Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 5690

Chapter 5690: Rage!

"I wanted to die," Masamuk said. "But as my friend and Master always told me... Persevere. Regardless of the difficulty, Persevere. Regardless of the pain, Persevere. So... I Persevered!"

The small obsidian body straightened upon the luminous soil.

"But even while persevering," the slime finished quietly, "we were fractured."

...!

Its crimson gaze turned towards the distant grave, towards the mound wrapped in eras of chains, humming softly under the weight of its newest layers.

"Many things could be said about... Those Who Remain."

Masamuk said the three words as if they were a heavy insult, spat slowly, each one set down with the deliberate contempt of a being who had watched what those words did when they were let loose upon existence!

"They are careful beings. They do everything to preserve what they hold, and they hold nearly everything. And as much as one can do alone in existence, and one can do a great deal..." The crimson eyes slid toward him. "...one cannot do it all alone. I could sit here and tell you of Dimensionality. Of Tongues. Of Causes and their deeper natures. None of it would truly matter. You need your own high level of power, yes. But you cannot be alone. THEY are never alone. And even here, I have been alone, and so I have not been able to do anything at all. I have laid beside this lake, and the moment I make a single move toward that grave, the eye above will also finally make its move."

Noah blinked at these words, and the shape of the problem turned over in his mind, and resolved itself with beautiful simplicity!

One watcher. One mover. One hiding thing that could act but not survive attention, and one visiting thing that could draw attention but not act. The board did not need a grander piece.

It needed a sacrifice that cost nothing!

"If I make the first move and draw its attention," Noah asked calmly, "would you succeed in unearthing whatever part of Vakochev lies within?"

Masamuk’s gaze sharpened upon him.

"Your body here would die," the slime said flatly. "Or worse. Be taken by Them."

Noah raised his hand, and turned it over slowly in the honeyed light, watching the stellar frame of it as one watches a borrowed tool.

"For me, this is only a dream. No harm comes to my existence whatsoever."

"..."

Masamuk looked at him silently, up and down, down and up.

Then an obsidian light flashed!

From within the small slime’s body, something rose and floated towards Noah, turning gently end over end. A grimoire!

It was bound in deep obsidian that drank the light of the layered sky, its cover smooth and unmarked, its edges worn round by an eternity of handling, and its pages, glimpsed as it turned, were filled with a script that seemed to rearrange itself shyly whenever his eyes came near, countless entries pressed dense as sediment!

"A journal of mine," Masamuk said simply. "Filled with my musings of existence, and what I know. Think of what you wish to hear me ramble on about while holding it, and the page should open up."

...!

Noah accepted the grimoire with both hands, and the moment his fingers closed around the obsidian cover, prompts bloomed!

|You have received THE Obsidian Journal of Masamuk.|

|Within are the musings of one of the first shapers, accumulated since before authority was differentiated from raw potential. Its contents answer to intent: hold it, and think of what you wish to know.|

|The journal has been keyed to your existence alone. To all other perceptions, it does not exist.|

|The weavings of Masamuk settle around it. Even the Records will not gossip about this gift.|

The grimoire sank into his existence and disappeared, and Noah felt the weight of it settle somewhere deep, an entire era’s worth of rambling waiting patiently for his first question!

He then looked at Masamuk, and he nodded, once.

There was nothing else that needed saying.

Noah rose to his feet and looked at the distant grave.

Then he waved his hand across the lake below, and the whirlpool answered him! Strands of obsidian gold tore free of the turning waters as he grabbed a handful of the Provenance Causes, THE Stilled Wing and THE Lowered Crown and THE Quiet Name coiling in his grip like harvested lightning, oppressive and vibrant!

And he began to walk with grand steps towards the grave!

The masked farmers did not look up as he passed. Another white robe on the burial road, another armful of chains for the eternal work, his sandals pressing soft prints into the warm soil, the incense-heavy air parting around him.

He crossed the final terrace. He reached the edge of the vast cleared basin, where ten thousand layered harvests hummed upon the titan-length mound.

And then Noah broke the season!

He dropped the Causes he was carrying, all of them, letting the harvested chains spill carelessly across the sacred ground, and he JUMPED, his white robes snapping, and landed atop the grave itself!

BOOM!

And he began tearing the Causes apart!

His hands plunged into the layered chains of eras, and his Teloi blazed through his grip, and he RIPPED, strand from strand, THE Stilled Wing shredding between his fingers, THE Lowered Crown unraveling, whole condensed harvests tearing loose from the mound with sounds like existence clearing its throat, and the grave beneath his feet shone!

HUUM!

For one full second, the entire Dimension simply stared!

And then the sky spoke!

|Oh?|

The single syllable arrived pressed into every mind.

|THE GLOATING JAILER stirs from its magnificent mood.|

|It has waited a long time for this. It knew that if it sat beside its trophy patiently enough, one of the rats of Vakochev would eventually crawl out of whatever crack had sheltered it, and come scratching at the lid.|

|It is pleased. It does so enjoy being right.|

WAA!

The pressure came barreling down!

It fell upon Noah like the sky itself deciding to sit, and his figure was yanked up forcefully off the grave, hoisted into the open air above the mound by nothing at all, his limbs spread, his white robes whipping, the golden mask burning cold against his face!

Narrative crushed down all around him, and the obsidian eye in the layered sky turned, fully, for the first time in a while, and looked at him with its whole attention!

|Now then, little rat,| the voice rolled. |Where is the rest of him? The pieces were scattered so carelessly during the retreat. We have gathered some. We are missing others. You crawled here from one of his boltholes, which means you know the smell of the rest. Tell me where the rest of Vakochev lies.|

WAA!

And...the torture began!

|Huh, quiet a weak one you are...|

Rage. Rage!

Rage against the dying light! Do not go gentle! Rage! Rage! Rage!

HUUM!

’Rage,’ Noah told his own buckling existence, and his teeth ground behind the mask. ’Rage!’

"When did THE First Lifeforms fall so low?" he called down. "When did we become faces behind masks, following the orders of failures of existence?!"

BOOM!

|THE GLOATING JAILER’S mood is no longer magnificent.|

|It was going to be leisurely about this. It has decided otherwise.|

|Let us see the shape of you, rat. Let us see what you hold most dear in existence... and let us take it away!|

And his purpose, his very Provenance... REJECTED the coming alterations of the Immense One!

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