Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 3776 Unkillable I

I watched.

The Lattices of Light swirled over my skin, capturing every detail with cold precision.

Calculated.

Measured.

The Living Collapse moved like a flaw stitched into existence itself, a wound too ancient to heal. Its nature was impossibility made flesh, a being no simple paradox could touch.

A hundred percent Paradoxical Resistance.

Untouchable.

Against it, even the concept of resistance seemed a hollow jest. And with seventy-five percent Living Resistance woven into its frame, no Living Thing at the level of Primarchs could even hope to scar it. Primarchs, who clothed themselves in the weavings of True Sources and Lattices, would strike against it as blades against polished stone and find themselves the ones broken.

There was only one viable option.

Death.

The Dead, or those entwined in Collapse and End, might just might stand a chance.

But theory was no shield.

It had to be tested.

And yet...

I was not fool enough to do it myself. Even the loss of a single body was a price I did not spend lightly.

I continued to watch, thinking.

Then came the voice- sharp, clean as a honed blade.

| Tag me in. Alongside Animus. And if the weavings of the Dead are ideal, Necromancy as well. |

The True Source of Summoning buzzed in my own voice, but more dreary. Practical. Cold.

I raised a brow.

Intrigued.

| Being near that creature is dangerous,| Summoning continued. |But using summoned complexities, disposable constructs, to probe it? Efficient. |

Efficient.

That word, I liked.

A flicker stirred within me.

Another voice chimed in, lighter, wreathed in quiet amusement.

The Living True Source of the Protagonist.

| Spectacular idea, truly. And while youʼre at it, why not layer the Existential Dimensional Lattices of other True Sources onto Summoning, Necromancy, and Animus? If itʼs possible to grant them unique properties... well, if things donʼt get messy. |

Layered complexities.

An idea worth more than a passing thought.

I tilted my head.

Not Paradox, no. It would be wasted here. But other branches- Spiritual, Conceptual, Law, Temporal- there were possibilities.

I nodded once, calm as a stone in a storm, mapping it out.

And then, a deeper voice, heavier, carrying the weight of dominion and inevitability.

The Living True Source of Tyranny.

|Foldless Ones are called Living Paradoxes.| Slow. Measured. Deliberate.

|Paradox was made a Living True Source not long ago. Effectively, it has become... a Living Paradox. Did this change anything? Are we the cause of this creatureʼs arrival, even though it looks to Thauron for the stench of the Living Paradoxes? |

…!

I stilled.

The thought slid like a dagger into a crack in the fortress of my mind.

Could it be?

The Paradox within me- no longer inert, no longer theoretical, but Living.

Was that enough?

Enough to mirror a small weaving of what made the Foldless Ones?

Enough to attract something born to erase them?

Possibilities spun in the darkness of my mind.

I said nothing.

I watched as the Cradle groaned under the slow assault of the Living Collapse, beams of gold and black eating away at the very fabric of paradox, the Middle Wheel Platform trembling under the onslaught.

And still, I sat.

Enduring the grind of epochs, weighing every measure with a still heart.

Quietly, I turned my focus inward.

Toward Summoning.

Toward Animus.

Toward Necromancy.

Their Lattices, distinct yet similar, bound together by purpose, imitation, collapse.

We would start there.

”Weave them,” I said, my voice no more than a whisper. ”Layer the Lattices. Summon complexities imbued with these authorities. Disposable, but potent enough to challenge existence, even briefly.”

Infinite Mana pulsed quietly.

The Lattices buzzed.

Silent.

Sharp.

Summoning. Animus. Necromancy.

They wove together, a silent pact sealed by need and precision, forming something more intricate. More dangerous. More temporary.

I turned my gaze outward once more.

The Living Collapse moved with the unhurried certainty of a falling star.

No pause.

No fear.

It glided across the battered platform, an unstoppable tide, untouched, untouchable.

It did not need haste.

It was inevitability given form.

Its gaze, void of warmth, void of thought, turned toward a distant mountain.

Thauron stood there.

Silent.

Cold.

Unyielding.

Others- Monads, Primarchs…scrambled, fled, or froze.

But Thauron?

He moved forward.

Sovereign.

Unbowed.

”I care not for senseless violence,” Thauron said, his voice a steady drumbeat in the chaos. ”Only for violence that carries weight. Violence with purpose.”

His steps carved shadows of Finality behind him.

”So before the eruption of your violence — may I ask? Why?”

The Living Collapse tilted its head, a grotesque parody of curiosity.

Then it spoke, its voice thick with dissolution, words cracking the air like splintering bone.

”I see. I am your first.”

Its hands spread wide, black-gold exoskeleton gleaming.

”It makes sense. You will not survive others like me.”

It breathed.

Slow.

Heavy.

”I have been granted entry,” it said, ”due to the emergence of an Unbound Living Paradox.”

The words cracked the very fabric they traveled through.

”Because they never learn. Always, the same mistakes. Eons upon eons.”

It breathed again, and the Middle Wheel Platform shivered faintly.

Its void-filled gaze gleamed.

”And I am here to correct the mistake. The Sin.”

It lifted its arms- a reverent, almost sacrificial gesture.

”If I find it and erase it, I will have fulfilled my purpose. I will be unmade.”

Its voice was serene.

Its words were death.

”The Why is always the Living Paradoxes,” it said, softer now, as if speaking to a grave.

”My Living Script has this written.”

…!

I sat, silent, beneath the endless storm of time.

My eyes gleamed coldly, and I sighed.

Slow.

Measured.

Turning inward again.

Toward the source of the disturbance.

Toward the Living True Source of Paradox.

It shimmered faintly.

And as I gazed at it, I was not alone.

Quintessence gazed.

Protagonist gazed.

Tyranny gazed.

Cheats.

Infinity.

Veritarch.

One by one.

No hostility.

No fury.

Just...

Curiosity.

Suspicion.

The pressure of understanding.

Paradox stirred faintly, its light muted.

And then, softly, it spoke — no grand pronouncement, no defensive cry.

Just a whisper across the Lattices.

| Really, I did not do anything... |

…!

I said nothing.

Only watched.

Only thought.

The Living Collapse continued its slow, inevitable advance.

And the scent of ancient vendettas, unknown and unwritten, drifted across the Middle Wheel Platform- thick as blood, heavy as silence.