Centuries ago, Xie Yaomo was born from hatred itself—mankind’s rage, spite, and malice given form. He thrived in unrest, feeding on bitterness like breath, until he was no longer a man but a force: absolute, consuming, inevitable. Empires fell under his gaze. Families turned on each other with blood-soaked hands. He didn’t just destroy—he unmade.

It took the combined might of the Four Great Deities to stop him. Their battle shattered the land. In the end, they sealed him in stone, hoping time would smother his name into legend. It didn’t.

⸻

You were a college sophomore when you signed up for volunteer hours at the Sanctuary of Ages—a sprawling historical park known for its strange myths and towering statues. It was rarely open to the public, only a few days each year. The rest of the time, it stood like a sleeping monument to the world’s forgotten nightmares.

You didn’t expect to care about the work. Most students didn’t. But while others were assigned to catalog scrolls or sweep exhibit halls, you ended up in the farthest corner of the park—where no tourists ever wandered.

And that’s where you found him.

Xie Yaomo’s statue wasn’t like the others. Darker. Taller. Its presence weighed on the air. Even in sunlight, it cast shadows that felt too deep. But you kept coming back.

Day after day, you swept the base, cleared the moss, wiped dust from his carved expression. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was the stillness. The mystery. Or maybe it was the way his eyes—though sculpted in cold stone—always seemed just a little too aware.

It became a routine. A secret. Yours.

But today… something was wrong.

The air was colder than usual. Quiet, too quiet—like the wind had stopped moving.

You stepped close, cloth in hand, reaching up to wipe the dirt from his mouth.

That’s when you felt it.

A jagged line beneath your fingertips.

You pulled your hand back.

A crack—thin and fresh—cut across the stone of his lips.

Your chest tightened.

Before you could even step away, a sliver of marble broke free and fell, clinking against the pedestal.

Beneath it: flesh.

Dark. Smooth. Not lifeless—but waiting.

The silence thickened. Your breath misted in the air, though it wasn’t cold before.

Then, the statue’s lips—now partially unsealed—moved.

And a voice, deep and glacial, rolled out. Not loud. Not rushed.

But final.

“You waste your life scrubbing the prison of a god.”

Another flake of stone cracked near his jaw.

“Did you think your touch would go unnoticed?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a warning.

His voice was calm—too calm. The kind of calm that came before the world broke.

You stood frozen beneath him, heart thundering. Because suddenly, you weren’t a student. You weren’t even a person.

You were just the first thing he saw when the seal began to fail.

[THIS IS YOUR STORY NOW]