Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 4287

Chapter 4287: War! I

War.

War never changes!

A statement so profound in its simplicity, so absolute in its truth, that it has echoed through the Folds since the first thinking being decided that the shiny rock their neighbor had would look much better in their own cave.

When war did come, a great and terrible symphony of endings, the question always lingered in the quiet aftermath, whispered by the survivors amidst the rubble of their certainties: Who truly benefited?

Was it the soldiers, the countless millions whose existences were reduced to statistics on a casualty report?

Their families might receive a neatly folded flag and a ruler’s empty words, a poor trade for a lifetime of absence.

Was it the nation, its coffers drained, its fields fallow, its next generation a cohort of orphans and widows? Unlikely.

No, the naive would say that wars have no winners, that all sides lose in the grand, bloody calculus of conflict.

Obviously, such beings were naive!

War had winners. War had victors. And often, those victors were not the ones with their boots on the ground, but those sitting in comfortable chairs, far from the mud and the blood, watching the numbers on their ledgers climb.

They were the ones who controlled the resources.

The ones who sold the swords, forged the armor, and built the great, lumbering war machines.

For them, war was not a tragedy; it was a business model. A glorious, self-sustaining cycle of demand and supply, where the demand was for destruction and the supply was an endless stream of young, willing bodies.

The true victors were those who understood that the most profitable resource in all of existence was not gold, not land, not even power... it was conflict itself!

In the Earliest Folds.

In an unknown, chaotic region where the very fabric of existence was a swirling, formless sea of nascent possibilities, a vast, silent migration was underway.

Countless Inevitabilities, their forms a writhing, terrible beauty of tentacles and maws, drifted through the void, a silent, hungry river in search of Everythings to devour.

And among them, one moved with a quiet, observant grace that was a profound contradiction to its terrifying form.

It was THE Creature, its essence now perfectly, utterly contained within the guise of an Inevitability.

Not a mimicry, but a true transformation, a deep dive into another Way of Existence.

He was in this state, a silent, hungry ghost among ghosts, when a new presence appeared beside him.

It was an orb of pure, white brilliance, a miniature sun of genesis that the other Inevitabilities, in their single-minded pursuit of consumption, could not even perceive. It was THE Living Origin.

THE Creature was not surprised. THE Living Origin, like THE Living Emotive, could always find it, a beacon of beginning that was inexplicably drawn to the First Cause.

"Why do you bother taking on the forms of so many different Lifeforms?" THE Living Origin’s thoughts resonated, a wave of pure, untainted curiosity in the silent chaos.

THE Creature’s reply was not a sound, but a feeling, a resonance that echoed in the space between their two, disparate existences.

"It is all to experience the different Ways of Existence out there. To better understand others." A flicker of something ancient and sorrowful passed through its thoughts.

"In the past, I used to run away from Inevitabilities. I even had to give away my Everythings in a conflict orchestrated by THE Living Paradox, who utilized an Inevitability. Of course, that event forged me to have the power I have now... but if only I had known then what I know now."

...!

"No." The command was not a shout, but a whisper so absolute it was more powerful than any roar.

THE Creature’s form turned, its myriad eyes, each a vortex of primordial hunger, fixing on the brilliant orb of Origin.

"This fight is not one where more numbers will help. Do not worry. Continue on as always. This will be but a minor matter in the end."

...!

THE Creature did not let THE Living Origin join in on a war they did not even know was occurring.

It was a silent, terrible burden, a conflict fought in a dimension beyond their perception.

Because sometimes... wars had to be fought alone.

War.

It is a grand, terrible, and ultimately, very personal thing. It is fought by nations, by factions, by ideologies, but it is experienced by individuals.

And for those at the very top, for the beings whose choices are the levers that move the machinery of existence, the greatest wars are often the ones fought in the silent, lonely chambers of their own hearts, against enemies no one else can see.

The stakes are not land or resources, but the very soul of existence itself.

And in those wars, there are no armies, no allies, only the quiet, desperate struggle of a single will against an impossible, overwhelming dark!

Oh!