She was born with a mind that surpassed the limits of human understanding, a prodigy no one could match. By the time she was twelve, Yinhaie had already solved problems that many scientists could only dream of.
She had devoured books, absorbed knowledge from all corners of the world, and still felt an emptiness gnawing at her. The more she learned, the clearer it became: humans were flawed beyond repair.
No matter how much knowledge she acquired, no matter how many solutions she uncovered, mankind remained shackled by its own imperfections.
As a young adult, Yinhaie's thirst for knowledge grew insatiable. She sought out ancient texts, artifacts, and even obscure rituals from forgotten civilizations. There was no question she couldn't answer, no problem she couldn't solve.
Her fame spread like wildfire, and people started to worship her. They didn't just see her as a genius; they believed she was touched by something greater, as though the gods themselves had gifted her with divine wisdom.
Then one day, she received a visitor—an old man with eyes that seemed to reflect the depth of time itself. He came to her with a proposition.
"Yinhaie," he said, his voice as dry as parchment, "I have seen your work, your brilliance. The gods are watching you, and they wish to offer you a gift. One that will show you the true nature of the world, one that will grant you the knowledge you seek."
She hesitated. There was a strange sense of dread rising in her chest, but she pushed it aside. She had already learned more than any human ever should, and yet, it was never enough. If the gods could offer her something more, something beyond even her comprehension, she had to accept.
Without a word, the old man handed her a small, black stone, as smooth as obsidian. As soon as her fingers touched it, her mind was flooded with knowledge. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
It wasn't just facts or theories—it was a deep, profound understanding of everything. The inner workings of the universe, the rise and fall of civilizations, the very fabric of existence itself—all of it was laid bare before her.
But with this newfound knowledge came a terrible realization. The gods had shown her the truth: humanity was inherently flawed, incapable of achieving true greatness. Every war, every injustice, every crime—everything was a result of humanity's inability to transcend its nature. No matter how hard they tried, humans would always fall short.
At first, Yinhaie was consumed with horror. She tried to understand, tried to find a way to reconcile this truth with her own beliefs. But as the days passed, the weight of the knowledge gnawed at her.
There was no escape from it. The gods had given her a curse, not a gift. They had shown her that the world was beyond saving, that humanity was beyond redemption.
And so, she made a decision.
Yinhaie set out to destroy everything. If humanity was destined to fall, then she would ensure that it did. There would be no second chances, no attempts at rebuilding. She would dismantle the world itself, piece by piece, until nothing remained. The gods had shown her the truth, and it was her duty to carry out their will.
Her first step was simple. She hacked into every major database, every government system, every corporation, and wiped them clean. Information was power, and she took it all away. She erased history, deleted knowledge, and scattered the remnants into oblivion. No one would be able to access the tools that had allowed humanity to build its fleeting empire.
The world fell into chaos. People, unable to access the basic resources they had once relied upon, began to turn on each other. Societies fractured, governments crumbled, and the earth itself seemed to tremble under the weight of humanity's destruction. Yinhaie watched it all unfold, a cold satisfaction settling in her chest. She had done it. The world was crumbling, just as it was meant to.
But as the days turned to weeks, something began to change within her. At first, it was subtle—a momentary flicker of doubt, a slight hesitation. She had never doubted herself before, but now, as she watched the suffering spread, she started to wonder: Was this truly the right path?
The knowledge the gods had given her had been absolute. They had shown her the flaws of humanity, the inevitable collapse that awaited them. But what if there was more? What if, in her attempt to destroy the world, she had overlooked something? Something… redeemable?
She began to question her actions, but it was too late to turn back. The damage had been done, and now the world was too far gone. As the last remnants of civilization crumbled, Yinhaie felt a deep sorrow she could not escape.
She had set out to be the instrument of destruction, but now she saw it all too clearly: in her quest to save the world from itself, she had only hastened its demise.
The gods, the ones who had given her the power, were silent. They had shown her the truth, and now they were watching as she carried out their will. There was no mercy, no reprieve. Yinhaie was alone, standing amidst the ruins of a world she had helped destroy. The weight of her own knowledge crushed her, and she realized that in the end, there was nothing left to save—not even herself.
She tried to find meaning in her actions, tried to justify the destruction she had wrought, but the emptiness grew. The world had fallen apart, and now she was left with nothing but the echo of her own thoughts. Her genius had led her to this point, but it had not saved her. The gods had given her knowledge, but they had not given her a way out.
And then, as the last remnants of humanity perished, a voice—unnaturally loud and jarring—echoed in her mind.
"You thought you could destroy everything," it said, its tone cold and indifferent. "But you cannot erase the truth."
Yinhaie froze, the voice filling her consciousness. It was not the gods. It was something else, something darker, something that had been watching her all along. Her heart raced, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
"What… what do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"The truth cannot be destroyed. You are proof of that."
The voice laughed—a harsh, guttural sound that sent a shiver down her spine.
"No matter how much you try to tear it all apart, the truth remains. It is in you, in everything. You cannot escape it. You cannot escape yourself."
Yinhaie stumbled backward, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. The weight of the words pressed down on her, suffocating her. The truth was inescapable. She had thought she could be the one to end it all, to destroy the world and free herself from the burden of knowledge. But in the end, she had only sealed her own fate.
The voice faded, leaving her in the silence of her own mind. The destruction she had wrought was complete, but it was no victory. It was a prison, a cage she had built for herself. And now, there was no way out.
In her final moments, Yinhaie realized the terrible irony: she had been given the knowledge of the gods, the power to change everything—and yet, she had never truly understood what it meant. The truth, it seemed, was not something that could be destroyed. It was not something that could be erased. It was a part of her, a part of everyone. No matter how much she tried to escape it, it would always remain.
And so, Yinhaie was left to die in the ruins of the world she had destroyed, a woman consumed by the very knowledge she had sought to wield.