My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 682: Rift Grades

Following an extensive and meticulous consultation with Jarul regarding our future strategy and the flow of intelligence, we finally departed Shenzhou. With our plans solidified, we reclaimed our vessel and set a direct course for the rift.

As Shenzhou receded behind us, the news of Armus’s upheaval traveled with startling speed. Information networks and trade routes were already buzzing with reports of the sudden power vacuum, the collapse of ancient families, the sighting of a Phantom, and the reappearance of Primus alongside his human companions. As is common, the narratives were often warped by awe or terror, yet the fundamental reality remained undeniable.

Armus had been transformed.

In the quiet interludes of our trek, our conversations often turned toward Lana. We speculated on her reaction to the unfolding events, her current state of mind, and her whereabouts. There was little doubt that the news of her family's annihilation had reached her. Whether she was consumed by fury, remorse, or a chilling indifference, we could only guess. However, we knew one thing for certain: she would not remain idle.

We stood in collective silence on the viewing deck, our gazes lost in the cosmic debris drifting past the reinforced glass. The ship sliced through the darkness with steady precision. Having already completed three long-range jumps, we were moving further from the stability of civilized space and closer to the volatile region of the rift.

The deeper we ventured, the more desolate the void became.

In a conflict of universal proportions, the frontlines bear no resemblance to the borders drawn when two kingdoms war on a single world. At this magnitude, the struggle isn't over territory, metropolitan hubs, or planetary bodies. The war is fought over the very fabric of stability.

An invading universe does not simply march troops across a boundary. Instead, it exerts pressure against reality itself, searching for points where its own laws can supersede ours. This immense pressure manifests as rifts.

A rift is far more than a mere portal. It represents a forced overlap—a beachhead where the enemy universe carves a permanent position within our own. As this overlap stabilizes and deepens, the invaders' influence grows. Consequently, a total invasion cannot happen instantly; it requires the systematic seeding of instability across entire galaxies.

This is the reason no singular frontline exists.

Rather, the conflict is defined by its depth. The outer fringes experience shallow contact, where weak rifts are utilized to test our resolve and collect data. Further in, the rifts become more potent and lethal, allowing a greater degree of the invading universe's authority to bleed through. These anomalies are categorized not by their physical dimensions, but by their level of dominance.

Lower-grade rifts cause minimal disruption to local physics. Through these, Phantoms and erratic Abominations emerge to probe our defenses. As a rift matures, local laws of reality begin to erode, space-time warps, and the very elements fail to function correctly. If a rift is permitted to deepen without interference, entire star systems can be obliterated.

The highest-grade rifts are no longer mere battlegrounds; they are points of total incursion where one universe begins the process of rewriting another. These territories are not intended for reclamation. They are zones to be contained, stalled, or ultimately abandoned.

This explains why the true war is waged within the void.

Planets are vulnerabilities. Stars become unstable when subjected to foreign laws. Stationary locations are the first things to be deleted from existence. To counter this, the defenders have constructed mobile fortresses, platforms anchored by local laws, and void bastions—vessels designed to endure where reality itself is under siege.

And this only encompasses the outer approach.

Should the Eternals expand the dominance of their laws through a rift, our natural advantages vanish. Native laws lose their priority, tactical coordination fails, and the invaders' momentum surges. Once that threshold is crossed, advancing becomes effortless for them and devastatingly expensive for us.

The Council has never disclosed the total casualties, but those on the frontlines understand the grim reality.

We have already watched entire galaxies fall.

The Eternals did not arrive without a plan. They are not impulsive conquerors driven by mindless bloodlust. They are experienced, methodical, and terrifyingly patient. They possess a deep understanding of our universe—its architecture, its laws, and most critically, its flaws. Every action they take is deliberate, every push calculated to exploit even the most minute instability.

If our universe has endured this long, it is not due to superior strength.

It is the result of a resistance forged in unity.

The collective power of the Prime Galaxy, the System, and the surviving smaller galaxies has successfully hindered the Eternal progression. Defensive grids have been bolstered, rift response protocols refined, and entire sectors sacrificed just to gain a few moments of time. The System’s participation has been vital, maintaining the stability of laws that would have otherwise disintegrated.

Another dark omen of our defensive posture is the proliferation of the rifts themselves. They have appeared in every galaxy. Through these tears, the Eternals have implemented something far more sinister than a mere invasion: a mechanism designed to harvest the souls of the deceased from countless worlds.

That realization caused my hands to tighten into fists.

The sheer magnitude of such a system was horrifying. It was not restricted to active combat zones or battlefields. It functioned everywhere—across civilizations, planets, and entire galaxies. Every death, whether from the fires of war, the rot of disease, or the simple passage of time, was treated as a resource to be collected. It was a net the size of a universe, cast so wide that even those far from the fighting could not escape its reach.

This was not just a war of conquest.

It was a war of consumption.

Developing a system capable of anchoring, tracking, and siphoning souls across the cosmos required planning that spanned generations. It meant the Eternals were not just fighting for victory; they were preparing to replace us entirely, draining the very essence of our universe's future even as we fought to save it.

No visible rifts had appeared near my home world, yet we were still victims of this process. The leading theory was as simple as it was haunting: hidden rifts exist—anchors buried in the dark corners of space, unmonitored and invisible, quietly draining souls. No galaxy remained untouched. Every single one was a target.

Throughout the grueling years of conflict, our universe was forced to evolve. One of the primary adaptations was the implementation of a standardized rift grading system. This was not created for the sake of academia, but to ensure that the appropriate response could be deployed before a rift deepened beyond the point of no return.

The classification consisted of five grades.

Grade Five rifts are the most superficial. These represent the initial signs of a breach, where the invading universe has only begun to graze our reality. Only Phantoms and volatile Abominations pass through these points. While they pose a threat to unprotected worlds, they can be managed if dealt with swiftly.

Grade Four rifts signify a major escalation. Transcendent Eternals begin to take the field, and their forces are no longer disorganized or experimental. Disciplined, massive formations of Abominations and Phantoms surge through in relentless waves. Neutralizing these rifts requires standing armies, fortified positions in the void, and perpetual combat to halt their further expansion.