Chapter 44 – The Scribe of Forgotten Wars

Beneath the twisted carcass of a war beast, where the shattered bones sprawled like the remnants of a great forgotten battle, Rin walked into the heart of an ancient ruin. The earth trembled beneath his feet, resonating with the ghosts of long-dead warriors whose souls had been imprisoned in the very bones of this creature. The walls around him were covered in frayed scrolls, inscribed with countless stories of war—of carnage, of death, and of the endless march of destruction.

Rin had been led here by the whispers of the dead, a call from beyond time and space, echoing through the corridors of the world's forgotten wars. But what he found beneath the war beast was no ordinary library. This was a place where memory and history had been sealed away, a place where the living had no place to tread. The books here were not just written on paper or scrolls—they were carved into the bones of ancient creatures, their ink the blood of gods.

At the center of the library sat an entity, an immortal scribe who appeared to be nothing more than a shadow cloaked in endless pages. The scribe's form was an amalgamation of human and ethereal, bound to the bones and dust of the creature beneath. The figure was scribbling in a book with a quill made from the tailbone of the beast, its ink shimmering with the remnants of death and sorrow.

When Rin approached, the scribe's head tilted slightly, his hollow, empty gaze locking onto him. There was no recognition in those eyes—just the cold, ancient weight of knowledge.

"You are not the first to come," the scribe's voice echoed, hollow and distant. "Nor will you be the last. But you... you seek something more than the others."

Rin's gaze narrowed, the weight of the place pressing down on him. The air was thick with history, with the deaths of those whose names had been forgotten, their bodies reduced to dust, their sacrifices immortalized only in blood-soaked pages. The thought of it sickened him, but he knew this was a place of power, a place where knowledge could be traded for the right price.

"I seek knowledge," Rin said, his voice steady. "But I also know there is a price for such things."

The scribe paused, his quill hovering in midair, and the silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. "Yes," he said finally. "A price. And for you, the price is steep. A truth... a painful truth that weighs upon your soul. You will give it to me, and in return, I will give you a page from the Scripture of Celestial Lies."

Rin's heart stilled at the name of the book. The Scripture of Celestial Lies was a forbidden text, an ancient book that had been sealed away by the gods themselves. The truth contained within it was too dangerous, too destructive for any mortal to possess. But Rin had come this far, and he could not turn back.

A truth. A painful truth.

His mind flashed back to the time when his sect had been destroyed—his heart burned with the memory of that night. His life had been shattered in that moment. But something else lingered beneath the surface, a darker, more gnawing truth.

Rin took a deep breath. "I once wanted to die," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "After my sect was slaughtered, I wanted to die with them. I wanted the pain to end. I thought that if I could just die, it would be over. But I didn't. I survived. I lived, and I sought vengeance. And even now, sometimes, I wish for death. The pain of it all never leaves me. I am cursed to carry it forever."

The scribe did not flinch, nor did he react. He merely dipped his quill into the black ink and began writing once more. The quill moved across the page, each stroke capturing the weight of Rin's confession, weaving it into the fabric of the world.

The scribe's voice came again, low and filled with the quiet sadness of eternity. "Your truth has been heard. And in return, I offer you this." The scribe reached out with a hand made of faded parchment and trembling ink, offering a single page.

Rin reached forward and took the page, the paper cold and unsettling to the touch. As his fingers brushed against it, the words written upon the page began to glow with a faint, ghostly light. He read them, his breath catching in his throat.

The gods orchestrate wars to create energy cycles. Death as fuel. The souls of the dead feed the heavens, and their power is harvested to maintain the balance of the immortal realms.

The revelation hit him like a physical blow. The gods—the ones who had shaped the mortal world for eons, who had watched and allowed the slaughter of entire civilizations—were not above it all. They were not indifferent observers. They were predators. They needed mortal death to maintain their own immortality, to fuel the cycles that kept them in power.

"Balance," Rin whispered bitterly, his fists clenching. "That is what they call it, isn't it? Balance. The death of millions is justified as a means to an end, an eternal cycle of violence, destruction, and suffering. The gods feed on our pain, on our death. They are nothing but vultures—feeding off the weak to maintain their own power."

The scribe's hollow gaze never wavered. "And now you see it, don't you? The truth. The gods are not the protectors you were taught to believe. They are the architects of suffering. The wars. The destruction. They are all part of a grand design that feeds their hunger."

Rin's chest tightened, the weight of the truth suffocating him. The world he had once believed in—the path of vengeance, the pursuit of strength to defeat the gods—was now revealed to be nothing more than a tool in their hands. Every death, every battle, every war he had fought in—had it all been orchestrated by them? Were they all simply pawns in the game of immortal beings who cared nothing for the lives they trampled underfoot?

He had once thought that vengeance, that breaking the heavens, would bring him peace. But now, the concept of balance seemed a farce, a lie. A justification for endless cruelty.

Rin turned to the scribe, his voice cold and hard. "I will end it. All of it. No more balance. No more gods who feed off the lives of the innocent."

The scribe's voice was a mere whisper, barely a breath against the weight of Rin's words. "Then you will become more than what you are. You will become the end of all things."

Rin nodded, his resolve hardening like steel. "I will be the end of their lies."

With that, he turned from the scribe and walked toward the exit of the library, the page from the Scripture of Celestial Lies clenched tightly in his hand. The truth was clear now—he was no longer just a mortal seeking vengeance. He was a force of nature, a being destined to tear down the false heavens, to shatter the cycles of death they had created. He would not let them continue their game.

As Rin stepped out into the darkened expanse, the whispers of the past faded into silence behind him. The road ahead would not be easy. It would be filled with sacrifices, with battles, and with pain. But Rin was no longer afraid of pain. He had learned that death was not the end—it was the beginning. The beginning of his war against the gods who had orchestrated it all.

And this time, he would be the one to decide the ending.

To be continued…