Inheritance

"The Book of Sin."

I stared at the title, my brow furrowing as the same unease settled in my chest. 

Every time I looked at these words, I would have this eerie feeling-

Scratching the back of my head, I placed the book on the table and opened one of the secret drawers.

There, a pile of papers could be seen with the following words written on them:

Experiment No. 468

That was the amount of crazy and reckless ideas I had tried to open the book within the last 2 years.

I had tried burning it, tried using a fucking knife to hack it open—

Not only this, but I had even tried cutting it open through awakened weapons, items forged from the carcass of the beasts by the blacksmiths of this world.

But none of it worked—

This book was immune to fire, water, physical damage and even electricity! 

My thumb ran along the edge of the book's pages, It seemed that although there was some damage to the book's exterior, it still refused to open. 

But would you look at that?

This dogshit book still refused to open— 

At one point, the pent-up rage started to get the better of me, and I could not stop myself from punching the book. 

It hurt.

'Not as much as living the last 8 years did.'

I grit my teeth.

I knew there was no use for what I was doing now, but it did not matter.

I continued punching, even when the wounds on my knuckles started to open.

Even when tears threatened to fall from my eyes, even when my whole body started trembling.

No.

It was not because of the pain.

I was used to pain.

Far greater pain than this—

What I felt right now was more frustration than anything else.

I was frustrated at what I had become,

A Noble.

An Orphan.

If that wasn't bad enough?

I was a failure.

I could not absorb mana.

I could not become a mage.

I could not do anything.

No.

There was still something I could do.

Ahhhh

I almost screamed.

I was.

Fucking.

Done.

I put all of my strength into punching the book.

Punch.

Why.

Punch. Punch.

Just why-

My fists landed with dull, repetitive sounds, but I didn't stop.

My breath came in ragged gasps as my mind spiralled into a single, unshakable thought.

I need to open this book.

Nothing else mattered.

My heart beat against my ribs as my surroundings turned hazy. 

Time no longer seemed to exist—just the dull ache of my knuckles splitting open, the sharp sting of blood dripping down my fingers, and the maddening refusal of this damn book to yield. 

Smack. Smack. Smack. 

"Why won't you open?!" My voice cracked, and I slammed my fist down with all the strength I had left.

The pain was immediate, a searing flash that tore through my knuckles. I grit my teeth, ignoring it, tears welling in my eyes but refusing to fall.

Each punch felt like a release—of anger, frustration and hopelessness.

My mind had gone blank, thoughts replaced with nothing but a primal desperation.

Open. Open. Open.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I couldn't think of anything else. My fists ached, but I ignored them.

Blood smeared the surface of the book, dark red streaks painting the worn leather, but still, it stayed sealed. 

My vision blurred with exhaustion and tears that I refused to acknowledge.

Time slipped away. I had no idea how long I had been at it—minutes, hours?

My entire world narrowed to the book, my hands, and the overwhelming need to break it open.

I need to open this book. I need to open this book.

The words played over and over in my mind, a mad chant that drowned out everything else. My body trembled, shoulders shaking from exhaustion.

The room felt colder, or maybe I was just losing sensation, but I couldn't stop.

Punch. Smack. Crack.

"JUST OPEN ALREADY!" I screamed, my voice hoarse, echoing in the empty room.

And then it happened.

A blinding flash of black light came from the book, swallowing the room in an instant. 

The oppressive darkness covered me, cutting off my senses entirely. 

My fists froze mid-strike, the dim brightness of my room replaced by suffocating shadows. 

I stumbled back—or tried to. My legs wouldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, it was as if I was frozen in place. 

"What the—?!" I gasped, my voice barely above a whisper, the words catching in my throat. 

Fear should have consumed my mind, but what I felt right now was something more..something electrifying! 

Excitement.

Yes, it could only be that.

My eyes darted around the room—or what I could still see of it, but there was nothing.

Just shadows.

Endless.

Shadows.

The book, now glowing faintly in the blackness, hovered slightly off the table. 

'Why wasn't I feeling scared?' I questioned myself but soon discarded the thought. 

It did not matter. 

Before my eyes, I could see the very edges of the book trembling. 

The same book that I had tried to hack open for years now— 

I clearly noticed how strange symbols covered the book's surface, repairing all the damage I had done to it. 

'What... is happening?' I thought, unable to make sense of the situation.

The glow turned brighter, and all of a sudden, it started to flip open, making me sigh in relief, 

Bruh. 

'That was stressful,' I almost cried out.

Lol. 

Just then, I saw a pearl white page open in a world of darkness. 

My instincts screamed at me to run, to get away from this God-forsaken place, but my body refused to budge. 

Just then, a voice—low and guttural, echoed in the back of my mind. 

[Do you want to know the World's Greatest Secret?]

*** 

______________________

In the most isolated corner of the universe, a halting Pagoda could be seen floating in open space.

It flickered from being invisible to visible in a continuous cycle. The mysterious Pagoda's exterior was studded with glass panels.

On a particular floor inside this grand tower was my office.

You heard right.

My office.

Gods, Authors, Creators—call us whatever you want.

It does not matter.

We were the ones who shaped Worlds and weaved destinies for the unwitting souls trapped in our stories.

I, however, am just a newbie among them.

My desk was covered in the usual, organised mess: glowing quills scattered alongside floating orbs of incomplete ideas.

Lastly, there was a luxurious screen studded on my desk wall.

This screen was an artifact with which I could monitor 'My World' whenever I want

This was my first project, and I agree that although not everything went as smoothly as I planned, it was finally back on track.

Noah. Poor, sweet Noah.

The live feed showed the 17-year-old kid crouched inside a dustbin can with his black hair scattered all over his face.

My lips curled into a smirk as I bit on my fingernails, leaning forward on my chair.

"Yes…this was it," I whispered, my voice low, shaking with excitement.

"This is where it all begins. Pain. Suffering. That's how you create a villain!"

"Kekkeke"

I hugged my legs, perching on the chair as if I might jump through the screen at any chance I got. My eyes never left him—

Not when I had 'bestowed' him a cursed physique, not when I had made his eyes miserable.

Never.

My fingers gently tapped against my lips, and I could not help but chuckle.

"You will break," I said to the half-beaten character inside the screen.

"Oh. I know you will. That's how I wrote to you. You'll fall, you will fail. And then you will rise stronger, better…and darker—"

Time continued to pass as I patiently sipped on the complimentary coffee given to us.

Ahhh~

What a bliss it was.

The scene changed again, I saw him stumble into the room, barely holding himself together.

Yes!

Yes!!

This was it—

My eyes started to glow as I stood from my seat.

My poor Noah.

It is high time you fulfilled your role.

And just when I thought he was finally awakening his empty physique, my smile faltered.

"Wait…what's this?!?" I muttered, my hands gripping the edges of the desk as unease started to creep in.

"No, no, no. Crying? You're not supposed to cry. You're supposed to break down!

To channel your anger- You're supposed to fucking embrace the void!"

Ughhh

I did not even realise when my hand swiped along the table, throwing every orb and every piece of paper on the floor.

My face was burning with uncontrolled anger, and my hands hurt with pain.

He was veering off the script…

Again!!

That wasn't supposed to happen.

This was the moment where he was meant to wake up and realize the meaninglessness of life, the futility of hope.

He was supposed to fall!

And then I saw it.

The book.

That goddamn glowing book, sitting innocently in the corner of the room, its presence like a slap across my face.

My heart sank as Noah crawled back towards it. My hands clenched into fists, and I slammed them against the desk with a roar.

"IT'S THAT DAMN BOOK AGAIN!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the endless workspace.

Quite a few heads turned in my direction, but that was the least of my concerns right now.

Even though they were all beings of extraordinary presence, I was no smaller than them.

Some appeared as radiant figures of light, others as shadowy forms shrouded in mystery.

My teeth ground together as I ignored the stares and gazed back at the screen, rage bubbling under my skin.

"How does he keep finding it?!" I growled, running my hands through my hair. "I killed his parents! I made him an outcast!

I did everything to keep him from awakening that cursed thing! And yet..." I trailed off, my voice trembling with frustration.

"And yet he still manages to open it?"

My expression twisted, the edge of my lips twisting…But just then, I felt it.

A shift in the atmosphere—

A slow, deliberate clock of heels echoed as she approached.

"Still playing god with your little toys?" She asked, her voice was like velvet drenched in honey... 

I dared to look up and instantly regretted it.

Her face was still a swirling blur of whites and golds.

But nothing, nothing, obscured the rest of her. Her figure was a sculptor's impossible dream—curves so perfectly proportioned they defied logic, every motion she made radiating an aura of effortless allure. 

She leaned casually on the edge of my desk, her hips lifted just so, one hand trailing along the surface of my workspace.

Her lips, or at least where they should have been, curved into what I could only describe as a smirk, though her face was still shrouded in that maddening blur.

The soft fabric of her white button-up shirt clung to her form in ways that defied gravity, the embroidered label over her chest reading, in bold, taunting letters:

Aphrodite.

***