There was once a time when gods feared the dark.
Not the quiet shroud of night, nor the absence of sun, but a deeper dark—the Primordial Silence, born before time, before stars, before law itself. It did not move. It did not speak. It simply waited. And when the multiverse grew arrogant enough to believe it had conquered all things, it awakened.
No one saw the first world fall.
No one remembered its name.
Not even the stars mourned it.
---
At the summit of the Celestial Throne, where the Eternal Concord governed the fate of all creation, panic replaced prophecy. The divine screamed in languages lost to mortals. Holy systems ruptured. Anchored realms shattered like thin glass. The Codex of Fate—unchanging since the First Breath—began to bleed ink that moved on its own.
All truths—rewritten.
All laws—bent.
All certainties—devoured.
They tried to calculate its arrival. They tried to form defenses. But there was no pattern. No warning. Only silence.
Then… a name appeared across every reality, burned into the void between atoms, spoken by the dead and the unborn alike:
Kaen Nox.
A name no god had written.
A name no system had assigned.
A name not even the Akashic Records could erase.
---
The prophecy of the Ninth Seer—the last true prophet—spoke not of fire or fury, but of stillness.
> "He walks beyond cause and effect. He is the void where fate dissolves. He is the hunger of forgotten truths and the final breath of written law. When he takes his final step, even the concept of endings will fracture."
They called him the Final Rewrite.
But before all of that, before fear etched itself into creation, there was only… a boy.
---
Kaen had no lineage, no talent, no name to wield or destiny to follow. He existed like a shadow stretched too thin—unnoticed, unimportant, uninvited. Born in the Underslums of Lysarria, the capital of relic-hunters and failed adventurers, he survived by scraping the bones of dead dungeons, picking through the waste left behind by stronger men.
His world was one of echoes—echoes of heroes, echoes of greatness, none of which belonged to him.
He had a system like the others, yes—but it was broken. Cracked from birth. The Curse of Diminishing made him weaker every time he tried to grow. Leveling up drained him. Skills decayed. Time eroded his strength like sand falling endlessly from an hourglass.
Most thought he was cursed.
The wise believed he was a joke of the gods.
Even Kaen himself thought so… until the night the sky forgot how to breathe.
---
It happened in silence.
While scavenging the ruins of a collapsed reality—what remained of a dungeon that had collapsed inward, taking with it an entire guild—Kaen found something no one else had bothered to touch.
A black book.
No title.
No weight.
No pages.
When he opened it, nothing was inside. Just darkness, staring back.
He should've left it there.
He should've run.
But he didn't.
Because for the first time in his miserable existence, something happened.
A single line of red ink crawled across the inside cover.
"I see you."
Kaen dropped the book.
It didn't fall.
It floated.
Then it bled.
Then it opened itself.
---
He felt it before he saw it—something slithering into his soul, burrowing into the empty places left behind by his failures. A system—but not the kind he'd seen before. This one whispered. It watched. It wasn't assigned. It was alive.
[You have been chosen by the Eclipse Codex.]
[Warning: This system is not compatible with reality.]
[All existing bindings will be devoured.]
[Rewriting... Rewriting... Rewrite successful.]
His old system shattered.
A burning cascade of symbols exploded behind his eyes. Data unspooled like divine entrails, wrapping his mind in unbearable truths. He didn't level up. He didn't gain stats. He didn't unlock skills.
He devoured the concept of progression.
[Eclipse Protocol: Initialized.]
[New Path Unlocked: The Shadow of Unbeing.]
That night, Kaen didn't sleep. The ground around him warped. The ruins bent toward him like kneeling ghosts. The stars above dimmed for the briefest of moments.
And far, far above, in a place no mortal should ever see, the first god opened a withered eye and whispered, "Impossible."
---
Kaen didn't become strong.
He became wrong.
Wrong to existence. Wrong to the laws. A glitch that could not be corrected. A shadow whose source had been lost to time. Systems began to collapse in his presence. Dungeon cores wept blood. Memory itself grew uncertain around him.
And yet—he was still just a boy.
A boy with nothing… now carrying the hunger of the dark before creation.
---
In the centuries to come, worlds would burn, gods would beg, and truths would unravel like threads pulled from a corpse. Empires built on systems would fall, not from invasion—but from a whisper.
"I am the void between laws. I am the end of structure. I am Kaen Nox."
Not a conqueror.
Not a savior.
Not even a villain.
Just a shadow that learned how to write.
And now, he's writing the end.
---
This is not a tale of fate fulfilled.
This is the requiem of fate itself.