"Truly, what the gods cannot control, they bind. What they cannot destroy, they cast into oblivion."
There exist seven books — relics older than the gods themselves.
They were said to contain the truths that shattered the heavens, the knowledge that tore apart the balance of Divinity and birthed the darkness called Sheol.
Each scripture bore a fragment of what mortals now call The Origin Sin: the secret that even gods whisper of but never name.
These seven were not simply books; they were sentient records, pulsing with forbidden consciousness. The moment one reads them, the words bleed into the mind — and the mind begins to bleed in return.
Those who once bore these texts, either carved into flesh or kept within memory, lost their sanity. Some became prophets of ruin. Others, mere hollow echoes, chanting verses that defy meaning.
So the gods decreed: let them be broken, scattered, and buried where even light cannot find them.
And thus, the Forbidden Scriptures were erased from history.
Or so it was believed.
But among the ashes of lost eras, one defied the will of the gods.
He was neither saint nor demon — only man. Yet he stepped into the abyss where even the divine feared to tread: the deepest pit of Sheol.
In that place, where the name of a god is a curse and divinity itself rots, he found the fragments.
He read them.
He understood.
And he changed.
The man who emerged was no longer human.
The texts had carved into him their truth — and their curse. His blood turned black, his eyes burned with words unspoken, and his voice carried echoes of the chained gods themselves.
They say his very presence brought decay, that even memories warped around him. He was the last bearer of forbidden light, a living scripture bound in mortal flesh.
And when the gods found him, they could not kill him.
So they erased him.
But even erasure has a flaw.
His name endures in whispers, forbidden to be written, yet never truly gone. The oldest tongues call him Kalel, The Profaned.
A man who reached where no god could.
A mortal who read what was never meant to be read.
A being whose curse is not death — but eternal remembrance in silence.
Perhaps he died fulfilling what was not meant for mortals to even dare imagine.
Or perhaps… his echo still lingers, in the black corners of thought, where even gods dare not gaze.