Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 3764 Inevitability III

The storm receded, not by natural law, but by my will.

The Crucible was quiet again, the Forge overhead pulsing with a steady rhythm, the Forge within me burning brighter.

I could feel it, the shift.

Not just in existence.

In me.

I pulled the data inward.

The numbers.

The structure.

The reality.

| Noah Osmont - Origin Prime Osmontian Infinitum|

| True Sources with Lattices Forged: |

Origin Prime Osmontian Infinitum (Paradoxical) - 9 Lattices

Singed (Elemental) - 9 Lattices

Chronos (Temporal) - 9 Lattices

Genesis (Origin) - 9 Lattices

Quantum (Quantum) - 9 Lattices

Space (Dimensional) - 9 Lattices

Soul (Spiritual) - 9 Lattices

Infinity (Concept) - 9 Lattices

Uncertainty (Emotion) - 9 Lattices

Veritarch (Law) - 9 Lattices

Loot - 9 Lattices (Paradoxical)

Ruination - 9 Lattices (Paradoxical)

Wrath - 9 Lattices (Emotive/Elemental)

Necromancy - 9 Lattices (Spiritual)

Plot - 9 Lattices (Law/Conceptual)

Animus - 9 Lattices (Origin)

Dreams - 9 Lattices (Conceptual)

Manadynamics - 9 Lattices (Conceptual/Dimensional)

Entropy - 9 Lattices (Paradoxical)

Tyranny - 9 Lattices (Law/Paradoxical)

Apocalypse - 9 Lattices (Paradoxical)

Cataclysm - 9 Lattices (Dimensional)

Kuklos - 9 Lattices (Temporal/Conceptual)

Outerversal - 9 Lattices (Dimensional/Quantum)

Ordo Ab Chao - 9 Lattices (Law/Origin)

Megalos - 9 Lattices (Conceptual/Origin)

Quintessence - 9 Lattices (Paradoxical)

Protagonist - 9 Lattices (Law/Paradoxical/Conceptual)

Paradox - 9 Lattices (Paradoxical/Law/Conceptual/Temporal/Dimensional)

| Total Existential Dimensional Lattices: 261 |

| True Absolute Existential Resistances: |

Paradoxical Resistance: +3%

Elemental Resistance: +3%

Temporal Resistance: +3%

Origin Resistance: +3%

Quantum Resistance: +3%

Dimensional Resistance: +3%

Spiritual Resistance: +3%

Conceptual Resistance: +3%

Emotive Resistance: +3%

Law Resistance: +3%

| Collective Total Resistance: 30% |

| Current Complexity Quotient (CQ): 211,000 (285,000) SU |

| Current Purity Quotient (PQ): 208,000 (282,000) SU |

| Note: Advancement of Lattices beyond 9 per Source requires exceeding Complexity and Purity Quotient thresholds of 300,000 SU. |

—!

I reviewed the numbers with detached satisfaction.

No pride.

Just process.

I had shattered the 200,000 barrier for both Quotients, the point where most beings would begin to plateau.

For me?

It was a starting line.

300,000.

500,000.

A million.

The limits others whispered about did not concern me.

Because I was not reaching for ceilings.

I was building my own sky.

I let the panel dissipate, my mind already moving ahead.

But before shifting focus,

I waved my hand.

Space split cleanly.

From the dimensional folds, an object emerged.

Rectangular.

Gray.

Simple to the naked eye, but I knew better.

The final product of Hell Terra Firma.

The Key.

The thing the Time Sentinels had once hungered for, believing it to be the first step toward a greater prize.

The Loom.

I had tested it before, Mana, True Sources, even the Essence of Existence itself.

Nothing.

No response.

But now, armed with the authority of my Existential Dimensional Lattices,

I tried again.

I extended my hand, and reached.

Power flowed outward.

Not Mana.

Not simple Source.

The authority of Lattices.

Carefully, precisely, I guided it, weaving it toward the Key.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

And then,

A reaction.

Caused when certain, specific Existential Dimensional Lattices flowed in.

Faint, almost imperceptible, but there.

At the bottom of the gray rectangle, a brilliant gray tunic line lit up, pulsing faintly.

One.

I narrowed my eyes.

And right after, faint runic lines spiderwebbed the Key and became visible, hundreds of thousands of them crisscrossing its smooth surface, as if activating one made the rest visible.

I had activated a single one.

One out of hundreds of thousands.

I pushed more.

Specifically, not just any Lattices. The Key showed no reaction to any Lattices related to the other nine True Absolute Existential Resistances, but only to the Lattices of the Paradoxical Resistance.

It was wondrous.

And so I fed the Key with Lattices of Paradoxical Resistance.

There was a reaction.

A second line lit up.

Another heartbeat of gray brilliance.

Slow.

Deliberate.

But definite.

I smiled faintly.

Interest piqued.

So, the Key was not sealed against all.

Just against the wrong approaches.

And apparently, Paradox at the level of Primarchy was the right one.

Fitting.

I continued to flood the authority of my Existential Dimensional Lattices relating to Paradoxical Resistance into it, watching as a third line flickered to life, then a fourth, the glow slowly beginning to pulse deeper into the latticework of the Key.

How many would it take to fully activate it?

What lay at the end of this process?

The Loom?

A path to even greater paradoxes?

My curiosity sharpened.

I continued to pour the Lattices of True Sources related to Paradoxical Resistance into the Key, seeing how many lines I could light up before my current Lattices were depleted.

As this occurred,

I would continue to prepare.

Because I had many avenues to do so, and my body was not a lone one. There was another in the Middle Wheel Platform.

I shifted my awareness once more.

A tilt of existence.

A breath drawn across realities.

And my perception moved,

Not away from the Crucible.

But toward the endless spiral of paradox and trial that was the Middle Wheel.

Where another body, another me, waited.

Where another Fable unfolded under my will.

I shifted my consciousness.

And began to see.

—

In the Middle Wheel Platform.

My other body was perched midway up the Paradoxical Fold Mountain known as Votharion.

The Middle Wheel Platform stretched out below, a battlefield of folded paradoxes and broken certainties. Faint glimmers of other Entities dotted the lower reaches, their Null Forms flickering, wary, distant.

But they kept their distance.

For good reason.

I sat, no, hovered, in a lattice of power.

Above me, the skies of the Middle Wheel stormed softly, weaving quiet ruin into the blank skies. Around me, spinning slowly in orbit, were not one, but four Completed True Source Sigils.

The first, Wrath, already complete, etched into existence by my will.

And now, alongside it...

Three more Completed True Source Sigils.

True Source Sigil: Fragmentum.

A True Source that represented the breaking of unities, the shattering of continuities. A True Source of paradoxical collapse.

To find its 117 scattered Fragments, I had to wade through deeper ruin, but it resonated easily with my own Entropy and Continuity, collapse and distillation entwined.

Its nature leaned sharply toward Paradoxical Resistance.

True Source Sigil: Exanimas.

A True Source of the denial of soul and self. Not death, the unbeing that came after.

103 Fragments, hidden in folds of pure nullity, surrendered easily under my gaze. My connection to Soul and Necromancy drew them like moths to flame.

Another source deeply anchored in Paradoxical Resistance, but also in the Spiritual Resistance.

True Source Sigil: Disgregatio.

A True Source of systemic breakdown. The entropy of not just objects or lives, but concepts, structures, and order itself.

129 Fragments found across twisting paradoxes, I hardly needed to try. My affiliation with Ordo Ab Chao and Entropy meant the Source bent toward me, like an old friend recognizing kin.

Its essence thrummed, a whisper of Paradoxical Resistance incarnate.

I had not sought mediocrity.

I had sought the difficult, the complex, the Sources that only a handful would even dare to pursue.

And now they spun around me, four completed Sigils, held fast in my weave.

Their complexity and purity were high, higher than most weak Primarchs could ever hope to wield.

Their destinies already decided.

I would bring them to Primarchy.

Nine Lattices each, all aligned to Paradoxical Resistance.

The storm of growth within me would not slow.

Not yet.

Near me, there was a figure.

A Null Form, luminous gold with faint threads of iridescent fate.

Kalysta of the Veiled Sunfolds.

She hovered a respectful distance away, but her gaze, sharp, curious, and slightly exasperated, never wavered from me.

Finally, she spoke, voice a lilting murmur carried by collapsed time.

”Youʼre too different,” she said. ”You must be a major player in the Folds. No normal Entity wields what you wield and does what you do.”

She tilted her head, the starlight runes circling her brow glimmering faintly.

”So tell me, which Concord? Which Fold do you really stem from?”

I only smiled.

A simple shake of my head.

No answer.

Kalysta frowned, the faintest narrowing of her eyes as she pondered.

Then she remembered.

”Your other self,” she said slowly, ”the one outside the Middle Wheel, you had joined with that Primarch. Romulus, wasnʼt it?”

I inclined my head fractionally. Neither confirming, nor denying.

”And,” she pressed, ”are you still pursuing the Time Sentinel who killed your friend?”

This time, I smiled wider.

Amused.

Cold.

”Oh,” I said lightly. ”We already hunted her.”

Kalysta blinked.

I continued, voice calm, languid, the weight of finality curling through each word.

”And not just her.”

I turned my hand in the air, fingers slicing idly through the dense paradox mist.

”A few other Primarch Time Sentinels too.”

I tilted my head slightly.

”They practically brought themselves to us on a platter.”

Kalysta stared.

For a moment, the Primarch of Kismet, the Bearer of Consequence, was speechless.

Her Null Form wavered slightly, disbelief rippling through her golden threads.

”…youʼre serious.”

I said nothing.

I did not need to.

My existence was proof enough.

Kalysta exhaled softly, her gaze turning inward for a flickering moment, calculating, reweighing every assumption she had made about me.

The four Completed True Source Sigils spun around me in slow, sovereign orbits, each radiating their quiet paradoxical authority.

Wrath. Fragmentum. Exanimas. Disgregatio.

They glowed faintly, not blinding, not boastful, but final. Like ancient stars on the verge of collapse, folding reality in their wake.

I turned.

And without a word, began descending the mountain.

The broken paths of Votharion stretched below, gnarled outcroppings and fractured paradox stones collapsing and reforming with every step.

Behind me, a soft flutter of motion.

Kalysta followed, her golden Null Form gleaming like a solitary constellation amidst the ruined sky.

For a few moments, silence.

But Primarchs are rarely content to stay silent when curiosity strikes.

”Youʼre going to look for a fifth Sigil, arenʼt you?” she asked lightly, the barest hint of interest threading her voice.

I shook my head, the faintest ripple of dismissal in the movement.

”No,” I said quietly. ”Not yet.”

She blinked, following more closely now.

”Then…?”

I smiled, slow and quiet.

”There are about to be visitors,” I said. ”Ones of shocking power and renown.”

I did not say who.

Did not need to.

Kalysta tilted her head, the faint starlight of her crown shifting slightly.

”And youʼre going to welcome them?”

”Yes,” I said simply.

She walked beside me now, neither rushing nor falling behind.

We moved together in a strange sort of synchronicity, descending the Mountain of Paradox step by step, surrounded by an aura of quiet inevitability.

She studied me for a few more breaths, not hostile, not guarded, simply curious.

And then, casually, as if commenting on the weather of collapsed realities, she said,

”If you truly do not belong to any Fold or Concord…”

She trailed off for a heartbeat, watching me carefully.

”…then the Veiled Sunfolds would love to have you.”

I raised an eyebrow, the faintest ghost of interest stirring within me.

Even amidst all this, I remained curious.

Not about politics. Not about allegiance.

About True Sources.

About potential.

She continued.

”Even if you have infuriated the Chronosect of Threadbound Folds and made yourself a hunted name, the Veiled Sunfolds have heavy hitters.”

A faint smile curved her lips, proud, but not arrogant.

”You would be protected. Welcomed.”

I turned my head slightly, regarding her with the sort of detached curiosity one reserves for rare, intricate relics.

”I am always curious about Living Things and their wonders,” I said mildly. ”I might take you up on that offer.”

What I did not say?

That to me, Concords, Folds, powers, and protections, were interesting only insofar as they produced unique True Sources.

Exotic Frequencies and Wheels of Existence, whether the Wheels had undergone Breakings or Succeeded.

Rare Lattices.

Not alliances.

Not banners.

Just opportunities for analysis.

But there was no need to say that aloud.

Kalysta smiled faintly, taking my words as she wished.

We walked.

The great broken stretch of the Middle Wheel Platform sprawled below, an endless vista of jagged paradox, floating fracture-plains, and storms of collapsed potential.

And then—

The entry point.

The place where all who sought ascension to the Middle Wheel Platform arrived.

I moved toward it, slow and unhurried.

Kalysta followed, her Null Form flickering gently in the heavy air.

When we arrived, I simply sat.

A single, smooth motion, legs crossed, hands folded over my lap.

I waited.

Silent.

Calm.

The four Completed True Source Sigils continued to orbit me, faintly humming, resonating with the impossible density of the weavings I had shaped.

Kalysta stood behind me, not directly at my back, but to the side, a few paces away, observing.

Waiting.

Curious.

And I?

I simply gazed outward, toward the Folded Horizons where the Folds of the Gravewake Graveyards bent and twisted around the Middle Wheel Platform.

Toward the place where the visitors of shocking power would soon arrive.

I waited.

And when they came,

I would be ready.

I would welcome them in a grand play in a place where harming others was nigh impossible, but still maybe possible with enough complexity. What if Bob were to see the one he promised to come and find standing before him, as if I already knew he was coming? What if the knowledge from Absolute Fictional Transcendence could be used to cause utter twists and psychological mayhem of glorious Paradoxical nature?

WAA!

Waa. Waa indeed.