Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 5092

Chapter 5092: Evolution II

A lot of Existences mention the glory before battle and silence after it. The glory belongs to those who survive long enough to claim it. The silence belongs to those who learned the truth.

The truth that darkness does not care about strength or conviction or righteousness. It comes for all equally, and when it arrives, every being discovers the same terrible knowledge: they were never prepared for the cold or for the absence.

Not for the regret that blooms in the space where hope used to reside. The casualties of war are the final thoughts of beings who finally understood they should have chosen differently, and understood it exactly one moment too late.

-Reflections on War.

---

Naldine observed the impossible.

Her fingers rested on the strings of her Vihuela as she watched Noah and Ozymandias meet Grimvault’s second strike head-on, golden light exploding outward from the impact. She could perceive what was happening to his existence even from this distance, could sense the cycles of destruction and rebirth cascading through his foundations with each blow the Calymmian entity delivered.

He was growing stronger explosively with every impact that should have killed him!

And he...hadn’t even used the Pulse he theorized yet.

What manner of existence was he?

She’d lived for eons among Primordial Architects, had witnessed beings at classifications that most couldn’t imagine, had herself achieved advancement that placed her among the distinguished of THE Wyld. But she’d never seen anything like what he was doing right now...

"THE WHORISH NALDINE!"

BOOM!

The roar shattered her contemplation.

Vahrkosis surged toward her with those forty-seven arms raised, each one wielding distinct pieces of an Axiom that blazed with entropic authority. His serpentine coils undulated through the air with speed that belied his massive form, and his voice emerged with fury.

"Focus on our grand battle! Do you think yourself so far above me that you can divide your attention? I am THE Primordial Dirge! I have consumed civilizations while you were still learning to pluck strings!"

His face, that shifting mass of features at the apex of his coils, settled into configuration of rage that seemed almost personal.

"Or perhaps you wish to watch that little bundle of Infinity die? Perhaps you’ve grown attached during whatever time you spent together? THE WHORISH NALDINE, pining after something that should not exist!"

...!

Those words landed heavily.

Naldine’s singularity-dotted eyes turned from Noah’s battle with coldness that could have frozen stars. Her fingers, which had been resting gently on her Vihuela’s strings, pressed down with precision. Her expression, which had held analytical interest moments before, became something that made even Vahrkosis pause his charge despite his rage.

She plucked a single string.

HUUM!

The note that emerged was authority given audible form, a frequency that pressed against existence itself with command. The note washed over Vahrkosis and his serpentine coils froze mid-undulation, those forty-seven arms suspended in positions!

He was held through something he couldn’t perceive or resist!

His form remained locked in place as Naldine rose from her position, her Vihuela’s strings still resonating with frequencies that kept him immobilized while she prepared what came next.

"You hear words others have spoken and choose to use them as well? You call me whorish," she said, her voice emerging cold and measured despite the fury burning beneath her expression. "You, who have consumed and destroyed and violated across eons of existence, dare to speak of me with such words?"

Her left hand, the one that had been her arm before she transformed it into her instrument, began to move.

Her fingers moved through the air as if writing upon reality itself, tracing symbols that existed in no language most beings could perceive. Each motion left trails of blue gold light that hung suspended, configurations that suggested letters being formed.

Her index finger drew a vertical line downward. Her middle finger curved around it in spiral that suggested revision. Her ring finger slashed horizontally through what had been written, not erasing but transforming. Her smallest finger added new strokes that changed the meaning of the entire inscription.

She was writing.

She was rewriting!

"Cambrian Scribe, First of Words."

"I speak the Thread. I rewrite the Thread."

"What was shall mean another. What ended shall end differently."

"THE CAMBRIAN WORD."

BOOM!

"What... what is this?"

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify