Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 3778

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.