Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 5737

Chapter 5737: A Terrifying Narrative III

A threat! It was casual, playful, and absolutely lethal, dropped between them like a coin onto a table!

Noah’s eye squinted.

He did not panic, but he moved carefully now, with the caution of a man who had walked into a room full of monsters and just discovered the one being in it who could point at him. He wove the frequency of his own Provenance together with the Mantle of THE Meta-Fictional Protagonist, threading a narrow private narrative between his existence and hers, a channel only two authors could share, and he spoke into it.

"I am Osmont," he said. "I am curious about you, and your narrative. That is all."

His gaze swept the gallery of gathered gazes, the sea below, the hunters converging. "Though you seem to be in a predicament where even as a manipulator of narratives, you... might just lose."

...!

Calliope’s reply came bright and fast, colored with something like joy!

|Hah! Now that would be something new. Something worth writing.|

Her pen never stopped moving as she answered, even as THE ONE WHO RETURNS reeled from a blow of the infinite sea.

|But if you can hide beneath the gazes of Immense Ones and sit among them wearing a little mask, then tell me, what exactly can I not do? Losing sounds thrilling. I might allow it.|

Then, without a breath between:

|But hey, forget all that. I don’t tend to find many interesting things about existence, but I love when I find some truly odd and interesting things! Like...did you know a pig’s orgasm can last more than thirty minutes? Sometimes more than an hour, even. Isn’t that wild?|

...!

What the fuck?

Noah’s existence buzzed as he ran the words back through his own weavings to make certain he had heard it correclty!

THE Writer of Mythos was surrounded on every side by hunters sent to collapse her existence and tear a Shard out of her corpse, an infinite sea crashing against her stories, four of the mightiest predators in this Train converging on her position, and here she was, cheerfully informing him about the reproductive endurance of pigs!

Noah shook his head slowly and did not answer.

Instead he looked away from her, out across the wound in the side of the Train, because he had never forgotten why his gaze had been pulled into this cursed room in the first place. He had come for a friend. And so, while THE Writer of Mythos clashed with THE Infinity Eater, Noah sent his gaze across the Cluster!

—

Region beyond region of the dead unrolled beneath his eye, until he found the one he sought.

It was a place where the unburied built cities.

They raised them out of what they had left behind, these dead, walls of stacked and silent things, streets that led only to more streets, towers with no one at the windows and no one who would ever come.

Grey light lay over all of it. Nothing here decayed, because decay was a thing for the living, and so the dead cities simply stood, immense and patient and wrong, a civilization holding its breath forever.

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