”