The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1370

In the old forgotten wilderness of Raul, Noctis was the last worshipper of the Old Ones, his feet knew the texture of every single grain of sand in this wilderness because every ninety-nine millennium he journeyed to the depths of the earth, and he paid homage to the Nine Fallen Divinities.

Before entering the massive void in the ground that spans across the wilderness for thousands of miles, Noctis could not help but look at the skies that once glowed with the light of the Frozen Road, shining light upon all of reality, even shedding light on this wilderness, but now that light was gone, and existence seemed more empty without it.

Noctis sighed before leaping into the void, and let the hold of gravity wrap his body in their serene embrace. He fell for an unnaturally long amount of time, and during that fall there were glimpses of parts of a massive presence that defied understanding streaking past him, and when he reached the depth of this abyss, he bowed and worshipped before the statues of the Old Ones.

Their statues were millions of feet tall, more massive than any mortal minds could comprehend, and Noctis usually spent ten thousand years on each statue, cleansing their feet with divine oil, and burning sacred ash to appease their sleeping minds.

To begin the ritual, Noctis would stamp his feet on the hard ground in a dance that was ancient before even the stars were born, he would take a bone knife and repeatedly slice through his flesh, flinging his blood around in dizzying patterns and with such great force that they were sprinkled for thousands of miles, and at the height of his dance, he was like a whirlwind, a tornado of blood that sprayed on the feet of the Old Ones.

When he stopped, all his clothes would be gone, shredded in the violence of his ritualistic dance, and this would reveal the tattoos that made him Noctis, they resembled deep scars that reached the bones, and they circled his entire body like a web, they even covered his face and bald head.

Noctis had been performing this task for eighteen billion years, and his time was coming to an end, a new Noctis would have to be selected. _{ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com}

The worship of the Old Ones came with a cost. A terrible cost that drained the vitality and soul of the worshipper because every Noctis had to fight against the call of forgetfulness.

Noctis had come to the conclusion that after this ritual was completed, he would leave this place in search of his successor, however, it was more of a pull than a search, because the tattoos knew who would be the next Noctis and he only had to follow their guide.

As the end approached, the nature of the tattoos would slowly be revealed to Noctis, as if knowing that their time was coming to an end, the tattoos no longer tried to hide their nature from their hosts.

Noctis knew that when he found the next person who would be becoming Noctis, that individual would have no idea about this place or the task they would be performing for billions of years, the tattoos would rip themselves away from his body, taking with it the last of his soul and vitality, and it would wrap around the new Noctis, engraving themselves on their body and soul, they would lose everything that they once were, becoming Noctis.

They would leave family behind, abandon whatever role they served in their society, and they would return to this forgotten wilderness, where they would remain, holding the burden of Oblivion, until their bodies reached the limits and they would find a new Noctis. This had been the cycle for endless eons.

Today, Noctis finished his ritualistic dance and he began the procession to the first of the Old Ones, the tiredness that had been creeping inside his bones was more prevalent with every passing day, and he knew that soon he would be passing the torch and he could not be more grateful.

Noctis eyes shone with fervor and mad frenzy, his existence no longer seemed meaningless, the result of all these endless years of suffering had led to the ultimate expression of his worship, the resurrection of his deities.

Feeling a scratching sensation inside his head as if something was trying to interface with his consciousness, Noctis gladly opened himself to it, and then he heard their glorious voices, and he shuddered in pleasure.

Their voices were filled with power, every expression of their intent seemed as if it could change reality, and Noctis almost collapsed in shock and bliss multiple times but he held himself bound with a strong force of will, he would not fail his deities.

However, something changed as the voices in his head that had once been filled with query, and assurance began to change, now there was suspicion and anger. Noctis nearly wept when he detected this change and he wanted to dig out any wrong part of him that would have caused such a thing, and then like a brick to the skull, the sensation inside his head turned to fear, it was such a startling change that Noctis’s eyes flew open and he witnessed something that nearly broke his mind.

His tattoos had always seemed to have a life of their own, sometimes he would have sworn that they were moving, but now if he had any suspicions at all about the mobility of his tattoos, they had become justified a billion times over, because at this moment, it was like he had become the center of a massive web, his tattoos had sprung out from his flesh and they had surrounded all the eyes, piercing through them and into the mighty bodies behind them.

The cries of fear he had heard were not a figment of his imagination, for those cries increased in startling pitch and intensity, and before his gaze, his tattoos retracted into his body, dragging the screaming Old Ones back with it, and when the first Old One was dragged into his flesh, Noctis knew the true meaning of pain and suffering.