Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 3778: Fold Dwellers I

The Living Collapse turned, its void-filled gaze sweeping across the battered platform, and its attention settled like a noose around Kalysta and the others. Primarchs, Monads- Fold Dwellers all- their gathered forms now frozen in the realization of how close they stood to death.

I remained still.

The Lattices of Light swirling over my skin captured every detail, weaving the threads of the scene into sharp, cutting clarity.

I observed the Mannafolds first, a cluster of gleaming figures gathering tightly around a single towering Entity.

He was descending- no, falling with purpose from the Paradoxical Wheel Platform above, a being of weight and authority. His form burned with muted silver and blue hues, the pressure of his existence a mantle on his shoulders.

500,000 Complexity and Purity Quotient.

More than the others around him. More than most here.

His voice, low and grim, carried to my sharpened senses.

“I’ve alerted a Manna Master,” he said, the words heavy with finality. “They can see our positions now. The Null Cradle’s protections are broken. He will be here soon.”

Murmurs rose among them- Fold Dwellers of ancient wheels, speaking words too low for most ears to catch. But not mine.

I shifted my gaze.

Another cluster.

The Chronosect of the Threadbound Folds.

I recognized their weaving instantly- the same taut complexity Velmior once wore, but spun even denser here. Among them stood a Time Sentinel- not lesser than Velmior, but greater. The authority draping over his shoulders was cold, timeless, inevitable.

He spoke softly, but the authority in his voice carried.

“A Temporal Elderking is moving across the currents,” he said. “He comes. But until then, our role is simple.”

The others leaned closer, listening.

“Containment.”

Containment.

Not victory.

Not destruction.

They understood the reality.

As did I.

Containment was the best they could hope for.

And while they whispered and plotted, the Living Collapse moved.

It flickered, a grotesque smear of motion- here, there, and Primarchs, great and terrible, vanished where it passed. Their Existential Dimensional Lattices, their meticulously crafted weavings, flowed into it like water sucked into a thirsty sea.

No resistance.

No salvation.

Existence unmade with a touch.

I narrowed my eyes.

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Even in the midst of that carnage, the Lattices that made up my Irradions, the dead things crafted from my True Sources, still floated in the memory of their last battle. They had fallen, yes, but unlike the others, their Lattices had not been absorbed.

I observed that carefully.

Cataloged it.

Understood it.

It was a singular advantage.

And I would not waste it.

My voice, quiet and calm, threaded through the roaring collapse.

“Let the Irradions flow free,” I said. “Even those of Paradox.”

A breath.

A pulse.

“Slow its movements. As much as possible.”

…!

The weavings of my existence thrummed.

Buzzed.

Breathed.

Collapsed rifts tore open across the shattered sky, silent and dark, and from them stepped monsters.

No.

Not monsters.

Irradions.

Shadows of death and finality.

First came the Irradion of Existence- a vast titan of stellar obsidian, its body gleaming like the corpse of a dead Wheel of Existence, its claws inscribed with the echoes of forgotten life.

Then the Irradion of the Singed with radiant white-gold, flames of endless burning wrapping around its hollowed form, the remains of all fires long since quenched.

Outerversal followed- a murky, oozing blackness twisted into monstrous shape, bearing the authority of the spaces that lay beyond even the known infinities.

And more.

More.

Irradions of every True Source I had forged to Primarchy.

Manadynamics, Soul, Quantum, Aether- they came, their forms blooming into the wounded sky like a funeral procession of forgotten kings.

They moved as one, summoned to a singular purpose.

Toward the Living Collapse.

Toward the thing that had undone so many without effort.

They charged- immense, inevitable, relentless.

The air grew thick, the weight of authority pressing down like a storm on the edge of breaking.

The Living Collapse did not pause.

Did not waver.

But it turned its head slowly as the first Irradion closed the distance.

The battle was about to begin.

And I, still sitting in the heart of the Cradle of Folded Time, folded my hands calmly and watched.

Because this…

This was a war of inevitabilities.

And inevitabilities, I understood.

As the Irradions surged forward, their monstrous forms colliding with the living tide of collapse, I let my gaze fall inward.

The Lattices of Light over my skin dimmed.

The weavings of countless Existential Dimensional Lattices thrummed quietly, a heartbeat against the raging chaos outside.

My attention shifted- not to the battlefield, not to the shattered Cradle around me- but to the core of my own existence.

The Cradle of Folded Time cracked.

Splintered

Fractures bled through its ageless fabric, and I could feel it- the epochs it once folded around me beginning to unravel, thinning like mist before the sun. My time here was drawing to an end.

But not yet.

I turned my gaze toward the True Source of Paradox.

It hovered there, nestled among the other Living True Sources that pulsed within the latticework of my Living Wheel, a quiet storm of contradictions.

Nine Existential Dimensional Lattices already orbited it, spun into permanence by my will.

But I had not come this far to stop at nine.

Not anymore.

I flexed my will.

“Alright, big guy,” I murmured, calm as a rising tide. “Let’s see what you’ve really become.”

The Lattices of the Weaver glimmered in response, and together we moved- the weavings of my being reaching out to Paradox, threading through it, weaving the impossible into being.

The 300,000 SU requirement was met, and so…

BZZT!

The 10th Existential Dimensional Lattice began to form!

It shimmered- not with light, but with the memory of what light might have been if it had been born in contradiction.

Threads wove themselves into existence where there had been none before- cold and hot, heavy and weightless, moving and still.

An impossible weave.

A Living Paradox.

And as I wove it, as the tenth Lattice unfurled itself into being, I felt it more clearly.

A shift.

A current beneath the waves of my existence.

A change not wrought by force or will, but by inevitability.

Paradox- when it had been simple, inert, was merely a Resistance.

A defense against collapse.

A shield against contradiction.

But now?

Now that it lived?

It was no longer merely a shield.

It was a foundation.

The Living True Source of Paradox, newly birthed, newly breathing, was changing me.

Changing what I could become.

The Weaver, as if sensing the moment, pulsed once- a ripple through the Lattices of my being.

A quiet revelation.

And I understood right away exactly what the change was!