Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 3850

Chapter 3850: Early III

Across the Nullvein Gravewake Folds.

In the Hollow Concord of Nullity.

Where the remnants of calamity clung like dust to faded weavings of existence.

A depraved soul was moving.

Silently.

Relentlessly.

Usurping the weavings of the last Mawbearers that Aetheron had left scattered and half-finished.

Discarded pieces. Incomplete beings. Flawed Thrones.

The soul devoured them all.

With cold precision and ruthless patience, the soul moved through them, consuming what others had failed to understand.

But then...

BOOM!

The soul paused.

And within it... something bloomed.

It pulsed once, like a tiny heartbeat in the void. Then again, louder. Clearer.

A spark. A shimmer.

A Living Seed of Existence.

It took root within this soul- this contradictory, incomplete, ever-becoming soul.

The seed was drawn to it.

Because it was a soul that had no stable form. No fixed identity. A soul filled with paradoxes.

A soul, unaligned... and yet perfectly positioned.

The soul of the one who devoured meaning and wore nothing.

The soul... of the Great Usurper!

A Living Seed of Existence bloomed within the depths of the Great Usurper as he did not need to ask why. Even before the Seed could fully root, he knew from whence it came. From which entanglement. From which aura. From which being.

The Great Usurper felt it keenly, the buzzing Hymns echoing in every hidden corner of the Nullvein Gravewake Folds.

Somberly, his eyes opened.

Eyes that did not belong to one form alone.

The Eyes of Melodrass... already long since controlled.

The Eyes of the 7th Mawbearer.

The 6th.

The 5th.

The 4th.

The 3rd.

Primarchical Dead Things- each greater than the last, hollowed from within, now empty shells cradling the weave of a soul too twisted for boundaries.

And now, all were called as one voice moved them.

"Combination."

He said it lightly. Almost kindly.

And yet the Dead Things trembled.

Their weavings of existence, already subsumed, flowed toward each other like great rivers of ash drawn toward a sun, collapsing and melding.

Authority bent. Concepts merged. What rose from it was no longer fragments stitched in mockery. The Great Usurper... was making a sprint.

A surge.

An ascension.

Straight into Originus Venerant.

A path built not on clarity, but on contradiction. Not harmony, but usurpation. Made possible only by the sudden catalysis of purity and complexity- a Festival he had not asked for, but received all the same.

---

Elsewhere in the Folds.

"Haha... what the fuck is this?!"

Thauron roared into the Foldlight, his laughter mad and wild, echoing through spatial layers like thunder through existential storms. frёeωebɳovel.com

His dark wings of conceptual decay and finality flared outward, drawing in shimmering threads of complexity that seemed to float from everywhere.

From nowhere.

He drank them in with abandon.

A feast he had not expected, but welcomed.

Before him, the Living Origin Altheon stood in perfect contrast.

Somber. Quiet.

His brow furrowed as his own latticework spread in all directions, trying to trace the threads of whatever had caused this...blooming.

A sudden influx of catalytic reaction across the Folds. A sharp, immediate rise in complexity and purity- so great it fractured all preset weavings of existence!

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