Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 3805: Fire I

The Golems came to life.

The same five Living Origin Golems that had eviscerated the three Primarchs emerged from the crimson-gold stillness.

The dual-spear bearers.

The twin-shield juggernaut.

The silent assassin.

The radiant crossbow sniper.

Their masks glowed white-hot.

Their Authority surged.

But Master Hannibal?

He did not flinch!

He was an Originus Venerant entity.

And he had a glorious purpose. Even those behind him did not know the weight he bore!

The first spear-wielding golem surged toward him.

It never reached.

BOOM!

A hammer blurred out like a thunderbolt, colliding with the golem’s chest and detonating Living Origin Authority in a geyser of molten force. The white mask cracked, splintered, and exploded outward in shards as the golem folded inward with a wet crunch.

The second spear wielder swept in low, but it was too late.

A shield spiraled down with surgical speed, flattening the golem’s skull into the floor with a sickening snap.

The juggernaut lifted its twin shields and launched forward.

Master Hannibal met it head-on.

He didn’t sidestep.

He stepped in.

One hammer flared with blazing white-gold. He slammed it into the center of the golem’s shields.

CRACK!

Both shields shattered.

The force sent stone, bone-like alloy, and molten Origin weavings flying across the field.

Hannibal followed with a rotating elbow to the golem’s chin, then jammed a second hammer straight through its throat, blowing it apart.

The crossbow golem fired.

Three shots.

All deflected- ricocheting off his spinning shields in a flash of precision so cold it felt premeditated.

The crossbow itself never got to reload.

A hammer streaked from Hannibal’s side and caved in the golem’s skull, sending its massive metal body flipping end over end like a collapsing cathedral.

Only the assassin remained.

It was fast. Too fast.

It blinked behind him.

But Hannibal spun before it arrived.

A golden shield detached and intercepted the blade mid-air, the collision ringing like cracked glass. With his free hand, Hannibal grabbed the assassin golem by the face...and crushed it.

Fingers clenched. Runes flared.

The mask burst. Then the head. Then the spine of the golem.

One-handed. Effortless.

Bloodlike energy sprayed from ruptured Origin cores as all five golems fell in under six seconds.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

From deeper within the chamber they were in...

Ten more Golems surged forward, their armor humming with Living Origin Authority.

Some glided.

Some bounded.

One slithered like a fusion of serpent and machine, its body formed of coiled runic wire and spike-covered muscle.

Hannibal inhaled once.

The hammers stopped orbiting.

A Runic Battle Skill was likely activated.

And...

CRACK—!

BOOM—!

A massive golden hammer bloomed in the space above and crashed down over everything, releasing holy goldeb waves of light that spread out like a sea formed of smaller hammers and shield.

In every direction, golden arcs of Living Origin burst outward. Every hammer was a headshot. Every shield was a parry. Every step Hannibal took left a dead Golem in its wake.

One tried to form a barrier of twisting vines- he spun through it, hammer-first, smashing through both the spell and the caster’s chest in one strike.

Another fired condensed beams of Origin Light.

He reflected the first with a shield, absorbed the second with a spinning guard rune, then speared his shield through the caster’s throat, pinning it into the ground like a ritual.

More came.

Five. Ten. Fifteen.

The full tide.

The entire arena surged with all remaining 50 Living Origin Golems, bursting out in droves- some armored like titans, others with claws like manticores, some casting illusions or ripples of flames.

And Hannibal?

He still didn’t pause.

He slid under one, severed its limbs.

Jumped off another, caving its back.

Dismantled the fourth with one rotating series of shield bashes that shattered its faceplate, then drove his knee upward into the exposed core, ripping it free with his bare hand.

Blood and shards of authority rained in every direction.

The ground, once pristine, was now painted in molten gore and fractured runes.

His hammers moved like celestial executioners, bursting skulls with thunder and tyranny.

His shields spun like sawblades, shattering ribs and warping heads.

Every motion was clean. Calculated. Cruel.

One golem tried to bellow out before he bisected it vertically with a hammer strike that left its body twitching in two.

And finally...

Silence.

Heavy, immense, silence.

The last Golem fell with a metallic gasp, its core caving inward before shattering into flaming particles.

Blood pooled at Master Hannibal’s feet.

Fifty bodies lay scattered around him- gutted, pulverized, silenced.

And still...

His face didn’t change.

Not even a twitch.

Only his golden eyes narrowed slightly as he looked ahead, across the steaming graveyard he had carved, to the nine treasure chests at the end of the arena.

Each one pulsing with sealed power.

Each one waiting.

...!

At this time...

HUUM!

Above Master Hannibal, golden words appeared.

[+5 Resistance Archetype Points]

...!

Words that caused Master Shen and others to stare in shock and eagerness!

Master Hannibal did not change his gaze.

He took a single step forward.

The air burned around him.

And every being still watching...

Held their breath.

In the distance, Noah watched and analyzed everything with cold calculation.

Thereafter, he walked forward in silence.

The air was still thick with residual fire and ruin from Hannibal’s massacre, the floor littered with mangled golem remains that shimmered faintly with dissipating runes of Living Origin.

His eyes, calm and cold, scanned the aftermath.

Hannibal had to have used 200 to 300 points. At least.

That was the only reasonable assumption.

The coordination between the six golden constructs, the fluidity of his casting, and the brutal efficiency of every kill- those weren’t the product of a basic Archetype either.

That was a refined, near-perfect distribution along multiple vines, perhaps more than one fully unlocked Branch.

His Garden was likely monstrous.

Even the Golems adjusted their tactics halfway through... and still died.

Behind him, a few murmurs stirred the silence.

Master Shen let out a low whistle as he moved, the Primarchs following alongside him.

They walked cautiously through the wreckage, eyes flicking toward Hannibal’s back as he stood unmoving before the nine gleaming treasure chests.

Noah moved alongside them all.

His gaze was sharper now.

There were truths hidden in this Labyrinth- real ones.

And some of those truths... walked beside him.

Because to his right, Sigrid glided forward like a flicker of living scripture- swirling with unique waves of crimson-gold Living Origin Authority that pulsed in uneven rhythms.

Her steps were light.

But her eyes?

Distant.

Noah frowned.

He reached out with a measured hand and gently touched her shoulder.

She jolted softly, blinking up at him as if waking from a dream.

”Did you remember something else about you?” he asked quietly.

She stared at him.

Then shook her head.

”No,” she whispered. ”It’s not about me. It’s about that story again. About...Origin. And the Creature. They seem to come the more I come in contact with this Living Origin Authority.”

...!

Noah’s gaze sharpened instantly.

The first story she told had already left ripples in the hearts of Primarchs. It had frozen even Master Hannibal. A memory of the Earliest Folds of Existence, spoken like truth rather than something fake.

And now...

There was more?

He spoke low, threading his voice beneath the attention of others as it rang directly in her ears.

”Tell me. Just me.”

She nodded.

Then, softly- impossibly softly- her voice reached only his ears.

It wasn’t sound.

It was Living Origin Authority woven into speech, traveling through the tether of resonance between them.

As if it was only natural for her to do this.

And as they walked across the fractured chamber, her words returned to that strange time before Time.

”After the Creature chose the Living Origin...it continued to walk.

Its form pulsed faintly now- no longer aimless, but full of quiet fire.

It had obtained a beginning.

And with it, purpose.

A desire, faint but burning- To understand. To become more.

But though it felt this purpose...

It could not act upon it.

Every time it reached outward, its limbs failed.

Every time it imagined doing, it faltered.

No tools.

No motion.

Only a growing ache of stillness.

It had a reason to move, but not the means.

And so, the Creature wandered, purpose and Origin clutched tightly to its chest like a dying ember.

One day, in the ever-shifting haze of the Earliest Folds of Existence, it stepped into a realm of madness.

A place without light or structure.

A place where Mutated Inevitabilities roamed.

They were not beings.

They were...hungers made flesh. Things born of failed threads and collapsed purposes. They did not think. They did not reason.

They only devoured.

And the moment they sensed the pulse of Living Origin within the Creature, they surged.

The Creature ran.

It ran endlessly.

Across seas of unborn folds, across mountains of screaming entropy.

It fled for years, never stopping, its beginning burning ever brighter- beacon and curse as millions of Mutated Inevitabilities followed it now.

But it could do nothing but run.

It had purpose, but no claws.

It had beginning, but no force.

And it began to hate.

It hated its stillness.

It hated its helplessness.

And in that moment of despair...

A ripple.

A laugh.

The Living Paradox appeared.

Like oil sliding across untouched canvas.

Its body was chaos made beautiful, contradiction incarnate.

It floated beside the Creature and sneered.

”Do you see now?” it whispered. ”You have purpose. You have Origin. But still, you have nothing to act with.”

The Creature stared ahead, breathing heavy, but it said nothing.

”I can save you,” said the Paradox. ”But you must give up your beginning. Let go of the weight of structure. Let go of this foolish thing you cling to. Embrace contradiction... and I will give you power.”

The Creature trembled.

It had just obtained its purpose and beginning. It did not want to give it up.

So it did not answer.

Not then.

Not yet.

Instead, it continued running.

Until after an unknown amount of time, it found folds of endless blue.

Ahead, a radiant cerulean sea shimmered in the folds- impossibly still.

It leapt into it, sinking deep.

And within its depths...

It found a third orb.

Smaller than the others. Smaller than Origin and Paradox that had even following the Creature here with a sneer.

The third orb was glowing with endless fractals of color, as if each thought it inspired could birth wonders.

The orb spoke.

”I am the Living Concept.”

”...Another?” the Creature whispered, weary and tired.

”I am the shape of imagination. The whisper that defines action. I am... potential.”

The orb circled the Creature slowly.

”I can join you and the Origin. And with me, I will give you the means to act. But I will need... something.”

”...What?”

”Your imagination. The power of interpretation.”

The Creature recoiled.

Another cost?

Why?

Why did everything beyond the Living Origin demand something?

”What is this Existence,” the Creature asked, ”where every step forward requires pain? Where everything has a price?”

And from the shadows...

The Living Paradox laughed again.

It hovered behind them both, smiling wide.

And in a voice as old as contradiction, it said:

”Because that is the first truth of existence.”

”Everything comes at a cost.”

The Creature turned back to the Living Concept.

”...Then tell me,” it said softly. ”What is it... about you... that gives me the power to act?”

The Living Concept pulsed, radiant and steady.

And in a voice that was both whisper and law, it answered.

”Inside of me... dwells Mana.”

”The engine of all action.”

HUUM!

The cerulean sea was still.

And in its depths, the Living Concept hovered silently, pulsing with infinite potential- like a nebula folded into a single thought.

The Creature said nothing for a long time.

It simply floated.

Thinking.

Burning.

Weeping, though it had no eyes to weep with.

This was its second chance.

Another choice.

The Living Origin had given it purpose.

But purpose without power was cruelty.

And now?

Now there was a path.

But it came with a cost.

Imagination, or his purpose.

A part of the Creature stirred in defiance.

But a deeper part... one carved by years of running, of helplessness, of screaming silently against inevitability...

That part stepped forward.

And whispered, ”Take it. Take my imagination.”

The Living Concept pulsed with solemn light.

And then it moved.

It pressed gently into the core of the Creature’s Existence, intertwining with the light of the Living Origin still pulsing there.

No fusion.

No explosion.

Just...

Integration.

As if it had always been meant.

A second root joined the first.

Living Origin.

And now, Living Concept.

Two orbs.

Two truths.

Two states of being.

And the cost?

The Creature felt it immediately.

Its thoughts became... simpler.

It no longer wondered what a sound might mean or why the folds of light rippled across the air in beautiful shapes.

That inner curiosity, the flickering dreamlight of imagination, dimmed.

But in its place?

Came structure.

Form.

Power.

And above all...

A pulse.

A surge.

A new heartbeat.

Something liquid flowed within the Creature now- hotter than stars, purer than light.

It did not burn.

It moved.

It obeyed.

It was...

Mana.

HUUMMMMM!

The Creature opened its hands.

And acted.

For the first time in its existence, it shaped a flame.

Not imagined.

Not dreamed.

But real.

It pulled from its Living Origin, the memory of structure, and wove it with Living Concept, the meaning behind creation.

And from their union...

Mana surged.

A radiant sphere of blue-white power bloomed in the Creature’s palm, humming with layered rings of definition and intent.

It pulsed once.

Then again.

And the folds of existence bent around it.

The Creature lifted its head.

It could still feel them- the Mutated Inevitabilities, still lurking, still hungering, still chasing.

They had chased it across eternities.

But now?

It would no longer run.

Now it could act.

Now it could fight.

And the flame in its hand...

Was only the beginning.”

...!

BOOM!

Sigrid’s voice faded again.

Noah didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Her tale echoed within him like a foundational equation- a principle of power etched deeper than memory.

He looked straight ahead, his Runic Garden still burning behind his ribs.

He felt it now.

More than ever.

Mana.

Oh, Mana!

Was what he had...the same Mana as what the Creature had that allowed him to act all those years ago?!