Chapter 229: Chapter 229: The Shattered HollowThe marrow screamed.
It wasn’t a sound the ears could hear but something older, a vibration that clawed into bone and memory, a resonance that split marrow from marrow. Lin stood at the center of it, his body nothing more than a fragile conduit against the vast eruption. The hollow—once infinite black veins stretching beyond comprehension—fractured like glass under pressure.
Light poured from every break. Not clean light, not gentle—this was jagged, searing brilliance, raw as if the world’s bones had been flayed and laid bare. Each shard of broken darkness bled illumination, piercing through Lin’s skin until he could feel himself burning from within.
His knees buckled. For a moment he thought he had already fallen, but the marrow clung to him. Tendrils of pale fire wove around his limbs, dragging him upright, refusing to let him collapse.
"Chosen," the marrow whispered—or perhaps roared. "You cannot discard us. We are your beginning. Your marrow is ours."
Lin’s throat was raw, but his voice cut through the blaze:
"Then you should have chosen better."
The hollow cracked wider. Splinters of the abyss shattered into drifting fragments that dissolved into dust before reaching the unseen ground. The vast throne, the structure that had crowned him in chains, groaned as if even eternity had limits. Its foundations shook.
And for the first time, the marrow recoiled.
Outside, Min-joon nearly dropped him.
Lin’s body convulsed in his arms, veins glowing like molten threads beneath his skin. Each spasm made Min-joon’s grip falter, but he tightened his hold, pulling Lin’s head against his chest as if sheer force of will could keep him anchored.
"Stay with me," Min-joon breathed, but his voice cracked. "Lin—don’t you dare leave me here."
Keller stood behind him, rifle raised but useless, eyes darting between Lin’s glowing body and the sky above them. Cracks of light shot upward from the ground, splitting the abyssal graveyard into luminous canyons. Each blast shredded the shadows like torn fabric. He had seen many things in his life, but never the marrow unmaking itself.
"Kid’s killing the damn thing," Keller muttered. He almost sounded proud—except his knuckles were white against the rifle. "But it’s killing him too."
Hwan staggered a few feet away, one arm braced against a fractured monument. His frail body shook with every surge of resonance. To him, it was unbearable—his lungs burned, his vision blurred, his skeleton felt like it would crumble at any second. But through the torment he kept his eyes on Lin, jaw clenched.
"This... isn’t just marrow," Hwan rasped. His voice was nearly drowned by the light’s roar. "Something deeper... something waiting."
Keller snapped his gaze to him. "Deeper than this? Kid’s already tearing the floorboards out of the universe. What the hell could be deeper?"
But Hwan only shook his head, too weak to explain.
Inside, Lin stumbled forward. His bare feet cracked the hollow’s surface as if walking on brittle ice. The marrow shrieked louder, pouring its voice through every broken vein:
"You were ours from the moment you breathed. Every cell remembers us. Your life is only borrowed marrow. Without us, you are ash."
Lin coughed blood, but he didn’t stop moving. Each step carried him closer to the throne’s heart where the chains had first descended. His vision blurred until the marrow’s brilliance and shadow became one indistinguishable storm.
"You think I don’t know ash?" Lin spat, tasting iron on his tongue. "I lived with nothing. I bled with nothing. If you think I belong to you—then take me. But I won’t crawl."
The throne screamed as if struck. One of its colossal chains snapped loose, whipping across the hollow like a serpent in pain. It missed Lin by an arm’s breadth and shattered against the broken wall, exploding into sparks that fell like burning rain.
The marrow’s voice faltered. "Defiance... is not choice. You are marrow. You are mine."
"No," Lin whispered. His steps slowed. His body threatened to collapse entirely. But he lifted his head, eyes burning against the void. "I’m me."
And with that, he plunged his hand into the floor of the hollow.
The marrow shrieked in unison, as if every fragment had been pierced. Light roared upward, splitting the throne clean down the middle. For an instant, Lin’s body was only silhouette—arms outstretched, veins of fire running through him like cracks in porcelain.
Then the marrow shattered.
Outside, the graveyard detonated in brilliance.
The fractured monuments disintegrated into dust, carried upward on a storm of radiance. The ground beneath them crumbled, replaced not by abyss but by a churning sea of light, a vast current dragging everything into its wake. Min-joon threw himself over Lin, shielding him though it felt like trying to block a collapsing star.
Keller dropped to one knee, shielding his eyes with one arm, shouting words no one could hear. His rifle clattered against the stone.
Hwan collapsed entirely, coughing blood, but his gaze never left Lin. Through the agony, he whispered: "He’s not theirs... he never was..."
The brilliance crescendoed—and then, silence.
When the light finally dimmed, the graveyard was gone.
No throne. No chains. No marrow hollow.
Only the four of them, standing—barely—on a barren stretch of fractured stone floating in endless black.
And Lin, limp in Min-joon’s arms, his skin pale as ash.
"Lin?" Min-joon shook him, terror in his voice. "Hey—look at me. Open your eyes. Please."
No response. Lin’s chest rose and fell, shallow but steady, each breath ragged. His veins no longer glowed, but faint burn-marks traced along his arms and neck like scars left by fire.
Keller crouched low, pressing two fingers against Lin’s throat. After a beat, he exhaled, shoulders sagging. "Heartbeat’s there. Weak, but it’s there. Kid’s alive."
Min-joon almost sobbed in relief. He pressed his forehead against Lin’s, whispering something too soft for the others to hear.
But Hwan forced himself upright, swaying on weak legs. His expression was grave. "Alive... but not free."
Both Min-joon and Keller turned to him sharply.
"What the hell do you mean?" Keller demanded.
Hwan’s eyes flicked to the void around them. The silence felt heavier than before, as if something vast held its breath. "The marrow is gone. But what fed the marrow... what lay beneath it... that hasn’t moved yet."
As if in answer, the void rippled.
A low vibration trembled through the fractured stone, shaking dust from its edges. Slowly, impossibly, something began to rise from below—darker than shadow, taller than the throne had ever been.
Keller cursed under his breath, scrambling for his rifle even though he knew it would do nothing.
Min-joon tightened his grip on Lin, pulling him close, his gaze fixed on the rising shape.
And Hwan, blood still dripping from his lips, whispered the words that froze them all:
"The envoy was never the end. It was only the first herald."
The void split open. A colossal eye, older than marrow, older than memory, opened in the darkness.