Primordial Awakening: I Can Evolve My Skills Infinitely - Chapter 232

Chapter 232: Faltered Determination, Unable to Resist
The curse Sam had been struck with dug far deeper than he expected.

His body felt heavy, his soul burned, and even breathing made him feel like shards of glass were stuck inside his chest.

The judge monarch loomed before him, grinning with a twisted delight.

“It’s funny,” the monarch said, its rotating head turning until the side that spoke faced him directly.

“Every primordial believes they are untouchable. Every one of them thinks their strength is beyond our reach.”

The head rotated again, and another face continued without pause.

“But in the end, they all fall into the same trap. They always absorb our core, and when they do, the curse eats them alive. It is nothing less than a death sentence.”

Sam ignored the words.

He had no time to waste listening to their gloating.

If he stopped to think too much about what the curse meant, he would collapse here and now.

He forced all his focus inward, pulling his strength together, forcing his body to keep moving.

Above the judge monarch’s head, the [Verdict Bar] shimmered into existence.

That meant the fight wasn’t over.

That meant he still had a chance.

But to fill the bar, he would need to land real blows on this monster.

And if he couldn’t fight back, then his story ended here.

“Judgment Strike!”

The judge monarch’s four arms blurred as it closed the distance between them.

Sam braced behind his [Primordial Barrier], his teeth clenched, his blood-soaked body refusing to kneel.

Slam! Slam! Slam!

The barrier flared under each hit, shaking violently with cracks forming across its surface.

It held, but Sam knew it would not last.

The monarch’s three voices laughed at once, the sound bouncing through the arena like a chorus of knives.

“To curse your kind so deeply… what a blessing this is,” the monarch said, its eyes glinting with cruel delight.

“How ironic that the mighty Primordials are undone not by our hands, but by their own arrogance.”

Sam tried to rise, his hands pressing against the broken stone floor.

But his arms trembled violently, and each time he pushed upward, his body collapsed again, slamming back down.

Blood spilled from his mouth in wet coughs, and more streamed from his eyes until the floor beneath him stained red.

Through blurred vision, he turned his head toward the [Primordial Clone].

The clone was no longer smiling.

A cold shiver ran down Sam’s spine.

It was the first time since its creation that the clone’s face had shown anything other than that eerie grin.

And if even the clone had stopped smiling, then the situation was worse than he feared.

Sam’s pupils tightened as he glared at the monarch above him.

The monstrous figure only stared back down at him, unmoved, unshaken.

“Watching you fall apart after being so sure of victory…” the monarch’s rotating heads grinned in unison, “It is fabulous.”

“…”

“And none of you ever survive this curse. None. Not one of your kind has escaped its grip. You may struggle, but the result will never change.”

Sam’s arms shook, but he pressed harder against the floor, his body screaming in agony.

He refused to stop. He refused to accept that this was the end.

Bam! Bam!

The primordial barrier shook again under repeated strikes, its cracks spreading wider.

Sam clenched his jaw and tried to summon his strength.

Primordial Barrage!

Fzip!

A brutal headache exploded in his skull, his vision flashing white as searing pain tore through him.

His aura flared violently from his eyes, burning uncontrolled.

Ding!

[You have been cursed. You cannot use any of your skills right now.]

[Hell-Mode Analysis: The curse must be overpowered.]

Sam’s breath caught in his throat.

That meant his only path forward was to do something none of the primordials before him had ever accomplished.

They had all fallen here, crushed under the curse and devoured by despair.

But if he wanted to live, if he wanted to win, then he had to do what no one else had done.

Could he do it?

Was he really different from the rest?

“Your attempts amuse us,” the monarch said, its voice booming with three tones at once.

“But perhaps it is time to change the game. Don’t you agree?”

“Indeed!” one head answered.

“Agreed, he is finished already!” another added.

They ignored Sam entirely and rushed toward the [Primordial Clone].

The clone was kneeling, silent, its empty gaze locked directly on the approaching monarch.

For the first time, the monarch actually flinched as their eyes met.

“Haha… that look…” one head muttered.

“It is the same as HIS eyes,” another hissed.

“Then let us erase it,” the third snarled.

All four of the monarch’s arms rose, the bell, the scale, the rope, and the gauntlet raised high.

Then they struck, slamming each weapon down in relentless fury.

They didn’t even use the powers sealed within the items—raw force alone was enough to shatter the clone’s barrier.

Slash!

The clone swung its blade, forcing the monarch back a step, but their movements slipped out of reach.

“Even now, you still attack,” the monarch said coldly, their three faces sneering at once.

“Truly fitting for your title.”

Slam! Smash! Swash!

The blows fell again and again, smashing into the barrier until cracks spiderwebbed across its surface.

With one last crushing strike, the barrier shattered.

The monarch twisted aside from another desperate slash, then thrust forward with the gauntlet, gripping the clone by the neck.

“Watch closely,” the judges said, turning their rotating head toward Sam.

A dark vortex of aura swirled inside the thin carved opening on their face.

“Watch, and know how weak you are.”

Fwish… CRACK!

They snapped the clone’s neck.

The body went limp and disappeared into the air like smoke.

Ding!

[Your “Primordial Clone” has been killed.]

Sam’s eyes widened at that moment: the clone didn’t revive.

Even after several seconds, the clone did not return.

That meant it was truly gone.

[Determination is Fuel] made it so that the clone could always revive so long as Sam’s determination never faltered.

But now, if it did not revive, that could only mean one thing.

His determination was failing.

And if his determination fell completely… then his own death would be final. Permanent.

The monarch’s head rotated back toward Sam.

A cold dread ran through his body, heavier than the curse.

[Focus.]

A crimson panel flashed before him.

Sam clenched his fists, nodding.

He couldn’t panic. He couldn’t despair.

Even if his opponent was overwhelming, even if the curse ate away at him, despair would only end him faster.

He forced himself to breathe. He closed his eyes.

He pulled every memory forward, every battle he had fought, every step he had taken to survive this far.

He remembered the Primordials who had fallen before, their power wasted against the judges’ curse.

He remembered that he was the final one of his kind, and that he couldn’t die here.

He remembered Belle and Seraphine, as well as the mansion in the [Forsaken] kingdom he said he would buy with them.

The monarch reached him then, towering above with all four arms raised.

Though they had no mouth, the sneer across all three faces was obvious.

“Well then,” they said, lowering the gauntlet toward his throat, “It is goodbye.”

Slam! Swash!

The barrier around Sam shattered like glass under repeated strikes.

The monarch’s gauntlet reached forward, clamping hard around his neck.

“Bye bye.”

They wasted no words, no mockery.

They simply tightened their grip, ready to end it.

Sam felt the crushing pressure squeeze his neck.

His lungs seized. His vision darkened.

But then—

DEATH STOP!

Time rippled violently, freezing into a distorted flow.

The monarch’s fingers clenched around his throat, but they moved a hundred times slower.

Ding!

—

[The passive of your “Time” affinity has activated: “Death Stop.”]

[Death Stop: When the Primordial is on the verge of death, time slows to a crawl, granting them the chance to think before the end.]

—

Sam’s eyes widened.

‘Holy plot armor!’

The ability had only triggered once before, back when he fought Varkhaz, the sixth Forsaken Lord.1

But that time hadn’t been true death, not as much as right now at least.

This time, he had been cornered to the very brink. This time, it was real.

He didn’t care why it activated now. This was his chance. This was the only way forward.

He had no choice but to use it.