Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 3745: Primarch III

”Ah…”

Noah stood at the edge of the Outer Wheel, this fantastical place of silence and echo as he inhaled a deep breath of Quintessence. He felt the compression of his Complexity and Purity settle into his being like a second skin.

He hadnʼt been idle, neither in the Infiniverse Crucible nor here, in the Null Cradle of Fold-Breaking Ascension. The joint advancement in both over the past hours had brought him to a stupendous state.

One even he couldnʼt fully grasp.

And yet, when he glanced at his status panel, it was all too clear.

NAME: Noah Osmont

TITLE: Origin Prime Osmontian Infinitum | Resplendent Monad

TRUE SOURCE: Absolute Complex Atlas Living Wheel of Existence (Absolute Complex True Source), Singed, Infinity, Existence, Runes, Ruination, Manadynamics, Entropy, Protagonist, Life, Death, Paradox, Plot, Cheats…

CQ: 49,999 (98,999) | PQ: 49,999 (98,999)

RATE OF PROGRESSION: Paradoxical

STATUS: Quintessential

THREAT RATING: Unquantifiable

49,999.

98,999.

His Purity Quotient and Complexity Quotient had not only climbed, they had been compressed. And while his actual values rested at 49,999, the power he could express was only a few hundred points from a monumental breakthrough.

Everything within him felt tight, dense, and brimming with explosive force. He glanced back at the faces of the Living and Dead watching in awe. He offered a light nod and a smile, then turned toward the murky, obsidian path stretching toward the Middle Wheel Platform.

His power would be tested soon enough.

In the Infiniverse Crucible, his bodies would reveal how truly obscene he had become.

But this, this was the culmination. The elevation of his True Sources. Of his lineage. The result of Utilization, of enduring constant pressure, being broken down and refined again and again.

And finally, layered atop it all, the compression of the Null Cradle of Fold-Breaking Ascension.

It was a perfect storm. A moment of quiet Ascension, away from the usual cataclysms and apocalypses.

A rare chance to breathe.

To rise.

Surely, such peaceful days of Quintessence would continue… right?

”Right…”

He stepped forward.

HUUMM!

Obsidian platforms spiraled from the darkness between the Outer and Middle Wheels, floating Calcified Wheels, each one broader than a mountain, etched with paradoxical glyphs that shifted endlessly.

They drifted in a void of collapsed and fragmented weavings of Existence.

Noah observed them, pondering what manner of complexity birthed such things.

They werenʼt just platforms.

They were barriers.

To reach the Middle Wheel, one had to leap across them.

His Null Form, a faint three-inch silhouette hugging his body, pulsed with compressed resonance. Small as it was, it felt like a behemoth trapped in a grain of sand.

And with it, he moved forward unhindered.

The pressure between platforms was suffocating. Paradoxical. Only those of terrifying Complexity and Purity could pass through without crumbling.

He leapt toward the first platform, the void below endless, a gravitational force ever-present and eager to drag him down.

BOOM!

His landing cracked the Calcified Wheel, not from weakness, but from contradiction. Something so small should not carry such weight.

Gasps came from the watching Dead Things.

And still, he pressed on.

Jump.

Land.

Crack.

Again.

The wheels widened. Gravity intensified, folding in on itself, daring him to fall. His Null Form tore through paradox, each bound more effortless than the last.

He moved through the impossible.

And ahead, he felt it.

Auras of Entities.

Terrifying ones.

And beyond them, a vast obsidian plain: the Middle Wheel Platform.

Then...

HUUM!

He leapt once more, primal and fierce, and...

He landed.

Obsidian lightning cracked beneath his feet, paradoxical weavings thrumming in response.

He had arrived.

The Middle Wheel Platform.

Far larger than the Outer Wheel, an arena of resonance and trial.

Collapsed Concordance monoliths hovered like frozen philosophies. Strange structures and wheels sprawled in every direction.

And pressing down at all times… a weight.

A pressure that sought to collapse existence itself.

| Welcome to the Middle Wheel Platform. Bear the pressure of Paradoxical Collapse relative to your current Complexity and Purity values, and a Mark of the Folds will be granted every hour. |

Noah exhaled slowly.

This pressure was alive. A sentient paradox trying to crush his Null Form with every breath. His three-inch glow flared slightly, defying it.

Before him, strands of condensed weavings curled and twisted. Above the cracked platform, more prompts formed.

| Core Trials of the Middle Wheel Platform are Initiated. The following paths are available for Ascension: |

| Reconstruct the Broken True Sigils: Scattered across the Middle Wheel Platform lie the fractured True Source Sigils of Existences who perished amid collapse and paradox. Aligning to oneʼs True Source is ideal, but can narrow perception. Comprehending othersʼ True Sources can broaden oneʼs insight and progress. |

…!

Golden-blue light sparked in Noahʼs eyes.

”No way.”

He murmured aloud, knowing the prompt would mean little to others.

But to him?

| Collect fractured pieces of a True Source Sigil and restore its conceptual name and meaning using insight, resonance, or any other means. Each fragment is incomplete. Only through resonance of understanding can matching pieces be drawn together. |

| A completed Sigil grants understanding of another True Source, refining oneʼs own Complexity and Purity of their own True Source. Each completion of a full Sigil rewards 50 Marks of the Folds. |

| Restoring 9 Sigils unlocks the third trial—Withstanding the Weight of Compressed Epochs. Step into the Cradle of Folded Time and bear the burden of an Epoch. The longer you endure, the greater your evolution. |

| Fail to achieve anything, and your time here ends. |

…!

Three things.

Pressure that granted Marks by the hour.

Reconstruction of lost Sigils.

And the Weight of Compressed Epochs.

Just three.

But for Noah… it was glory.

He looked down.

The obsidian earth shimmered with scattered teardrop-like fragments.

Pieces of True Sources.

They were presented to others to test how easily they could track and understand multiple other True Sources, to expand their narrow view beyond a single one.

But for him, who already held dozens of True Sources…

Was he not simply placed in a vast library of True Sources? Each one like a puzzle piece, waiting for him to comprehend, fit together, and add to his growing roster?