Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 3772 The Paradox of Choices II

And then…

A vast shadow rolled overhead as I continued moving busily across Votharion Mountain.

A whale.

Blue, immense, and ancient.

Its Null Form was massive, layered in swirling paradox, its complexity a lattice of oceanic depth.

| NAME: Primarch VaelʼZhyr | TRUE SOURCE: Tides | CQ: 255,000 (400,000) SU | PQ: 255,000 (400,000) SU |….

It moved slowly, its voice a thunderous hum that echoed across the Folds even without words.

When one looked at the Middle Wheel Platform as a whole, there truly were a great deal of powerful beings here.

As it drifted near, curiously, cautiously, its massive bulk angled toward me, the vortex of its presence brushing past the Votharion Mountain.

Its voice came.

Ancient. Slow.

Measured.

”You moved with that monstrosity,” it rumbled, not accusatory, not demanding, merely observant. ”The one with the 1,000-Inch Null Form. What do you know of him? Who he might be?”

I glanced up, calm.

Tyrannical.

Unmoved.

I shrugged lightly, another Sigil Fragment slipping into my grasp even as the giant spoke.

”I know as much as you all know,” I said. ”Nothing more.”

A beat.

”No reason for everyone to wonder, or for those curious, you should ask yourselves.”

The whale shifted slightly, a low, oceanic rumble that may have been laughter.

Or resignation.

It turned away, slowly drifting back to its dominion atop a distant mountain.

It seemed there were few Primarchs like Kalysta who would bother and be so invested.

I pressed on.

Sigils.

Fragments.

One by one.

Hours blurred as I did so.

The Middle Wheel Platform that was vast, fractal, and paradoxical- it rolled out beneath my steps.

Much was accomplished in a few hours.

In addition to the 5 Completed True Source Sigils, three more surrounded me as the final one was about to become completed as well.

The first new Sigil had come together rather quickly, the weavings settling into a completed form.

| TRUE SOURCE SIGIL: Chronospirit — Affiliation with Temporal and Spiritual Resistances |

A pulsing blue-white lattice, delicate and sharp.

Time woven with the self- not just to endure, but to remember, to hold, to unmake the forgetting of death itself.

Second…

| TRUE SOURCE SIGIL: Pyrochron- Affiliation with Temporal and Elemental |

Flames dancing backward and forward, each blaze a ticking moment. An eternal wildfire where time itself burned as fuel.

Third.

| TRUE SOURCE SIGIL: Aeonforge- Affiliation with Temporal and Origin |

A true Source bleeding gold and silver threads, a fusion of the first sparks of being with the endless onward march of time. Birth and memory locked in recursion.

Fourth.

| TRUE SOURCE SIGIL: Conceptum Vitae- Affiliation with Temporal and Conceptual |

An ever-shifting glyph, an idea given structure by temporal chains. Concepts that evolved, not with thought, but with the erosion of seconds and centuries.

Each of them aligned with Time - each of them a crown in their own right.

As the last Sigil came together , the Ninth, they spun around me.

Axes of inevitability.

Marks of the Folds churned in the air around me, not golden, not silver, but obsidian-bronze, weightier and deeper as they compressed onto my being.

CQ and PQ compressed further.

Hardened.

Forged anew.

The Middle Wheel Platform trembled faintly as my weavings solidified further, a core of harmonized paradox and evolution.

And then…

| You have restored 9 Completed True Source Sigils. |

| Conditions have been met. |

| Access granted: Step into the Cradle of Folded Time. |

| Trial Available: Withstand the Weight of Compressed Epochs in the Cradle of Folded Time. |

…!

A breath passed.

I triggered a grand possibility as changes began to bloom.

Light gathered at the distant base of the Votharion Mountain, a spiraling vortex of collapsed time, an ancient gate swirling with runes long since forgotten even by existence.

Many turned their eyes when they saw it, their interest being roused.

The gateway to the Cradle of Folded Time.

A place where time itself weighed upon the soul.

Where one did not battle others, but battled oneself and the impossible burden of infinite history.

I exhaled.

Lightly.

The Cradle called.

Kalysta approached behind me, I could sense her caution, her awe.

”A rare result...and a prize that was only enjoyed for a few hours by the Primarchs who managed to obtain it!”

So she said.

I could sense the gazes of the other Primarchs and Legends gathered here, some cautious, some curious, many wary.

But none stepped forward.

They watched.

As I, with my 3-Inch Null Form, moved.

Toward the Cradle only possible to enter once one had completed Nine True Source Sigils.

A vortex of collapse, shimmering at the center of the Middle Wheel Platform, visible even from miles away.

The air around it distorted, timelines folding inward, ribbons of past and future collapsing into a singularity.

Within, wheels spun.

All could see what lay within!

Not simple wheels.

Temporal Wheels of Existence, massive, shattered constructs layered one atop another, spinning in different directions, at different speeds, each fractured and bleeding starlight that radiated purple obsidian grandeur.

Wheels that had been broken by collapse and time, their Songs of Existence shattered and folded into endless recursion.

They spun and moved, not linearly, but folding over and through each other, an impossible geometry of failure and persistence.

At their center, a floating landmass.

The Cradle of Folded Time was a storm of these broken Wheels.

A cathedral of lost temporal possibilities.

And in its center, deeper still, layers of folded time compressed into sheets so dense they shimmered black.

A Landmass.

A domain where seconds collapsed into millennia, where the beating of oneʼs heart could be stretched across epochs, or crushed into oblivion.

Where every True Source would be tested.

Crushed.

Or reforged.

Kalysta stopped at the boundary, unable to enter.

The others watched, expectant.

I did not hesitate.

I stepped forward.

Existence shifted.

And I was within soon after as it felt like I had always been here.

And immediately, the weight struck me as I was teleported into the center domain.

On the landmass of layers of folded time compressed into sheets so dense they shimmered black, surrounded by constantly spinning Temporal Wheels of Existence as pressure of years converged from all sides.

Not a physical weight.

Not even existential gravity.

No.

It was the ravages of time itself, epochs folded into razor-sharp blades, pressing down on the very core of my existence.

The best way to describe it was feeling the instant passage of hundreds or thousands of years forced on you instantly!