Feng Zhiming found himself perched atop the crow's nest, a place of solitude where he had often sought refuge in recent days. His eyes were completely covered by a blindfold, a precaution against the darkness that had taken root within him. A scarf was wrapped tightly around his left arm, concealing the black veins that had yet to spread beyond the limb. He had learned that as long as he refrained from direct contact with the darkness, it remained contained.

It had been several days since the incident, and Anissa had finally ceased her constant shadowing, returning her focus to her sword practice. This reprieve gave Feng Zhiming some much-needed space to think, though his mind remained clouded by uncertainty.

“The Scholar of Black and his lord wanted to use me for something,” he mused, his thoughts spiraling into a labyrinth of doubts. “The Administrator might have lied about the true purpose of the assembly, and the Gu demon might be nothing but a distraction. But the Scholar couldn’t have lied, not if he swore a vow. Unless... maybe that’s exactly what he wants me to think. By pretending the Astral Realm wasn’t under the purview of the Dao, he could have been bluffing to gain my trust. If that’s the case, then the Scholar of Black and his lord are the true deceivers, and perhaps the Gu demon is the real objective.”

His brows furrowed as he clenched the armrest of his chair, frustration etched across his face. “Dammit, I’m just going in circles,” he muttered, taking a bite of an apple as he realized there was no clear answer.

Adding to his confusion, the shadow that usually kept him updated on the other participants had begun to contradict itself. One moment, it claimed he was corrupted and that the Administrator would be informed, but in the next breath, it insisted that everything was fine and no report would be made. The inconsistency was maddening. If the shadow, an agent of the assembly, classified him as corrupted, it was undoubtedly a negative attribute from their perspective. And if he were to speak with the Administrator, would he not simply be executed?

Feng Zhiming emptied his mind, staring blankly at the desert skyline, his thoughts as barren as the landscape. “The only real option is to commune with the Lord of the Scholar,” he concluded, though the idea filled him with unease. Despite the chance to kill him, the Scholar had not, even after all his provocations. Perhaps there was a kernel of truth in their words, no matter how twisted. If what they said was true, not only was the Gu demon a fabrication, but the participants were not warriors in a grand competition—they were prey, hunted for sport, shattered remnants of a hegemony.

He didn’t want to admit it, but there was more than just rationality driving his decision. A deep curiosity gnawed at him, a burning desire to see if this powerful entity could point him toward an omnipotent god.

"Archives of Truth: The Heavenly Demon and the Wisp of Rebellion," he thought, and the book materialized in his mind. One thing he had discerned was that the price of this book was his eye—the only thing he had asked for during that fateful conversation. He would remember not to ask these beings for anything in the future and to choose his words with utmost care.

With nothing else to do and his curiosity about the Heavenly Demon piqued, he decided to read.

To the one reading this, know that this is a modified version of the text, set to protect the cognition of the ones unborn and to hide away things an unborn cannot know.

Feng Zhiming's brow creased as a question formed in the back of his mind. “Just what does it mean to be unborn?” he wondered, though he continued reading.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

In remembrance of the ones askew, an old fool's understanding of God.

Many, many cycles before the Maiden of the Waning Sun gained favor from the Eternal Throne, there were others who held that privilege. Indeed, there has always been the presence of the Throne Eternal, existing since before even time itself. There were Ones who were bestowed the throne through inheritance, and those who dyed it in blood, demanding its grace.

The Oldest Godly Monarch to be granted the throne was the Primordial One. The Primordials were beings made of light, free of impurity. In ancient mythology and literature, they are described as the closest to the everbright embrace of the Dao. However, they did not worship the Dao; instead, they revered ten illuminations that shone in the void.

During their reign, the Primordial Ones paid little heed to the realm of the Unborn, and thus the age was known as the Epoch of Equilibrium. Without interference from the Ones True, the infinite many unborn realms were rife with bloodshed, governed by the brutal rule of strength and survival.

From this unending conflict arose a promised child, prophesied to be a destined slave of change. Born from the matrimony of a Primordial shunned from the Origin Source and a creature of inversion, the Heavenly Demon was a human born of impossible circumstances.

Rejected by the sanctity of familiarity—by both those who resembled him and those who did not—the Heavenly Demon was isolated beyond compare. A human not granted humanity, a child not claimed by his creators. He knew only betrayal, only abandon.

On the night of one of his greatest conquests, the Heavenly Demon descended from a hill of corpses. His appearance was unrecognizable, a figure drenched in blood, with no part of his body or clothes untouched by the death of others. The hill was lined with the bodies of Dao Lords, beings capable of manipulating the laws within the infinite many mortal realms, beings at the pinnacle of humanity.

As he descended, he gazed upon a horizon filled with vicious warriors, armies numbering in the trillions. Chanting could be heard:

"SLAY THE DEMON! SAVE THE WORLD, IN THE NAME OF GOD!"

"SLAY THE DEMON! SAVE THE WORLD, IN THE NAME OF GOD!"

He halted for a moment before speaking, his voice soft yet heard across the entire realm. “Silence,” he commanded, and by the force of the world itself, all were prohibited from speaking.

"Upon the darkest night you shall now face, do not look to your sides; there is no faith to be had."

The soldiers began to sweat.

"Your allies cannot save you, your parents cannot save you, your leaders cannot save you. They are too weak. Abandon your faith, abandon your will."

As he walked, the armies crumbled under his pressure, their bodies becoming a layer of mush upon the ground.

"I solemnly swear upon my inaugurated path of domination and deliverance, I shall usher in a new age."

The soldiers, once eager to fight, now fell to their knees.

"Forsake your God. Your God cannot save you. Your God does not exist."

He rose into the sky, looking down at the cowering figures below.

"I shall be the Shepherd fated eternal. Rejoice, for I have fulfilled the imperatives demanded of me. Rejoice, for I bring great mercy."

The Heavenly Demon spoke rarely, but when he did, the world was forever changed. Without his achievements, humanity would never have been born.

"Witness true being."

The Heavenly Demon was the first human to be born, the first human to see beyond the infinite many mortal realms. He was the one who granted humanity the path of imperatives, of the Imperium.

Feng Zhiming closed the book, his mind reeling from the revelations. The words echoed in his mind, mingling with the uncertainty that had plagued him for days. The Heavenly Demon, a figure of both terror and awe, was now more than just a myth—he was a cornerstone of the very fabric of reality.

What did it mean to be unborn? And what role did the Heavenly Demon truly play in the grand tapestry of existence?

As these questions swirled in his mind, Feng Zhiming knew that the path ahead was more treacherous than he had ever imagined.