Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 3767 Differential Fabled Viewpoint III

I let the prompt linger for a breathless instant.

The offer.

Two doors.

Two futures.

One: The True Source of Khaos.

To seize the very origin of Bob's power, to unravel it, remake it, perfect it.

Or—

Two: His memories.

His journey since he attained that power.

His decisions.

His regrets.

His Fable.

I chose immediately as my mind settled from viewing things in two different perspectives of existence simultaneously.

My own view and narration felt nice and simple. The narration of another hand was unique as it held its own charms.

Seeing both occur simultaneously opened my gaze.

My gaze, calm and unfaltering, still remained on Thauron. His imposing Null Form was still. His ancient, unspeakable will restrained for now.

And Bob…

Bob still stared.

Still wondered.

Still despondent as I remembered how he felt.

His anger. His hopelessness. His drive for nothing else but his daughter. But did that drive make it okay for him to do what he did?

I folded my hands behind my back, my fingers weaving together as easily as one might interlace strands of inevitability.

I smiled, not wide, not grand.

Just enough.

Enough for Bob to see.

Enough for Thauron, the Null Monarch, to understand.

The Null Monarch.

Looking at his figure, my mind was instantly drawn over to the prophecy my other self mentioned.

[…The Black Monarch will offer choice, but not freedom. The Sentinels of Reversal will ask for the Keys that should not exist.

One will walk away empty. One will walk away whole. One will not walk away…]

Time Sentinels already came and asked for a Key. Did this refer to the Time Sentinels he killed, or others since the Key was plural in the prophecy?

The Black Monarch…was it not the Null Monarch?

"…"

I disliked the haziness of the prophecy as I rather liked simplicity.

I shifted slightly, almost languidly, as if the weight of the last exchange had not even brushed against me.

"Now then," I said softly.

Thauron tilted his head, a slow, predatory motion.

Bob's tentacles twitched, the massive mass of his Null Form coiling tighter.

I could feel his tension.

His hesitation.

His confusion.

He did not yet understand.

How could he?

He had not walked the paths I had.

Not seen the Fables I had.

Not devoured what I had devoured.

The quiet hum of the Middle Wheel Platform persisted, but it felt thinner now.

Sharper.

As if the very Frequency of the platform strained to listen.

I looked at Thauron and Bob, hands folded neatly behind my back.

Calm.

Unhurried.

Dominant.

"I merely wanted to make an introduction."

A pause.

A deliberate one.

"Since those who were seeking me," I continued, my gaze passing lazily over Bob's towering, unmoving form, "have finally arrived."

Bob remained silent.

Somber.

Tense.

As if trying, and failing, to process what had just unfolded.

I let the silence stretch a heartbeat longer before speaking again, voice smooth and unbothered.

"You now know where I am."

My gaze narrowed, just a fraction.

"I'll get back to my business."

Thauron's response was immediate.

A slow, reverent incline of his colossal Null Form, a gesture of power from a being who commanded Finality itself.

Finality.

Just thinking of that concept made my heart pulse. If this entity was not such a monster, I might have tried to make a move.

His eyes, hidden deep within the monument of his existence, pulsed.

Bright.

Brilliant.

Alive.

"Of course," Thauron rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of collapsed aeons, "proceed with what you need to do."

He shifted slightly, not a threat, not submission.

Acceptance.

"The True Source Sigils here," Thauron continued, "are of profound help in expanding your complexity."

He spoke softly now, almost contemplatively.

"Observing the weavings of other beings, their truths, their collapses, and how all things eventually lead toward Finality..."

He paused, the air around him thick with ancient wisdom.

"...it can help one greatly in elevating their understanding of Paradoxical Resistance."

I inclined my head, slow and controlled, a silent acknowledgment that his words were not lost on me.

As if I understood.

As if I agreed.

As if we, Existences of different natures, spoke the same language.

And then…

I raised my hand.

Effortlessly.

No flourish.

No theatrics.

Just precision.

Authority.

Existence buckled faintly.

And from my palm, it erupted.

Obsidian violet brilliance, searing and cold at once, rippling outward like the slow unfurling of a silent catastrophe.

It was…

Khaos.

Bob's True Source of Existence.

Not a replica.

Not a shadow.

The genuine, terrifying, uncontested weaving of Khaos itself.

The violet-black aurora spread slowly, majestically, tendrils of paradox and entropy dancing across the air.

I let it unfold.

Let it breathe.

Let it be.

Freely.

Unashamedly.

Bob's colossal Null Form shuddered.

Visibly.

A sharp intake of breath, a flicker of disgust and incredulity across his ashen face.

As if a part of him, primal, instinctual, recognized the theft.

The impossibility.

The inevitability.

Thauron's vast eyes gleamed brighter still.

Hungry.

Fascinated.

Not with envy.

But with pure, undiluted curiosity.

I turned my gaze to Bob.

Smiling.

Tyrannical.

Magnificent.

I said nothing as I did not need to.

The Khaos roiled around me in a quiet, sovereign storm as I turned, cloak fluttering lightly in the storm of collapsing paradox, and began walking away.

Not hurried.

Not arrogant.

Just certain.

I walked calmly, unhurriedly, heading back toward Votharion Mountain, the towering structure of obsidian collapse awaiting me.

Each step silent.

Each breath steady.

Behind me, the stunned silence of the Middle Wheel Platform remained.

Kalysta trailed a few steps behind, her form shimmering faintly as she followed without speaking, only stealing glances back toward Bob and Thauron, who remained rooted in place.

Bob's thoughts churned.

Tangled.

Disbelieving.

Thauron watched.

His unseen smile sharper now.

Deeper.

As if amused by the game he found himself in.

But me?

I did not look back.

I did not slow.

Because when one was inevitable—

There was never a need to.

—

Absolute Fictional Transcendence was in a weakened state after its constant and heavy usage.

And in such a state, variations of Fables could unfold freely, allowing grand perspectives to drift loose and unrestrained, glimpses into the ripples of causality that could not otherwise be seen.

The atmosphere remained tense around the landing zone of the Middle Wheel Platform.

Bob stood there.

Silent.

His massive, tentacled Null Form, that grotesque monument of collapse and defiance, remained still. He stared after the fading figure of Noah Osmont, the tyrant who had just casually unleashed his True Source, the Khaos that Bob himself had forged from his very soul.

Bob's face, hidden within the dense mass of his Null Form, was locked in a somber, almost grim expression.

"That was my Source," Bob muttered, voice rough, low, and strained. "My Khaos. Forged from my being."

He clenched his tendrils tighter, the vast limbs of his Null Form twitching with restrained tension.

He shook his massive head slowly, as if trying to dislodge the weight of his disbelief.

"How…" Bob murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Why would he have it? How is he even here? How would he know—"

But the rest of his words were cut off.

A deep chuckle.

Low.

Rumbling.

Thauron.

Still standing beside him, still impossibly large, and impossibly calm.

"You are asking the wrong questions, Little Bobby," Thauron said, amusement lacing his ancient tone.

Bob turned, massive form rippling slightly.

Thauron's hidden gaze remained fixed ahead, on the distant figure of Noah, shrinking now as he made his way back toward Votharion Mountain.

"It is not how or why he is here," Thauron said softly, voice like the cracking of forgotten tombs. "But," he paused, savoring the words, "where do you go from here?"

Bob said nothing, his mind whirring, his tentacles curling inward, defensive, uncertain.

Thauron continued.

"You have what you want right there in front of you. And yet once again, you cannot have it. Just like in that Wheel of Existence…" A smile unseen but palpable. "…because you are now in the Null Cradle, you cannot even touch him again."

The weight of that truth pressed heavily upon Bob.

"Is such a thing not glorious?" Thauron whispered. "Paradoxical?"

Bob's expression soured further.

Darkened.

What he wanted, what he needed, was right there, a few strides away.

But unreachable.

Intangible.

Because here, in the Null Cradle of Fold-Breaking Ascension, desire and proximity meant little.

Only power, true, complex, impossible power, mattered.

Bob clenched his metaphorical fists tighter.

His mind roiled with questions.

Could he still obtain it?

If Noah had it, if Noah had become something unfathomable, would Bob ever reach it?

Would he ever find the strength to reclaim what was his?

He turned sharply toward Thauron.

Voice low.

Tight.

"What should we do now?" Bob asked.

Thauron blinked, or at least the suggestion of a blink passed across the colossal throne-like mass that was his Null Form.

And then.

He smiled.

Ancient.

Endless.

"What do you mean, 'What do we do now?'" Thauron echoed.

"You do what you came here to do."

Thauron's voice grew deeper, layered with a thrumming finality that made the very ground quiver faintly.

"Bear the weight of existence itself. Find and complete the True Sigils. Temper your Source in the fire of paradox and collapse."

He turned his massive head slightly, a slow movement like a shifting continent.

"What you came here to do has not changed."

A pause.

A dangerous pause.

"But what I came here to do…"

Thauron's Null Form buzzed.

No, it sang.

It pulsed with the terrible resonance of Finality.

Of an ancient Paradox given form and mass.

"What I came to do," he said, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous, "has altered slightly."

The air around them thickened as Thauron's form rippled with a sovereignty so profound that even the Frequencies seemed to tremble under its weight.

"I will discuss Paradoxes," Thauron said with a slow, cold smile, "and more…"

His unseen eyes gleamed.

"…with an entity seemingly drenched in it."

He shifted.

Not walked.

Not stepped.

He glided.

Across the Middle Wheel Platform.

The ground groaned under his immense Null Form, but he made no sound, no thunderous echo.

He moved like inevitability.

Like a decree.

Bob stood there.

Frozen.

Staring.

He watched, almost disbelieving, as Thauron, the one who commanded him, who had been molding him, who he had followed, moved forward.

Not after a goal.

Not after a prize.

But toward an encounter.

Toward the same entity Bob himself could barely comprehend.

Toward Noah.

Bob's tentacles coiled tightly around him, his colossal frame humming with uncertainty.

He could feel it.

The heavy gravity of things yet to come.

The inevitability of confrontation. And yet at this moment, he truly could not say with certainty that he could win from that confrontation.

He stared after Thauron's gliding form, watched it trail a shadow of collapsing Finality behind it, and he thought...

Was there even a path forward for me anymore?

The Middle Wheel Platform shimmered.

And Thauron, unfazed by the crushing pressure that grew with every inch of height, moved calmly toward Votharion Mountain...

Where Noah also moved toward.

Far ahead.

Close to the edges of Votharion Mountain.

Kalysta shifted where she stood, her Null Form shimmering faintly against the stifling air of the Middle Wheel Platform.

She had been watching Noah casually begin gathering more True Source Sigil Fragments, seated on the lower ledges of Votharion Mountain as if the crushing weight of the Platform's pressure meant nothing to him.

And then…

She saw him.

The paradoxical entity.

The one that had landed with the other monstrous Null Form earlier.

Now, he was gliding forward.

Effortlessly.

No tremors. No strain. As if the crushing pressure of the Middle Wheel Platform was a forgotten whisper beneath his mass.

Kalysta's throat tightened slightly.

She leaned closer to Noah, speaking in a low, cautious breath.

"That," she said, her voice steady despite herself, "that paradoxical entity is coming."

Noah did not even look up, his expression unreadable.

Kalysta swallowed once, hard, but continued.

"He seems to be someone…" she paused, searching for the right words, "…someone possibly beyond the stage of Primarchy."

She frowned.

"But I cannot tell."

And it was not merely a matter of her strength or perception.

It was deeper.

As if that being's very nature resisted classification, calculation, or comprehension.

Noah smiled faintly, finally lifting his gaze to the approaching Thauron.

"I also cannot tell," he said calmly.

The casualness of his tone sent another chill through Kalysta.

How?

How could he be so composed, so calm, in front of something like that?

Kalysta pressed her lips into a thin line, the strands of her Null Form tightening slightly.

"You must be careful," she whispered, her voice sharper now. "Even though we cannot harm each other here in the Null Cradle…"

She glanced at Noah.

At his maddening serenity.

"…truly powerful beings can find a way to do anything they want, anywhere."

Noah's smile deepened, not wide, not arrogant, but serene.

"I understand that perfectly," he said quietly.

And then…

His gaze dipped.

Not outward.

But inward.

Kalysta could not see it.

No one could.

But Noah was looking at something only he could see.

A panel.

A status panel.

Floating quietly before his internal perception.

It flickered faintly, not because it was incomplete, but because it was resisted.

| Name: Thauron | | Title: The Null Monarch | | Status: Living Paradox | | Null Form: 1,000 Inches | | True Source: Finality(Primarchy Achieved) | | Complexity Quotient (CQ): ??? | | Purity Quotient (PQ): ??? | | Current Resistance(s): Paradoxical Resistance, Law Resistance, (Hidden), (Hidden), (Hidden) | | Existential Dimensional Lattices Formed: (Hidden) | | Unique Trait: Finality Entwined with Paradox (Details Hidden) | | Description: Hidden and veiled deeply with an uncountable number of Existential Dimensional Lattices and high percentages of True Absolute Existential Resistances. |

…!

Most of it was hidden.

The only clear part…

Primarchy Achieved.

But even that felt lacking.

It was as if Thauron did not just reach Primarchy, he had rewritten it and done whatever he wanted with it.

Noah's eyes lingered on the obscured panel, absorbing what little information he could from it, his eyes seeing the multiple Resistances there.

Multiple Resistances. All from...a single True Source? From Finality?

"..."

Kalysta stood beside him, tense, her Null Form faintly vibrating under the strain of the approaching aura.

Thauron glided closer, step by inevitable step.

And Noah watched.

Calm.

Unmoving.

Ready!

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