At the bottom of the lake, Varos picked up the book cautiously and swam back to the surface. As he examined it, he noticed the title, "Devouring Scripture of Nine," which sent shivers down his spine. His instinct screamed at him to cast it back into the depths of the lake, but curiosity got the better of him, and when he opened the first page, a warning appeared:


    "To those who find this book, seal it away or destroy it if you can, for this book is destined to usher in the era of doom."


    “The era of Doom?” Varos muttered under his breath, intrigued by the meaning of the phrase. His fingers traced the red ink, which seemed to pulse faintly as if it were alive. He hesitated for a moment, weighing his options: should he continue reading or not? Then, an unnatural urge compelled him to proceed.


    “But if you choose not to, ensure your mind is unshakable, for this book carries a price. Its knowledge will seep into your thoughts and your body, twisting them into shapes you cannot unsee. It will haunt your dreams, claw at your sanity, and test the very limits of your will. Proceed at your own peril, for the doom it brings may begin with you."


    Varos paused his reading when he came across a warning about the negative consequences the book might bring. Curiosity got the better of him, and he thought, “I''ll just take a glance at the next page.” As he turned the page, he realized that the text had changed; the words on the second page differed from those on the first. Frowning, Varos wondered, “Did the previous owner leave these words as a warning for others?”


    As Varos’ eyes scanned the second page, the words across the parchment were writhing like veins pulsing with something vile. Then, the whispers came; soft at first, seductive, insidious, and they gradually grew, “Kill. Kill. Kill. Slaughter. Rend. Maim.” “Devour the flesh. Devour the soul. Devour the name. Devour the history.” “Erase. Obliterate. Reduce all to nothing.”


    A nauseating hunger clawed at his core, black tendrils slithering into his thoughts. The words dripped from the page, crawling into his very being. His vision darkened at the edges, and then the whispers continued.


    “Feast upon creation. Let the heavens weep in terror.” “Swallow the stars. Grind the realms to dust. Consume the cosmic will itself.” “No gods. No kings. No laws. Only the unholy hunger.”


    Varos felt something change inside him as the words coursed through his veins, settling in his stomach without realizing it. He struggled to manage the whispers that threatened to drive him insane. His own thoughts no longer felt like his own. His lips parted, his breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he found himself repeating the words.


    The whispers screamed in ecstasy. “Feast upon the origin! Drink deep of eternity’s corpse! Let existence become your altar of ruin!”


    Varos quickly closed the book, and as the whispers within it faded away, he felt his situation improve. However, he soon realized he was extremely hungry—very, very hungry. Everything around him suddenly appeared delicious. For a brief moment, he was captivated by the tempting sights before snapping back to reality. He fell silent for several minutes, trying to quell his growing hunger, but it only intensified to the point where even a divine stone on the ground looked appetizing.


    After several minutes, Varos finally gave in to the gnawing hunger. His body moved instinctively, his rational mind clouded by the overwhelming urge to consume. If only he had held on for two more minutes, his Undying Will trait would have activated, quelling the hunger effortlessly. Unfortunately for him, unseen forces were at play here.


    In the depths of Varos’s soul sea, Mortevant watched, his gaze narrowing in doubt. Something was wrong.


    The book…It wasn’t supposed to be this book.


    Mortevant had left behind a book filled with soul techniques, a compilation of knowledge he had personally inscribed. That was why the lotus had such potent soul power; it had been affected by the techniques recorded within his book and the soul energy it emitted.


    And yet, the book before Varos was something else entirely. “Someone changed it… Mortevant realized, his unease deepening. “This isn’t what I left here.” Who had interfered? And who ruined my plan? Mortevant cursed.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    From his pocket dimension, Varos took out one of the herbs he had found at the bottom of the lake and consumed it. Almost instantly, his stomach began digesting the herb. He noticed a slight increase in his soul strength of 0.0000001%. The change was so minor that he could hardly perceive it, but that was not what shocked him.


    “What!” Varos exclaimed in confusion. “How can a herb that is supposed to soothe souls increase my soul power? Did the herb mutate, or was it the book? What did it do to me?” As he pondered these questions, he introspected and discovered that runes had been etched into his stomach. “It must have been the book… yes, that is the only likely answer.”


    He could see dark runes crawling like parasites along the wall of his stomach; they were the reason for his intense hunger. Then he recalled what was written on the second page, referencing the first chapter of “The Devouring Scripture of Nine.” That chapter mentioned the first-level starved parasite. He then realized, “I have to feed these parasites to satisfy my unnatural hunger.”


    He then took out another herb renowned for its ability to strengthen the soul. The moment it entered his stomach, it disintegrated into pure essence, and the runes etched within him greedily extracted its power. Almost instantly, his soul strength increased by 0.1 percent, a seemingly small amount, but for someone who would otherwise need to meditate for ten years to achieve such a gain, it was monumental.


    Moreover, without the devouring art, the same herb would have only provided a mere 0.001 percent increase—a hundredfold difference in efficiency.


    “Although the parasites are dangerous...something that can elevate my soul power this easily is a rarity,” he murmured, his mind torn between the dangers of the technique and the undeniable temptation of its power.


    He then retrieved the small soul spike from his pocket dimension. The moment his eyes fell upon it, a deep, primal hunger stirred within him. His stomach growled, and the rune-like parasites embedded in his stomach flared to life, amplifying his craving to an unbearable degree.


    The soul spike radiated such an intoxicating allure that, for a fleeting moment, he almost threw it into his mouth without hesitation.


    “That was dangerous,” he muttered as he returned the soul spike to his pocket dimension. The sheer density of soul power and soul essence contained within the spike was staggering, far beyond anything he had encountered before. Even before the parasites took root in his stomach, the soul spike had been appetizing. But now, with the parasites intensifying his hunger, it had become nearly irresistible.


    He clenched his fist, forcing himself to resist. If he weren’t careful, this newfound hunger would consume him before he could master it.


    Vyrinox and Zarrakis, who had been observing Varos from afar, felt a minuscule yet undeniable surge within their souls, an increase of 1/1,000,000,000 of their strength. It was an almost imperceptible fraction, but it confirmed a crucial truth to them.


    The plan was working.


    Varos’s ingestion of the divine soul herb had set the mechanism in motion, proving that the parasites had successfully tethered his growth to theirs.


    At that moment, Luscith and his fellow conspirators, sensing the same minute increase, reappeared within the grand hall. Their expressions were unreadable, yet their eyes gleamed with the thrill of inevitability.


    “As you have all felt, the plan proceeds as expected,” Luscith said, his voice steady with satisfaction. “Good work, Callisthene and Kismetor.”


    Callisthene offered a sharp grin, but before she could respond, Noctyra spoke first. “No, good work to all of us.” A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered figures.


    They reveled in the prospect of reaping the hard-earned rewards of others—the power painstakingly forged through relentless effort, the strength cultivated over countless eons. Once nurtured by their rightful owners, the fruits of sacrifice and perseverance would soon fall effortlessly into their grasp.


    Like parasites clinging to a dying host, they would siphon the essence of those who toiled, devouring the legacies built through sweat, blood, and ambition. What others had fought to achieve, they would claim without struggle, turning eons of cultivation into mere sustenance for their insatiable hunger.


    To create something like this, something that allowed them to siphon the strength of others without lifting a finger, was an achievement beyond mortal comprehension. The Devouring Scripture of Nine was their masterpiece, the ultimate instrument of control, deception, and cosmic robbery.


    “We can now create more books infused with the same devouring technique and spread them among the Ascendants, especially those with a weak connection to their progenitor,” Luscith said, his voice cold and calculating. “Through them, we will siphon power unnoticed. As the number of practitioners grows, their influence will spread like a plague, setting the stage for inevitable conflict.”


    His eyes gleamed with malice. “Soon, the Ascendants and the Primordials will turn against one another. That is when our true plan begins.”


    A sinister smile played on his lips. “When they are weakened, we will harvest the Primordials themselves, seizing their power without ever exposing ourselves to danger. Let them destroy each other; we need only wait for the right moment to claim what is rightfully ours.”


    “HAHAHAHAHA!!!”


    Their laughter echoed through the grand hall, filled with malice and triumph. “What an ingenious plan,” Ashrel said, his voice laced with satisfaction. His eyes gleamed with cruel delight as he glanced at his fellow conspirators.


    “Indeed,” Noctyra added, smirking. “While they fight, we feast. While they struggle, we grow stronger. And when the time comes…”


    “We will be the only ones left,” Kismetor finished, his tone dripping with finality.


    They reveled in their own brilliance, drunk on the certainty of their eventual domination. The seeds had been planted. The war was inevitable. And when the chaos reached its peak, they would harvest their prize, power beyond even the other Primordials’ comprehension.


    …………….


    Varos took out another herb and consumed it, the runes etched within his stomach flared to life as they extracted its essence. A surge of power coursed through his soul, reinforcing its foundation. Encouraged by this, he devoured several divine soul herbs, his soul strength doubling within moments.


    Next, he consumed an herb meant to fortify the body. A cool sensation spread through his skin as he swallowed it, the herb’s essence seeping deep into his being. The transformation was subtle but undeniable.


    Had he absorbed the herb’s power alone, his body’s resilience would have doubled. But there were “leeches” constantly siphoning a portion of his gains.


    After absorbing dozens of herbs, his strength surged by another 10 percent, bringing him to just 10 percent of the way toward rank two. Under normal circumstances, such a leap in power would have taken him a thousand years, yet he had achieved it in mere hours.


    The contrast was staggering, and Varos felt an almost irresistible pull toward the path of devouring. However, this path came with a cost—without a solid foundation of laws, comprehending the deeper laws would become exponentially more difficult as he advanced.”