Reborn as a Devouring Dragon with a System
Chapter 167: Comprehension (3)

Chapter 167: Comprehension (3)

It is the Law of Severance.

The Law of Closure.

The Law of the Last Breath.

This is the Scythe Law, in its full revelation.

There was no burst of light.

No roar of energy.

No trembling of space.

And yet, everything... paused.

Time did not stop.

It simply waited.

Even the wind held its breath.

Even causality stepped aside.

Something had arrived.

Not loudly.

Not forcefully.

But with the quiet authority of something that could not be ignored.

The comprehension had begun.

The Scythe is not a weapon.

It is a verdict.

It does not kill.

It does not destroy.

It does not obliterate.

It ends.

What must end.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

It does not judge by emotion.

It does not swing by desire.

It knows not mercy, nor cruelty.

Only clarity.

The Scythe is not drawn when rage swells,

nor when vengeance calls.

It is drawn when the final note has been played.

When the seed has bloomed, withered, and returned to soil.

When the thread has frayed to the last fiber.

It is the blade of the inevitable.

It is not quick.

It is not slow.

It moves only when it must.

And when it does, there is no resistance.

Not from flesh.

Not from soul.

Not even from law.

For when the Scythe moves, the universe does not fight it.

It agrees.

To comprehend this Law is to feel the deep rhythm of all things.

The cycle behind the cycle.

The unspoken covenant that all things which begin... must end.

It is not about death.

Death can be violent.

Clumsy.

Wrong.

But the Scythe does not swing unless the moment is right.

It will never reap a life still blooming.

Never sever what remains unfinished.

It is bound not by power, but by timing.

The wielder of this Law becomes something else.

Not a killer.

Not an executioner.

But a harvester.

One who walks among the living not to end them,

but to know when the end is already upon them.

It is not about choosing who dies.

It is about recognizing who can no longer remain.

Even souls... tremble before it.

Because the Scythe does not take.

It releases.

It frees that which clings.

Unravels that which resists.

Even attachments snap beneath its edge.

It does not just cut flesh.

It severs karma.

It ends cycles.

It breaks chains.

It does not follow the Law of Death.

It follows the Law of Closure.

To wield it is to stand in stillness while chaos rages.

To see through layers others cannot.

To know when something is over—truly over—

And act without hesitation.

It is not the end of life.

It is the end of lingering.

Of echoes that should have fallen silent.

Of truths that refuse to die.

Of rot pretending to live.

It is a sacred role.

And a lonely one.

Because the Scythe waits.

It is never eager.

Never rushed.

Never indiscriminate.

It swings once.

And when it does—

the world changes.

Not violently.

But permanently.

Nothing returns from a Scythe’s judgment.

There is no resurrection.

No second chance.

Its edge is not made of metal.

It is shaped from certainty.

This... is the Scythe Law.

Not an element.

Not a technique.

Not an ambition.

But the final principle.

The law that does not kill...

But ends what is already dead.

It speaks not with voice,

but with absence.

And when it is understood...

You don’t swing the Scythe.

You wait...

and when the moment is absolute,

the Scythe swings itself.

\\\

It began with stillness.

Not silence.

Not peace.

But that strange pressure one feels when something vast draws breath before the world knows it.

It was not wind.

It was not force.

It was a pulling.

Gentle.

Vast.

Final.

Not violent like gravity.

Not wild like flame.

But steady—like an ancient tide reclaiming all things that forgot where they came from.

That was the first truth:

Devouring does not chase.

It calls.

And all things—sooner or later—answer.

A speck of dust.

A whisper of Originat.

A sealed artifact.

An immortal soul.

Nothing escapes forever.

Nothing resists forever.

Not when faced with the law that says:

"Return to me.

You were never separate to begin with."

Devouring is not rage.

It is not destruction.

Destruction ends.

Devouring unmakes.

It doesn’t leave ashes.

It doesn’t leave ruins.

It leaves nothing.

Because it does not erase.

It consumes.

And once consumed—there is no distinction.

Only absorption.

Only integration.

Only ownership.

This Law does not feast on weakness.

It feasts on definition.

Whatever you are—

Name. Form. Soul. Law. Intention. Identity—

Once devoured,

you are no longer you.

You are now part of something else.

Swallowed not by desire,

but by principle.

The Devouring Law does not ask if it may.

It does not wait for balance or fate.

It is balance rewritten.

It is fate overruled.

And with each deepening breath of comprehension, the boundaries falter.

The cultivator no longer sees things as fixed.

Stone becomes meal.

Sound becomes thread.

Even time begins to fray at its edges.

Because the Devouring Law does not simply absorb matter—

It dissolves concepts.

And what are laws,

what are truths,

but concepts made whole?

Devouring swallows flame, and becomes fire.

It devours poison, and becomes corrosion.

It takes in death, and carries its chill without falling.

It drinks thunder, and pulses with soundless pressure.

It absorbs light, and wears its radiance like stolen breath.

It does not imitate.

It remakes.

This is its terror:

There is no true counter to it.

What it cannot resist, it absorbs.

What it cannot destroy, it wears.

What it cannot understand, it dissolves into self.

It is not the end of things.

It is the return to origin.

Not nothingness—

But oneness.

A singularity made of every boundary broken.

Every truth undone.

Every soul consumed.

The Devouring Law is not empty.

It is full.

Too full.

So full that the self that wields it is constantly on the edge of collapse—

Because to consume too much,

too fast,

without control...

...is to become everything,

and therefore nothing.

That is why comprehension of this Law is a razor’s edge.

The more you take in,

the more your definition blurs.

And unless your will is strong enough to contain the storm,

you will be devoured by your own Devouring.

It is a paradox:

Power without limit,

only granted to those who can remain themselves while becoming a thousand others.

It is a storm of inheritance.

A gravity of law.

A hunger without craving.

And above all, it is patient.

Because the Devouring Law knows:

Everything eventually breaks.

Everything eventually runs.

Everything eventually dies.

And in that last moment,

when the shield shatters and the soul trembles—

The Law will speak once more.

"Come back to me.

You were always mine."

This...

is the Devouring Law.

Not hunger.

Not chaos.

Not death.

But the undoing of all divisions.

The folding of the cosmos back into itself.

The consumption of identity, purpose, and permanence—

Until all that remains...

Is the one who devours all.

And is devoured by nothing.

Ever again.

A/N: Well, this had been taking my time to write it down especially the Devouring and Scythe law, with my tight schedule and arc I didn’t plan to write, it caused a few problems to publish Chapters early.

But everything is okay, it wouldn’t repeat itself.