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Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse (Web Novel) - Chapter 5650: THE Dimensional Provenance Train! I
Chapter 5650: THE Dimensional Provenance Train! I
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<THE True Human Emperor>A conquered Dimension usually requires time to settle its borders. THE Serenaros was granted exactly none!
Noah remained seated upon his bloody throne of crimson gold Sanguine Mana, resting his chin on his fist as he observed his newly acquired dominion. Down below, Mahishasura floated over the archive-peak, projecting the composed authority of THE SHIELD while the surviving thousands of Descendants and Enforcers knelt in grand obedience!
In fact, Noah was already calculating the weavings of permeating the entire Dimension with his Sanguine Mana when the sky changed.
The purple gold skies of THE Serenaros did not tear open like it had for THE ECSTATIC FLAYER. Instead, the entire sky began to shine with an oppressive, blinding light. The ambient Infinity in the air froze completely. The weight of multiple Immense Ones descended simultaneously, bypassing the physical borders of the Dimension and pressing directly into the authored lineages of every Descendant present.
Down in the courtyard, Mahishasura stiffened violently, his amber gold eyes going wide as information flooded his existence.
Because Mahishasura was bound to Noah’s grammar, Noah did not need to wait for the Descendant to speak. He simply read the incoming broadcast straight through the Sanguine threads anchored in Mahishasura’s lineage.
Waves of glorious, complex information rushed into Noah’s vision as prompts. They detailed the architecture of the budding Narrative of Existence, and the sheer scale of the design was breathtaking!
The architects of existence were literally linking entire gigaparsec-wide Dimensions into a connected, unstoppable sequence.
|THE Narrative of Existence has commenced.|
|Title: THE Dimensional Provenance Train of Existence.|
|THE Serenaros Dimension has been coupled as a Dimensional Cabin alongside an unknown number of other Dimensions that will move across Existence. It is now bound to the linear tracks of the Narrative Moirai.|
Noah sat up slightly, his eyes narrowing as the prompts continued to build the rules of the terrifying stage.
|The Moving Sequence: The core of this continuous narrative lies in the absolute finality of its momentum. Geography across the crossing-dark becomes a linear gauntlet. Time and survival are now measured by forward progression.|
|The Tyranny of the Tracks: The Narrative Moirai dictates the path of these chained Dimensions.|
|The Hostile Periphery: Existence outside the dimensional boundaries is actively lethal as of this moment for all lifeforms within THE Dimensional Provenance Train of Existence. It is an endless void of crushing temporal anomalies and predatory storms of the power of Immense Ones. The coupled Dimensions actively fend it off, making the outside a terrifying canvas of abstract annihilation whizzing past at breakneck speeds. Any lifeform thrown past the boundaries of any of the connected Dimensions faces certain death by the combined might of THE Immense Ones.|
Noah read the rules with cold, unyielding focus!
For they were fucking heavy!
Dimensions...connected together to form a Dimensional Provenance Train rushing across Existence? Anything that left the bounds of the Dimensions would collapse instantly?!
|The Convergence of Thresholds: The systemic boundaries between these chained Dimensional Cabins will not remain permanently sealed. At dictated intervals, the dimensional doors separating the Cabins will open. Lifeforms may cross over into neighboring Dimensions to conquer, or prepare to be conquered.|
|The Spoil of the Stage: To spur the actors, Narrative Treasures will bloom at random intervals within each Dimensional Cabin. These treasures contain unfathomable seas of Existential Moirai among other things waiting to be claimed by those bold enough and powerful enough to seize them.|
|The Dimensional Hierarchy: The physical layout of the chained Dimensions perfectly mirrors a rigid hierarchy of standing. The Engine Dimension at the front houses the absolute elite and the heaviest apex predators. As you move toward the back Cabins, the Dimensions become structural battlegrounds for the desperate as those in the back are weaker.|
|THE Serenaros Dimensional Cabin has been deemed...one of the weaker Dimensions on the back of THE Dimensional Provenance Train|
WAA!
The intricacies of the play were staggering. The overarching tension would circle back to survival and conquest. When the doors opened, a neighboring Dimension full of terrifying enemies would simply spill into their own.
BOOM!
The moment the final prompt locked into the Records, THE Serenaros physically jolted.
The sensation was entirely different from the smooth, unperceivable step of a Hearthshift. Noah felt the sheer, raw kinetic force of an entire Dimension violently coupling onto a track of pure white Argent Loom and golden Moirai!
The purple gold clouds above them suddenly streaked horizontally. The borders of the Dimension crystallized into thick, translucent barriers, revealing the absolute dark of the void whipping past at speeds that defied the laws of anything one new.
A deafening, structural groaning echoed across the sky as the Dimension settled into its perpetual forward momentum.
Noah rested his hand on his bloody throne, his expression a mask of pure, tyrannical calculation.
The Immense Ones had done something ridiculous!
And why oh why did they even do this?!
Just to watch? Just as a Narrative?
He was placed at the very back of a rigid hierarchy, expected to be ground into dust by the Dimensions opening their doors ahead of him.
But...
He did not view this Dimensional Train as a cage. He viewed it as a perfectly arranged buffet.
The architects had kindly lined up every major threat, every rival Mantle, and every hoarded authority in a perfectly straight line!
They had saved him the trouble of hunting them down across the vastness of existence, and they were even going to drop Narrative Treasures filled with Moirai directly into his lap while he marched!
Well...maybe.
Existence was vast and full of terrors. Who knew just what terrifying things were swept up in it?
---
<THE Writer of Mythos>
A completed story is, by its very nature, a dead thing.
In the deepest vaults of existence, where the crossing-dark gives way to the hidden sanctuaries of the architects, there existed a Dimension built entirely of paper and silence.
It was a realm where geography did not consist of mountains or oceans, but of countless floating pages. The pages were woven from the pristine white threads of THE Argent Loom, and the text upon them was inscribed with a mixture of endless Infinity and dense golden Source.
They fluttered in a perpetual, silent cyclone, recording the histories, the tragedies, and the grand epics of thousands of Observable Existences.
At the absolute center of this storm of literature sat Descendant Calliope.
She was a vision of profound, heartbreaking grace. Her long, silver-white hair floated around her like spilled ink in water. Her skin was perfectly pale, untouched by the crude violence of the lower frameworks, and her fingers were permanently stained with the deep blue residue of raw authority.
Her presence was entirely serene, radiating a terrifying, absolute calm that could pacify a raging Primeval beast with a single glance.
Above her head, a grand, golden sign shaped like an open book and a quill rotated slowly. It was her Ordination, granted flawlessly by THE Provenance of Existence. She was THE WRITER OF MYTHOS.
Yet, despite her staggering standing and the endless wealth of her domain, her eyes held the dull, suffocating weight of absolute boredom.
High above the cyclone of floating pages, the firmament of the Dimension began to warp. The sky parted effortlessly, and a single, colossal eye gazed down at her. It was the eye of an Immense One, radiating a calm, suffocating pressure that forced the floating pages to perfectly align themselves in midair.
"The board shifts violently, my child," the Immense One spoke, its voice carrying the resonant, tolling depth of ancient bells. "The Provenance of Existence has flooded the frameworks. The actors are moving, and the currency flows like water. Existence is yours for the taking. With your Ordination, you can write Narratives at the same level as Vakochev or any Provenance Lifeform. You can author the rise and fall of entire epochs with a flick of your stained fingers."
Calliope did not bow and ahe did not even look up immediately. She simply let a single, blank page drift into her palm, staring at its emptiness with a profound gaze.
"But why should I?" Calliope asked, her voice impossibly smooth, carrying a melancholic echo that defied her sheer power.
"In existence, why should I bother? All the Mythos I’ve written are grand. I have authored the tragic ends of many Lifeforms. I have written the glorious ascensions of entire realms. But none of it has scratched my itch recently. It is all so terribly... predictable."
The colossal eye above gazed down. The silence between them stretched for a long, heavy moment before the Immense One finally answered.
"You suffer the malaise of the untouchable," the ancient architect rumbled gently. "Listen to me, Calliope. Long before you were born, and long before the Scales were ever weighed, there was a Provenance Lifeform known as The Willful Traveler."
Calliope raised her gaze slightly, her silver-white hair drifting as the Immense One wove a story into the fabric of the Dimension itself.
"The Willful Traveler had no predetermined shape and no authored lineage. It possessed only its own generated standing, and the absolute desire to walk forward. For Ages, it walked through the raw, unshaped crossing-dark, braving the tearing storms and the lethal quiet. One day, the Traveler came upon a domain authored by one of Those Who Remain...a being known as The Maker of Cages."
The pages around Calliope began to glow, automatically recording the fable as it spilled from the Immense One’s lips.
"The Maker of Cages had built a flawless, glass sphere," the Immense One continued. "Inside the sphere, there was no pain. There was no fatigue, no hunger, and no uncertainty. The Maker offered the sphere to The Willful Traveler, saying, ’Why do you walk in the cold dark? Step inside my cage. Here, you will never lose. You will never fade. You will rule over all that you see in perfect peace.’"
"The Traveler was weary from the endless storms. It accepted the offer and stepped into the glass sphere. For a million years, the Traveler sat in perfect, unchallenged peace. It authored grand illusions within the glass, creating anything it desired with a single thought."
Calliope’s stained fingers twitched slightly. She recognized the shape of the mirror being held up to her.
"But after a million years," the Immense One said, its voice dropping to a terrifying, intimate whisper, "The Willful Traveler began to suffocate. Because it controlled every variable, there was no friction. Because there was no friction, its own generated power had nothing to push against. The Traveler began to shrink."
"So, The Willful Traveler tore out its own heart. It used its own fiendish, ancient blood to corrode the flawless glass, burning a hole straight through the perfection. It stepped back out into the freezing, lethal crossing-dark. The Maker of Cages was furious. It asked, ’Why would you choose the pain of the cold over the peace of perfection? Why bleed just to leave?’"
"The Willful Traveler looked back and answered: ’A cage that guarantees victory is a cage that denies purpose. The pain of the cut is the cost of the ink. Without the ink, there is no story. Without the possibility of failure, there is no ’Why’. There is only the box.’"
HUUM!
The story settled heavily into the dimension. The millions of floating pages hung completely static in the air.
"You are suffocating in your own glass sphere, Calliope," the Immense One declared softly. "You are bored because you are the absolute master of your domain. You cannot scratch the itch because you already know how every story ends before you write it. You lack the friction of the unknown."
Calliope stared up at the colossal eye, a faint, dangerous spark finally igniting within the dull depths of her gaze.
"If you seek a grand Mythos," the Immense One commanded, "then you must step onto a stage where you cannot control every variable. Go to THE Dimensional Provenance Train of Existence. It is a budding Narrative pulling in terrors and anomalies that defy even our predictions. There, you will find beings of unimaginable depth Existence has produced. There, you will find the possibility of your own ending. There... you might find new inspiration."
...!
Calliope breathed in slowly. The sheer, intoxicating concept of a Narrative where she was not the author, but a participant forced to fight for the pen, sent a sudden, violent thrill through her rigid lineage.
A story where she might actually lose!
She raised her head, her beautiful, serene face breaking into a very small, very terrifying smile.
She nodded lightly.
BOOM!
The instant her agreement was registered by the records, her entire Dimension buzzed with a deafening, structural frequency!
The cyclone of millions of pages was violently sucked inward, compressing into dense, physical walls of white Argent Loom and purple-gold authority. The limitless boundaries of her quiet sanctuary crystallized, locking into thick, translucent barriers that revealed the sudden, terrifying blur of the crossing-dark whipping past at breakneck speeds!
The physical force of an entire Dimension coupling onto a linear track slammed through the realm!
Her sanctuary was no longer a hidden vault. It had just been forcibly coupled to the rushing momentum of the architects’ grand design. It had become one of the many Dimensional Cabins of THE Dimensional Provenance Train of Existence!
Calliope stood in the center of her accelerating Cabin, feeling the localized gravity shift as the Narrative Moirai dragged her domain forward into the ultimate, inescapable gauntlet. She raised her ink-stained fingers, her silver-white hair whipping in the new, violent winds of the moving Dimension.
She finally had a blank page worth writing on!
