The Primordial Record novel Chapter 865

Chapter 865 Losses and Despair

The death of the Watcher was not peaceful, or quick.

For a long time, the sound of feasting continued as the Watcher, a powerful Rank 9 Archmage, a step below the Supreme Magus and holder of a powerful Will that should have guaranteed her forever immortality, was slowly devoured, body, spirit, soul and Will. Nothing was being spared.

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A teleportation wave brought Andar and Khasos to the field of unending bodies resurrected by the Tower Masters.

Andar had not recovered from experiencing the strange energy that had rippled through the universe and his skin was red as if he had been boiled, and pain filled every inch of his body but his pain-filled eyes looked around in search, and paused when he saw her. It became the only thing he saw.

Mira hung naked in space as if held by an invisible hanger, her limbs were splayed outward and her eyes were vacant. Her beautiful black hair that she had allowed to grow out surrounded her body, giving her a hint of decency.

Flashes of memory from the moment they met until this moment blasted through his mind, and with his perfect memory, he could recall everything in aching details.

Andar choked back the cry that threatened to escape from his chest. He wanted to go to her but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up in confusion at Khasos, the Warden of the Black Tower, who shook his head and motioned to the three Tower Masters ahead, who seemed to be in deep discussion.

"Hold on until they are done with their deliberations, I know you wish to see her, but it would be foolish to distract the Tower Masters, their powers are mighty and if anyone would be able to save her, they would be among them. You should take the time and heal, don't forget, we are still in the midst of a war, and as this present event has proven, none of us are safe."

Andar nodded stiffly, his mind racing as he allowed himself to see the full scale of the devastation before him, he did not care about healing, his body was far more potent than it appeared on the surface. There were so many horrible events happening around him to consider pain as important. Although the Tower Masters had resurrected only a few of the casualties, they still numbered in the billions. He shivered. How could life be so cheap?

Growing his power as a Mage had always been fun and challenging to him, and even though he knew that such abilities could be incredibly destructive, there had always seemed to be enough safeguards in place to prevent something like this from ever occurring. How did it all go to hell so quickly?

The guilt in his heart could no longer be held back. He should have never allowed Mira to follow him on this expedition to madness. Although Andar knew denying the fierce Mage was most likely a journey of futility, he could have easily placed her to sleep before he left. Why did he ever think she could be safe in a war zone?

He sat and waited for what seemed like hours as the Tower Masters were deliberating, his mind going through various scenarios as he debated what had happened and what would be coming next. His only hope was that Mira could be saved by the Tower Masters, it did not matter the sacrifices he had to make for them to push more resources towards her reawakening.

His body had recovered but there was an echo of that energy inside him that he preserved with a fierce madness, this echo was his inky connection to the bastard who butchered Mira, and by the looks of it, was also killing the entire universe.

"Andar Erikson, come over here!" The voice of the Watcher broke him from his reverie and he looked at the surprised face of Khasos who nodded to him.

Andar thought he saw a hint of desolation and hope deep in the eyes of this Archmage, and he realized that he had lost Mira, but Khasos most likely had lost dozens of friends and disciples and millions of his students, that he might have known for millions of years. The weight in his heart must be a million times heavier than his own, but Andar had been blind to everything else but his grief.

Did death ever get easier to handle? Or was the solution to such grave losses to become indifferent?