Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 4331: MANA! III

Noah’s declaration was a quiet thunderclap in the dead air, a promise of violence that made the very fabric of Collapse hold its breath!

He was coming!

Tatiana watched him, her obsidian-gold eye a swirling vortex of analytical fury. She saw the six spectral manifestations of his power, the arrogant calm on his face, and she prepared. The obsidian flames of her Principle, the Waking Dream, danced around her, a corona of pure, absolute power.

Then, he began!

It was not a charge, not a grand, sweeping attack. It was a storm. A relentless, unending, and utterly tyrannical artillery barrage of pure, conceptual destruction.

”Fireball.”

The word was a whisper, a soft, almost gentle, murmur.

And from the roiling sea of his Mana, a single, perfect sphere of crimson-blue fire bloomed into existence.

It was a thing of terrible, beautiful power, a miniature sun fold born for the sole purpose of annihilation. It streaked across the void, and Tatiana met it!

BOOM!

She did not raise a shield; she simply wove a dream. A flicker of her authority, a whisper of her Principle, and a perfect, identical copy of the fireball appeared before her, smashing into the real one in a silent, contained detonation.

She smiled. A simple, elegant counter. But as the light of the first explosion faded, another was already there.

”Fireball.”

And another. And another.

”Fireball. Fireball. Fireball. Fireball.”

He did not shout. He did not roar!

His voice was a calm, steady, and unending metronome of death. With every whispered word, another sun fold was born, another bolt of 5-Quintillion-damage power streaking towards her.

She wove dream after dream, her own vast authority a wellspring of counter-spells. A wall of dreamt ice. A mirror of imagined realities. An afterimage of herself that absorbed the blow.

But he was relentless. It was a storm of a thousand suns, a blizzard of annihilation.

For every dream she wove, he had a fire to burn it. Her calm, analytical facade began to crack. A flicker of genuine, profound annoyance entered her eyes. This was not a battle of skill; it was a battle of attrition, and his reserves, impossibly, seemed to be... infinite.

The space between them became a canvas of glorious, terrible chaos. Explosions of crimson and blue painted the dark void, each detonation a silent, beautiful flower of pure, unadulterated power.

The very fabric of Collapse began to fray at the edges, the sheer, overwhelming energy of their duel too much for even this realm of endings to bear.

Tatiana’s advance had not just been stopped; it had been turned into a desperate, stationary defense!

She!

Who was more powerful!

She gritted her teeth, the sound a silent grinding of primordial power.

”Enough!”

WAA!

She raised her hand, and from the aether, a shimmering, conceptual Grimoire, her own Living Astral Codex, materialized.

It opened, and from its pages, a single, terrible card of light flew into her hand. It depicted a skeletal devil, its wings woven from solidified screams, its eyes hollow pits of absolute, final sorrow.

”You have shown me your little fireworks, Child,” she hissed, her voice a low, venomous promise.

”Now, let me show you a true dream of endings.” She raised the card glyph high, her voice a booming, terrible incantation that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Fold.

”Let the Dream of Cessation Bloom...Final Verse: The Ashen Requiem!”

HUUM!

The card dissolved into a wave of pure, necrotic authority. The skeletal devil from the Glyph materialized behind her, but it was no longer a mere image!

It was a being of 15 Quintillion in Complexity, its form a colossus of bone and despair that dwarfed even Noah’s spectral guardians. It opened its mouth, and it began to sing.

HUUM!

The song was not a sound. It was a wave of pure, weaponized grief, a melody of absolute, final cessation. It was the feeling of a billion civilizations dying at once, of every hope turning to ash, of the very concept of a future being erased.

It was an attack that did not target the body, but the very will to exist.

Noah watched the colossal, weeping angel, felt the soul-crushing weight of its song, and his own eyes flashed with a cold, tyrannical light. He raised his hand, and his own Codex, the blue-gold Grimoire of the Mana Architect, appeared.

”Annihilation’s First Spark,” he commanded, his voice a calm, steady counterpoint to the angel’s terrible song.

A single, Primordial Arcana Glyph flew from the book. From it, a creature of pure, incandescent rage was born.

A Primordial Mana-Flame Wyrm, its blue scales shimmering with the light of a billion suns, its nine heads a chorus of pure, untamed fire.

It was a being of nearly 6 Quintillion in power, a terrible, beautiful, and utterly defiant beast.

Tatiana smiled. It was a cruel, triumphant expression.

His power was magnificent, yes, but it was a candle against her inferno. The Requiem would unmake his creature, and then it would unmake him!

But then, Noah spoke again, his voice a cold, flat, and utterly impossible echo.

”Annihilation’s First Spark.”

BOOM!

A second Wyrm appeared, identical to the first.

”Annihilation’s First Spark.”

A third.

...!

Tatiana’s smile vanished. Her eyes widened, the obsidian-gold vortex of her Principle-infused eye flaring with a light of pure, unadulterated disbelief.

How? the thought was a silent, frantic scream in her mind. An Astral Arcana Glyph has a cooldown. How was he able to cast it three times?!

There was no answer. There was only the roar of three Primordial Mana-Flame Wyrms, their nine heads each unleashing a torrent of annihilating azure flame.

The 27 beams, each carrying the weight of Quintillions in pure, untyped, unstoppable damage, merged into a single, colossal river of pure, conceptual fire!

The song of the Ashen Requiem met the roar of the three Wyrms. The wave of absolute despair crashed against a tidal wave of absolute annihilation.

BOOM!

Oh!

The impact was a thing of sublime, terrible beauty. It was not an explosion of light and sound, but a silent, violent tearing of reality itself.

The very fabric of Collapse was unraveled, the space between the Folds shredded into a chaotic, beautiful storm of raw, untamed energy. Scorching flames and a mana of impossibly high temperature washed over everything, a cleansing, apocalyptic fire that seemed to burn away the very concept of existence.

When the light finally, reluctantly, faded, the scene was one of profound, shocking stillness. The three Wyrms were gone, their purpose served. The colossal, weeping devil had been erased from existence.

And Tatiana... Tatiana stood unharmed.

The storm of annihilation had washed over her, around her, but had not touched her. Because she was no longer alone. Surrounding her, their forms a silent, unyielding wall of dead, primordial power, were the Prime Dead Early Creatures.

They had taken the blow, their own immense authorities a shield for their Queen. They now stared at Noah, their ancient, dead eyes burning with a cold, murderous light.

And it was not just them. The few hundred Dead Existential Armors, which had been a silent, orderly legion on the Ashen Ark, had moved!

They now formed a perfect, omnidirectional sphere around Noah, a cage of obsidian and death that blotted out the very stars.

He was surrounded. He was trapped.

Noah looked at the army of endings that now held him in their grasp.

He looked at Tatiana, at her triumphant, furious face. He looked at the impossible odds, at the overwhelming, absolute power that was now arrayed against him.

And his lips curved into a slow, cold, and utterly, profoundly, tyrannical smile.

”Whether it’s one or hundreds,” he said, his voice a quiet, almost conversational, murmur that was somehow louder than any roar, ”it won’t matter. Before My Way of Existence, none of you matter!”

...!