Fate To Fake: Loved by the Fallen; Fated to Kill the Divine-Chapter 49: I chose silence. It was easy.

In the deep, dark night, under the suffocating stillness of the sky, the charred ruins of Merlin School stood like a ghost of what once was—a shattered skeleton of metal and brick, still radiating heat from the inferno that had consumed it.

The air was thick with smoke and dust, the lingering stench of burnt wood.

Standing at the edge of the ruins was a black-haired, middle-aged man, his face frozen in a mixture of disbelief and horror. He stared at the remains of the building, unable to look away, as if doing so would make the destruction any less real.

"I... I didn’t expect this, A mage... a damn mage destroyed the entire school in broad daylight. Have they lost their minds completely or what? Who does something like this...? trying to blow up a whole building—while children were still inside..."

His voice trailed off into a bitter, hollow laugh. He stepped closer, eyes falling on the yellow police tags barely clinging to the bent metal poles. The tape had been haphazardly wrapped, fluttering in the faint breeze, marked with crude words in ink: not allowed here...

He sighed and turned his gaze beside him—to a slouched figure wrapped in an oversized, tattered hoodie.

"Hey... Sloth, who the hell would do something this idiotic?"

The man muttered with a strained breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

The hooded figure blinked slowly, head tilting slightly.

"Well... if I had to guess. Wrath."

The figure replied in a sluggish tone, voice thick with apathy.

There was a long silence between them.

"...Can we go home now?"

Sloth asked, almost like a bored child wanting to leave a funeral.

The black-haired man let out a dry chuckle,

"Come on now... they’re out there enjoying the show—fighting, burning, breaking things. And here we are, just standing in the shadows, waiting like cowards. Don’t you think we should at least join the fun?"

His voice had a sarcastic edge, but it couldn’t mask the nervous energy in his eyes. He was joking—partly.

Sloth stared at him for a moment, then shook his head slowly, but then suddenly, without warning—he flinched.

His body tensed as his eyes widened slightly.

A cold wind blew across the ruins, carrying with it a voice.

"Indeed... we all should have fun,"

A chilling voice spoke from directly behind them.

The black-haired man’s entire body jolted. He spun around instantly.

From the shadows stepped a figure, pale as moonlight—hair white as untouched snow, eyes gleaming with amusement that didn’t belong to mortals. His expression was serene, but beneath that calm, there was something terrifyingly cruel.

Behind him towered a monstrous creature—bat-like in form, with wings as wide as trees, and crimson eyes glowing with unrestrained hunger. Saliva dripped from its twisted mouth, sizzling where it landed. Its growls were low, deep, and rumbling, like a predator on the brink of a feast.

The black-haired man staggered back, face contorting in fear as recognition struck him like lightning.

"Y-You... D-Dracula?"

He gasped, his voice shaking, barely able to force the words out of his tightening throat.

The white-haired man smiled gently, as if honoured by the recognition.

"Oh? So some of you still remember my name? I’m flattered..." He stepped forward slowly, "...As a reward for that, I shall grant you something merciful—a painless death."

He raised his hand casually, and with a flick of his wrist, a violent burst of wind surged out like a storm-wall, slamming into both men and sending them flying into the taped-off area.

The black-haired man groaned, trying to stand. Sloth landed beside him, more gracefully, barely phased.

"Sloth!! Do something!!"

Sloth turned slowly toward his master, then looked ahead.

Dracula and the beast—Camazotz—were stepping onto the ground with chilling calmness. There was no urgency in their stride. They walked like executioners, confident, knowing victory had already been written.

Sloth sighed, his shoulders slumping even more. Then, softly, he whispered,

"I’m sorry, Master... but this... this is the end."

The black-haired man froze. His heart stopped. His breath caught.

"What... the actual... fuck?!"

Before his eyes, Sloth’s old, worn-out hoodie began to smoulder with a strange blue light. Threads turned to ash. The cloth disintegrated slowly, revealing a striking figure beneath.

A man with long, flowing blue hair that shimmered in the moonlight, golden eyes that held the weight of aeons, and a long blue coat adorned with ancient inscriptions. Ethereal energy surged around his body like divine mist, pulsing with knowledge and power. In one hand, he held a staff topped with golden ringed orbs that chimed with a mystical hum. In the other, a pen—small, delicate, yet somehow just as powerful as the staff, as if it could rewrite reality itself.

"...Thoth,"

Dracula murmured, as he stared, the champion added,

"Thoth... the Egyptian deity... the one tied to wisdom, writing, and the moon. So... it’s really you, then?"

Thoth smiled gently—calm, patient, eternal.

He stared at Dracula as if looking through him, seeing past his body, soul, and lies.

"I know why you’re here,"

Thoth spoke, his voice like thunder hidden inside calm water.

"And I know... what you did to him."

He lifted his staff and pointed it directly at Camazotz.

Dracula’s eyebrows lifted, intrigued.

"...So you know... everything, then?"

He muttered. Slowly, he raised his hand. A flicker of blue energy danced at his fingertips before a black book appeared.

Thoth didn’t even glance at the book. His gaze didn’t shift. He only smiled again.

"The Akashic Records,"

The black-haired man behind them gasped, horror flooding every inch of his face.

"You mean... the ancient, lost artifact? The universal book of fate itself?! H-How... how the hell did you get that?!"

He stumbled backward, eyes darting between Thoth and Dracula.

Dracula hummed softly, thinking maybe this champion could be useful to him... his pale fingers resting under his chin as he stared at Thoth with a thoughtful expression.

However—

"Don’t!"

Thoth suddenly said, his voice sharp, firm, not loud but filled with finality.

"I would never be your servant."

Dracula’s eyebrows rose in mild amusement.

Thoth’s gaze didn’t waver. His tone turned cold,

"The thing you’re holding... that book in your hand... it’s nothing but records. Records of what has already happened... and what was destroyed... and what’s happening and... what might still come.

But don’t mistake it for... Fate, Dracula."

He took a step forward, eyes glowing with ancient wisdom.

"Fate wouldn’t just sit still while someone tries to toy with her. She watches. She listens. And sure, you feel like you’re winning.

You think you’re the one in control... But remember—she let you believe that. She let you dance around her, after she had already decided the outcome. In the end, Dracula... it is she who wins."

Thoth slowly raised his hand—not in attack, not to cast, but in surrender.

"No matter what you are."

"O-Oi! What the hell are you doing?!"

The black-haired man cried out, eyes wide with disbelief,

"Do you even—"

Before he could finish, Thoth spoke again, his voice still calm... unnaturally calm.

"I saw all of the future. Every path, every end... Yet I chose silence. It was easy."

His gaze turned toward the man, almost smiling.

"That’s why I am Sloth."

Chhruuckkk!

In a grotesque instant, the monstrous bat—Camazotz—lurched forward and clamped its jagged jaws around Thoth’s head, swallowing it whole without a second’s hesitation.

The black-haired man’s eyes widened in horror, heart pounding in his ears. Cold dread surged down his spine. He couldn’t even react—couldn’t scream—before Dracula’s pale hand seized him by the neck.

"Arghhh!"

He struggled helplessly, legs kicking in the air as Dracula lifted him effortlessly, holding him as if he weighed nothing.

"Ghh... Even if you’re pure blood... I’m not some insect... I’m a fucking... cough... cough... Stage 3 Mage, bastard!"

The man spat, raising his hand. Purple sparks exploded from his palm. He roared, and above him, a massive chunk of stone erupted from the ground—an entire boulder the size of a mountain, summoned in a single burst of magic.

Dracula didn’t even blink. He barely glanced at it. Then, with a single breath—he blew.

And just like that... the mountain crumbled into dust, shattered into thousands of razor-sharp fragments that scattered harmlessly to the wind.

The man’s eyes went wide. Terror replaced his rage.

"Stage 4—"

Chrruckkk!

Before he could speak another word, Dracula’s fangs sank into his throat. With one violent twist, he ripped the man’s head clean off.

Thud!

The head hit the ground with a sickening thump, eyes still wide, lips frozen mid-curse. His body twitched, then went limp.

Two inhuman monsters feasted on what remained—tearing into flesh like beasts enjoying a lavish banquet.

Except... one thing moved.

Sloth’s hand—still holding the pen—trembled slightly. Though his head was gone, and his body was being eaten alive from the inside out, the pen moved.

It scribbled something across Camazotz’s monstrous skin, fast and subtle. A strange blue symbol flared for an instant on Camazotz’s chest before vanishing into his flesh like it had never been there.

Dracula drank the last drop of blood from his victim, then tossed the empty corpse aside like garbage. It landed with a heavy thud, limbs twisted.

He turned toward Camazotz, who was still chewing the remains of Thoth with animalistic hunger.

"Tsk... Filthy beast,"

Dracula muttered, disgusted.

"Finish your meal, then return to the palace."

He disappeared instantly—his body exploding into a burst of red mist that scattered into the wind like a bloody whisper.

Camazotz continued tearing at Sloth’s flesh, teeth cracking through bones, organs spilling.

Then—

’A leech giving you orders? How far you’ve fallen, Camazotz. If your peers saw this, they’d be laughing at you.’

The voice echoed inside Camazotz’s skull. It was sly. Mocking. It didn’t come from outside. It came from within.

Camazotz flinched. He looked around, growling, sniffing the air... but no one was there.

His red eyes flickered—shifting green,

"...KILL..." he growled lowly, fists clenching. Rage boiled under his skin. But then, he shook his head, as if suppressing something. His body trembled.

"I need to return,"

He muttered, and with one heavy beat of his monstrous wings, he took off into the night sky.

Sloth’s remaining flesh, his coat, his staff, his pen—everything that once defined him—slowly crumbled into blue, glowing particles.

Only the black-haired man’s mangled body remained, lying still among the ruins.

The glowing blue particles shimmered in the dead air, drifting upward in silence. Carried by a gentle breeze, they floated like tiny stars, scattering through the darkness.

They moved past the ruined school, over broken trees... carried far away.

Their path twisted, almost guided, as though drawn by something unseen.

Eventually, they reached a dense forest... forgotten, untouched by light.

The trees stood tall and unmoving, their roots coiling like veins into the earth. Shadows twisted between their branches like slumbering beasts.

And in the very heart of that forest, deep in the silence where no bird sang and no wind dared to howl... the particles descended.

They flowed downward, gently touching the moss-covered ground... and then—

Spark.

A single flick of blue fire ignited the earth.

The moment it did, the entire ground trembled.

The moss shivered. Stones shifted. A strange hum resonated deep within the soil, like an old machine awakening after centuries of slumber. Light poured from the circle where the spark had touched—an ancient symbol revealing itself, etched into the ground in glowing blue.

Then slowly... something rose.

From beneath the trembling earth, dust fell away, and a structure began to push upward. Creaking, groaning, grinding against roots and stone.

A door.

A simple wooden door.

The door wasn’t attached to any wall or structure. It stood alone—upright.

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