Chapter 228: Chapter 228: The Marrow Trembles
The hollow screamed.
It wasn’t sound—it was marrow. Every bone in Lin’s body vibrated with it, marrow shattering and knitting, marrow trying to remember what it had always been. The silhouette on the throne convulsed, its vast form unraveling and reforming in the same breath. Chains thrashed like serpents, striking at Lin’s defiance.
But the skipped heartbeat remained.
BOOM. ... BOOM. BOOM.
The rhythm wasn’t flawless anymore. The marrow, perfect and eternal, had faltered.
Lin felt it in his blood, in the trembling marrow of his own bones. That slip wasn’t just weakness—it was proof. Proof that the hollow was not absolute, proof that it could bleed.
Chains crashed against him, trying to drive him to his knees. His arms split open under the pressure, gold and black marrow-light bursting from his veins. Every nerve was on fire. But his voice didn’t break.
"You’re afraid," Lin spat, blood on his teeth. "You’ve never been challenged. Never been told no. And now you’re trembling."
The silhouette rose from the throne. Its eyes, burning caverns, locked on him with fury older than creation.
"I gave you marrow. I gave you power. Without me, you would be nothing. And you dare spit in the mouth of your creator?"
Lin barked a ragged laugh. "You didn’t create me. My mother did. My father did. I’m their son before I’m your pawn. You hijacked my birth—but you didn’t define it."
The hollow buckled around them, a storm of darkness tearing open glimpses of shattered worlds: a battlefield drowned in golden fire, a city made of bone collapsing into dust, rivers of marrow flooding valleys. The throne’s chains lashed outward, trying to crush Lin’s body into silence.
But Lin anchored himself in one thought: You need me.
Every chain that struck sparked against him. They did not pierce him as before. They recoiled, seething.
Outside the Hollow
Min-joon tightened his grip on Lin’s body as it writhed. Golden cracks split across Lin’s skin, his bones glowing beneath flesh like molten metal. The throne above them flickered, its brilliance unsteady.
Keller swore under his breath. "He’s... changing it. He’s actually changing it."
Hwan’s fragile form quivered. He could barely stay upright, but his voice carried awe. "Not changing. Overwriting. He’s proving marrow isn’t inevitable."
Min-joon’s heart hammered. His knuckles dug into Lin’s clothes as if letting go would erase him. "Come back to me, Lin. Don’t let it take you."
Inside the Hollow
The silhouette raised one colossal hand. Shadows bled from its fingers, each drop birthing chains tipped with hooks. They struck like lightning, slamming into Lin’s chest and dragging him forward.
Lin’s feet slid, marrow-light sparking beneath his heels. His lungs screamed for air. The chains dug deep, cutting not flesh but memory—every choice, every rebellion, every stolen breath of freedom.
"You think you are strong," the marrow thundered. "But your marrow sings my name. Your strength is mine. Your will is mine. Your heart beats because I allow it."
The crown descended again, slower this time, its jagged edges dripping with marrow-light.
Lin’s vision blurred. His knees shook. But in that blur, something surfaced—faces.
Min-joon, clutching him even when the chains burned.
Keller, fighting with empty bullets just to say Lin wasn’t alone.
Hwan, frail and shaking but still whispering to the abyss.
They weren’t marrow. They weren’t inevitability. They were choice.
And choice was louder than destiny.
Lin roared, every fiber of him tearing open. "My marrow sings your name? Then I’ll make it scream mine!"
The chains binding his chest snapped like brittle glass. Resonance burst from him in a tidal wave, not gold, not black, but a jagged storm of both. The hollow quaked. The silhouette staggered backward, its colossal body reeling.
The crown froze in the air, held by nothing, trembling as if it feared to descend.
The Throne’s Weakness
Lin staggered forward, dragging the broken chains with him. His body was a battlefield—skin splitting, marrow spilling, yet he refused to fall.
"You wanted me to believe in choice so I’d open your gates." His voice cracked but carried. "You forgot belief cuts both ways. If I can choose to serve, I can choose to rebel. That’s what makes me human. That’s what makes me stronger than you."
The hollow stilled. For the first time, the marrow had no answer.
And then, impossibly, the throne itself cracked.
A fissure split down its center, marrow-light hissing like steam. The endless chains coiled tighter, desperate to hold the structure together. But the tremor spread, spiderwebbing through its foundation.
Lin’s chest heaved. His marrow screamed, begging him to kneel, to stop resisting before he tore himself apart. But he bared his teeth in a bloodstained grin.
"You built this prison on inevitability. And I just proved inevitability can break."
Outside
Min-joon’s eyes widened as the throne overhead fractured, showers of bone-dust raining down. Lin’s body pulsed with chaotic resonance, his veins no longer golden or black but shifting constantly, as if marrow itself couldn’t decide what he was anymore.
Keller whispered, half in awe, half in fear. "If he keeps pushing like this... he’s not just breaking the marrow. He’s breaking himself."
Hwan’s eyes bled, tears of red streaking his face. But he smiled faintly, voice trembling. "Sometimes... that’s the only way forward."
Inside
The silhouette roared, voice shaking the hollow. "Ungrateful child! You tear at your own marrow! Do you not see? Without me, you are nothing but rot and dust!"
Lin coughed blood, but his grin widened. "Then let me rot. Let me dust. I’d rather die mine than live yours."
The silhouette surged, its colossal body unraveling into a storm of chains. They swarmed like a hurricane, striking from every angle, seeking to crush him into silence once and for all.
Lin planted his feet, arms outstretched. The resonance in his veins howled.
The storm collided with him—
—and broke.
Chains shattered on impact, shards dissolving into dust. The marrow’s storm recoiled, as if touching him burned. The hollow’s rhythm faltered again.
BOOM... ... BOOM.
Another skipped beat.
Lin lifted his head, eyes blazing. "You’re not inevitability. You’re just afraid of being forgotten."
The words pierced deeper than any blade. The silhouette convulsed, its form unraveling further. The throne’s fissures widened, marrow-light pouring out like molten fire.
And in that fire, Lin saw something—the marrow’s truth. It wasn’t a god. It wasn’t eternal. It was a parasite, feeding on inevitability, clinging to bones so it wouldn’t vanish.
And now, it was starving.