Primordial Chaos had focused all of his boundless, chaotic power on the tiny, ordered thing.
It was an overreaction of cosmic proportions. It was the universe screaming to erase a single, incorrect decimal point. He did not merely strike it; he poured into it the full, screaming weight of everything he was—all the random chance, the infinite probability, the unbridled potential for change.
Rowan thought it was like trying to extinguish a candle by throwing the sun at it. The Primordials had great weaknesses, but you needed to be strong enough to exploit them.
He did not feel pity or exhilarated at what he was about to accomplish, only a dull sense of satisfaction that was flavored by grief… if only he had been strong enough at the beginning, so much loss and sorrow would have been avoided.
The Centipede of Certainty was designed for this. Its entire existence, its unbreakable law, was predicated on this single moment: Be destroyed by Primordial Chaos.
