The Invincible Young Master

The boy stayed on the ground, the unseen force pinning him down. The cold stone beneath his forehead seemed to sap its chill biting into his skin. strength,

The silence stretched endlessly, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud.

Finally, he summoned the courage to speak.

"Forgive me, great lord," he murmured, barely louder than a whisper. "Forgive me for disturbing your slumber."

The boy swallowed hard, his throat dry and scratchy, but he continued.

"I am your humble servant, just a simple villager. My people, we honor you. Every prayer, every offering we've made, has been towards you."

His words echoed faintly in the vast space, unanswered. He clenched his fists against the floor, frustration tightening his chest. He hadn't come this far to leave empty-handed.

"There was an incident," he continued, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "In the city where I studied. A conspiracy... immortals... and in their schemes, they took her. Someone dear to me. I couldn't stop them."

The words tumbled out like a confession, each syllable cutting into him. His failure, his weakness, it was all laid bare.

His shoulders trembled as he relived the humiliation of that day, the crushing loss, and the unrelenting pain of his broken core.

"I don't ask for revenge," he said, his voice firmer now, though still tinged with desperation. "I'll face them myself, and I'll fix what they've broken. But for that, I need a way to repair my crippled core."

He took a shuddering breath, his forehead still pressed to the ground. "Please, great lord. Is there a method? Even the smallest chance to fix it?"

The silence grew heavier and only his breathing broke the stillness.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why won't you answer?"

Slowly, he lifted his head, his knees still planted on the cold stone floor. "For generations, we've prayed to you. We've protected this forest in your name. And now, when I need you most, you stay silent. Why?"

The lights flickered faintly, but no voice came. No sign.

He gritted his teeth, his sorrow and frustration boiling over into anger. He planted his palms on the ground and pushed himself upright, his legs trembling under the spiritual pressure that bore down on him.

His body ached, his bones groaning under the strain, but he refused to bow any longer.

Step by step, he approached the massive stone at the center of the pagoda.

Each movement felt like wading through a storm, the oppressive force trying to force him back. But his resolve burned brighter with every step.

"I need answers."

The rectangular stone loomed before him, its surface pulsing faintly with ancient energy. The runes etched into it glowed softly, shifting like living things as his fingers hovered over them.

With a trembling hand, the boy pushed against the stone's lid. It resisted, groaning under his weight, but he refused to relent.

Finally, with one last surge of strength, the lid slid aside.

Inside, bathed in the soft glow of the lights, lay a figure.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The being inside the stone wasn't what he had expected. It wasn't a skeleton or a lifeless husk. Instead, it was radiant, pristine, untouched by time.

The figure's skin shimmered faintly, smooth and flawless, as though sculpted from pure light. His expression was calm and serene, his hands resting gently over their chest as if in peaceful slumber.

The longer the boy stared, the more alive the figure seemed. It wasn't death he was looking at, it was something far beyond life, something incomprehensible.

The boy stood frozen, staring at the figure within the stone sarcophagus. His chest heaved with each breath, trying to make sense of what lay before him.

The being radiated an overwhelming presence, yet there were no signs of life, no rise and fall of the chest, no faint whispers of breath. It was eerily still, as though frozen in an eternal slumber.

The realization struck him like a hammer blow.

This wasn't a shrine, It was a tomb.

A spark of anger ignited in his chest, growing rapidly into a fire. Grief and despair, buried deep within him, boiled over into rage. His hands clenched into trembling fists as he stepped closer to the stone.

"Aren't you supposed to be a deity?" he shouted, his voice raw and filled with bitterness. It echoed through the vast pagoda, each word bouncing back at him. "How can you die?"

The silence answered him, vast and unyielding.

"Wake up!" he bellowed, his voice cracking. "You're just a dead being! Why do we even pray to you? What for? What did my father, the villagers, what did they get from guarding your tomb for centuries?"

The oppressive stillness of the pagoda seemed to mock him further, each echo of his voice fading into nothingness.

His shoulders trembled as he took another step forward.

"If you won't wake up and help me," he snarled through gritted teeth, "then I'll help myself."

Without hesitation, he reached out, his hand plunging into the stone sarcophagus. The figure inside remained unmoving, his peaceful expression untouched by the boy's intrusion.

But the moment his hand crossed the edge of the stone, the markings etched into its surface began to glow.

The air around him grew thick, thrumming with an otherworldly energy. The runes on the stone seemed to come alive, twisting and writhing like serpents.

They slithered up his arm, glowing patterns coiling around his skin.

"What is this…?" He gasped, his eyes widening in shock as the glowing symbols crept up his forearm, twisting toward his shoulder. The sensation was indescribable, a cold burn, an electric jolt, and an icy chill all at once.

Still, he refused to pull back. His hand plunged deeper into the stone, his fingers brushing against the radiant figure's abdomen.

Gritting his teeth, his hand plunged deep into the corpse, seeking something, anything that could be the source of the power.

His fingers closed around a smooth, warm sphere.

The moment he touched it, the entire pagoda shuddered violently.

The markings that had snaked up his arm now covered his entire body, pulsating with a searing light. It was as if the energy within the tomb was being unleashed, its presence overwhelming and unrelenting.

In his palm, he held the core, a small, radiant sphere that seemed alive, pulsating with an immense, unearthly power.

Warmth radiated from it, wrapping around him like a fire. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

He stared at the core, his breathing rapid and uneven. This was it. This was the heart of the so-called deity, the very essence his people had worshipped for generations.

His fingers tightened around the sphere.

He knew what he was about to do was madness. Devouring the core of an entity so powerful was unthinkable. The risks were unfathomable, it could destroy him, body and soul. Yet, it was his only chance. His last, desperate hope to reclaim what he had lost.

"Forgive me, father," he whispered, his voice trembling as his resolve hardened. "But I have no choice."

Without hesitation, he brought the core to his lips and swallowed it whole.