Chapter 46 – Beneath the Heavens, Beneath Their Feet

Rin's footsteps were silent as he descended into the Heavenly Underspire, the lowest layer of the celestial realm. This place was far removed from the divine splendor he had once envisioned. It was not a place of golden halls and radiant skies, but a city of shadow and suffering, where the weight of eternity pressed down with unrelenting force.

The Underspire stretched before him like a broken wound in the fabric of the heavens, a massive expanse of rusted spires and crumbling streets, all suspended in a vast, suffocating expanse. The air was thick with the stench of desperation and pain, a scent that seemed to rise from the ground itself. Here, the heavens were not the realm of eternal peace but of eternal oppression, built upon the backs of mortals who had long since lost their will to live.

The city was constructed on layers upon layers of towering spires, each one rising above the other like a twisted, monstrous stack of bones. Between these spires, there were massive chains, coiled and stretched taut, running down into the very depths of the earth. The chains rattled with a constant, rhythmic sound, a sorrowful symphony that reverberated throughout the entire city. It was a prison, and the mortals were its inmates.

The people here did not live freely. Instead, they moved like shadows, their faces gaunt, their eyes empty. The mortals were bound by the chains of their own suffering, chained to the celestial realm in exchange for a meager existence — a half-life that was barely worth living. They begged for release, for a chance to escape their torment, offering themselves up as spiritual vessels in hopes of avoiding the crushing agony that defined their existence.

"Please, take me! I will be your vessel, your instrument. Spare me from the torment, let me serve!" The words echoed through the streets like a chorus of the damned, coming from every corner, from every alley. Their pleas were desperate, their bodies twisted and broken from the years of suffering they had endured. They were more than willing to trade their very essence for a semblance of peace.

Rin's eyes scanned the scene with cold detachment, his heart heavy with the weight of the knowledge he had gained. The heavens, the immortals — they were not gods in the traditional sense. They were parasites, feeding off the ambition and hope of these wretched mortals, draining them of their very souls in exchange for the illusion of a better life.

As Rin moved deeper into the city, a figure approached him. It was a celestial envoy, clad in resplendent robes that shimmered like starlight. The envoy's eyes glinted with a knowing gleam as he approached Rin, his voice smooth and polished, the tone of one accustomed to giving orders.

"You there," the envoy called, his gaze narrowing as he took in Rin's form. "You are… unfamiliar. You reek of the divine, yet I sense no celestial origin. Interesting."

Rin did not respond, his eyes narrowing. The envoy's words hung in the air like a challenge, a test. The envoy looked Rin up and down, seeming to sense something powerful within him. It was his aura, the aura of death and destruction that hung about him like a dark cloud, a manifestation of his Death Core.

"I see," the envoy continued, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You must be a newly appointed envoy from the higher realms. Such power… how fortunate we are."

Rin did not react, though his mind raced. He understood what was happening. He was being mistaken for one of the celestial envoys, those who were sent by the higher realms to oversee and manage the affairs of the lower heavens. The envoy's mistake was understandable; his aura, the energy that radiated from him, was unmistakable to those who were attuned to the celestial realm. They saw him as a divine figure — and in some ways, he was. But not in the way they thought.

The envoy continued, oblivious to Rin's true nature. "You have come to claim your reward, I assume? To witness the glory of the Underspire?" He spread his arms grandly. "Perhaps you would like to select a few of our slaves? Mortals who have willingly given themselves to the heavens in exchange for a life free of suffering."

Rin's eyes flickered, his fists tightening at his sides. The offer was like a slap to his face — the notion that he would participate in such a transaction, that he would accept slaves like they were cattle to be bartered, sickened him. But he knew he could not reveal his true feelings to this envoy. Not yet.

"I have no need for slaves," Rin said coldly, his voice like steel. "You speak of them as if they are mere objects. They are not yours to offer."

The envoy's smile faltered for a moment, before he chuckled lightly. "You misunderstand. They are not ours to keep. They are simply vessels, tools to be used for the greater good of the heavens. They volunteer, after all. Their suffering is a small price to pay for the peace they will receive."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their hypocrisy. Rin knew better than to believe such lies. He had seen the true nature of the heavens. He had watched as gods fed on hope, as immortals drained the life from those who dared to dream of something better.

"You offer them nothing," Rin said, his voice growing more intense. "You feed off their hope, their ambition, like parasites. You give them false promises of peace and freedom, knowing full well that they will never escape this cycle. You condemn them to an eternity of suffering."

The envoy's smile faded completely, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You speak as if you understand. But you are not one of us. You have no right to question the will of the heavens."

"I understand more than you think," Rin retorted. "The heavens are not gods. They are but parasites, living off the suffering of the weak, feeding on the hope that is never fulfilled."

Before the envoy could respond, Rin turned away, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city of the Underspire. The mortals, the slaves, the tortured souls that filled the streets — they were all trapped in a cycle of false hope. Hope that was cultivated, nurtured, and ultimately harvested by the very beings who claimed to be their saviors.

As Rin continued to walk, he began to form a plan. A direct battle against the heavens, against these parasites, would be futile. The immortals were far too powerful, their forces too vast. But what if he could disrupt their cycle? What if he could stop the flow of hope, sever the source of their power?

Hope was a currency in the heavens, a commodity traded and controlled by those in power. If he could destroy the very foundation of that hope, then the heavens would have nothing to feed on. Without hope, they would wither. Without hope, the immortals would starve.

Rin's gaze hardened, his resolve crystallizing like ice. He would not fight the heavens in the traditional sense. No, he would strike at the heart of their power. He would shatter their cycle, break the chains that bound these mortals, and in doing so, he would bring down the very foundations of the celestial realm.

The first step in his plan was simple: he would start by exposing the truth. The mortals had to know the nature of their chains, the lies that had been fed to them. They had to understand that they were not subjects of some divine order, but victims of a system designed to keep them eternally subjugated.

With each passing moment, Rin's conviction grew stronger. The heavens, the immortals — they had made a grave mistake in underestimating him. They had made a grave mistake in thinking that he would bow to their will.

Rin would make them regret that mistake.

To be continued…