As Fitran's last shadow devoured words and Magus Atlantis stood frozen in silence, the very air around them ruptured. This fracture was not conjured by magic or sound; it was the manifestation of existential disagreement. Beneath their feet, the ground began to splinter, luminous cracks snake-like in appearance, crawling outward from Fitran's figure. These fissures intertwined with the cerulean radiance pulsating from his hands, unleashing an otherworldly vibration that rippled through the atmosphere.
"You've been talking too long, Fitran," a voice cut through the tension, emerging from behind a creaking sky.
A dark rift tore through the firmament like a gaping wound, reluctant to mend. From its depths emerged a figure cloaked in shadow, his gaze reflecting a profound emptiness. Pulses of red light flickered around him like ominous fireflies, heralding the arrival of an unstoppable force.
Vorrak had arrived.
Lord Albrecht instinctively retreated, inching towards the ranks of remaining Magus. "Two Voidwrights...?" he whispered, his voice quaking with disbelief. "This is no longer a battle for humans." An icy chill surged through the air, wrapping around them like a suffocating shroud, darkening the sky and withering the grass beneath their feet.
Fitran turned his gaze, seemingly unperturbed, perhaps even expectant. As he raised both hands, emerald light erupted from his palms, cascading through the air like shimmering waves of energy.
"Finally, you've arrived, Vorrak. I was beginning to wonder how many sects you would obliterate before grasping the truth: that you are merely prolonging your own immortality." Vorrak came to a halt, just three steps away, a lingering tension palpable in the air.
"You speak of immortality as if it were a gift, Fitran. But I have witnessed its true nature—a virus that infects the soul." With a fluid motion, Vorrak summoned a carving of radiant purple light that burst forth from his body, enveloping him in a shimmering illusion. The air around him rippled and trembled, as if responding to an unseen force.
"You allow the world to mirror your own emptiness, deluding yourself into believing that without names or boundaries, they will find freedom. Yet, all they become are mere echoes of your destruction." As he spoke, the vibrant flora surrounding them wilted and blackened, drained of life by the encroaching darkness birthed from their conflicting powers.
Fitran nodded, unable to suppress the smile that crept across his face. The light emanating from his hands deepened in intensity, cascading over the environment and transforming it into a breathtaking tapestry of colors that danced and swirled.
"And you still cling to the belief that erasure can restore meaning." His voice resonated through the charged atmosphere, causing ripples of energy to vibrate in response, tightening the very fabric of reality around them. A visual mirage materialized, captivating the onlookers with its surreal beauty.
And then, as if scripted by fate, the world began to collapse—not in physical form, but in narrative essence. The timeline fractured before their eyes, incantations rendered meaningless. Albrecht and the Magi were forcibly expelled from the heart of reality, now mere silent observers in a conflict that transcended mortal understanding. As the essence of reality splintered, the air vibrated with a bluish luminescence, painting a disorienting portrait of chaos around them, warping their surroundings in a haunting display.
Fitran raised his hand, and from his palm, ethereal strands of gray light burst forth—The Unwritten Texts, a form of magic that existed beyond the confines of language. The shimmering strands flickered with captivating hues of gray and silver, weaving waves of brilliance that illuminated the astonished faces of the witnesses. Each letter that sprang into existence punctured the very fabric of the sky, rewriting fundamental concepts like "gravity," "mass," and "proximity." As these letters made contact with the surrounding environment, the ground beneath them fractured, split asunder by an unforeseen surge of energy, while the once-vibrant vegetation began to wither as if in mourning for the alteration of life's essence.
In response, Vorrak elegantly waved his fingers, summoning an area of Negation that materialized around him. Here, the boundaries of all concepts collapsed, fading into nothingness before they could take shape. The atmosphere buzzed with shimmering black light, creating an almost palpable vibration in the air that rattled the minds of onlookers. A pulse of dark energy engulfed him, seemingly absorbing all surrounding light into its abyss. Fitran's radiant light collided with this dark space, unraveling into inconsequential fragments of time. Witnesses huddled beneath the oppressive gravitational upheaval, trembling as they experienced magical phenomena that defied all comprehension.
"You cannot erase me, Vorrak. I am a part of the void you acknowledge—I merely name it." As Fitran spoke, a radiant blue light surged from his being, spiraling upward in brilliant arcs like sparks from a celestial firework. A soft hissing sound accompanied each of his words, sending a shiver down the spines of astonished witnesses, their hairs standing on end. The very ground beneath them trembled, cracking and splintering as if it were a living entity absorbing that burgeoning energy.
"And you cannot define me, Fitran. I am a part of the void that refuses to be named." With each powerful assertion from Vorrak, a vivid flash of red ignited the air, casting deep shadows that devoured the surrounding illumination. The atmosphere thickened, heavy with an oppressive force, and nearby bushes withered as if recoiling from the weight of Vorrak's formidable presence. Everything vibrated in an unsettling harmony, and for a fleeting moment, the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Fitran leaped—not through the air, but across the very fabric of existence itself. He was enveloped in shimmering blue energy as he moved, creating a translucent illusion that pulsed rhythmically like ocean waves. In a heartbeat, he materialized behind Vorrak, whispering The Name That Was Once Lost. A wave of magical tremors coursed through the air, and Vorrak shivered, caught between wonder and trepidation. In an instant, light began to coalesce, spiraling into a breathtaking form that raced toward Vorrak, halting abruptly as if clutching time itself, leaving him awestruck in a turmoil of enchantment and fear.
However, Vorrak quickly steeled himself and unleashed an ancient incantation—True Negation Spiral. Dark energy spiraled into a vortex, swirling with distorted shades of purple that devoured the surrounding light, creating an ominous void. A thunderous roar reverberated through the air, shifting the atmosphere into a tense and foreboding ambiance, thick with impending doom. The ground beneath him groaned ominously, cracking with a sharp snapping sound that echoed in the shocked silence. The witnesses gasped in disbelief, their faces brushed by a fierce gust of wind, as though nature itself was heralding the loss of their once-safe world.
As the two Voidwrights collided, light and darkness erupted in a breathtaking confrontation, an explosion that painted the sky with chaos. Vibrant colors faded, blending into a deep and incomprehensible darkness, where the very fabric of reality trembled. Time appeared to crawl backward, each passing second stretching into an agonizing eternity. Mirrors of existence splintered, sending shards of light ricocheting from two opposing forces, crafting a mesmerizing interplay of illumination. In the distance, Albrecht observed his own shadow fragmenting and regenerating in a grotesque cycle of life and decay, visibly unsettled by the tumultuous energies surging in violent waves between the combatants.
The Magi huddled together, their faces pale, some weeping without understanding the source of their despair. A few began to lose their own names, adrift in the chaos that threatened to consume their very identities.
Yet—in the heart of this tumultuous clash, the battle remained balanced.
Fitran's power began to coalesce around him, manifesting as a soft blue light that enveloped his form in a shimmering embrace. The ethereal glow pulsated rhythmically, sending ripples through the earth beneath his feet, creating fine cracks that spidered out like delicate veins. In stark contrast, Vorrak's power surged as a harbinger of destruction. An ominous black flash cut through the air, sending a palpable tremor through the atmosphere and withering the surrounding vegetation into lifeless husks in the blink of an eye. Yet, despite their opposing natures, both forces were birthed from the same void. Thus, as long as they remained true to their own origins, victory or defeat was an illusion that loomed ever elusive.
And in the fractured silence...
Fitran locked his gaze onto Vorrak. The blue halo that surrounded him flared with intensity, infused with an unspoken weight of emotion that danced in the air like a tangible pulse. In contrast, the black energy radiating from Vorrak festered and lunged with a menacing potency, casting shadows that flickered ominously across the ground.
"You know this is just the beginning. The world doesn't need two Voidwrights. Sooner or later... we will end each other," Fitran declared, his voice resonating with a solemn weight that hung heavily in the air.
As Vorrak sighed deeply, the atmosphere shifted. Above him, the sky split open, a jagged line rumbling ominously as if the heavens themselves were protesting his words. The fissures, dark and tumultuous, began to slowly stitch themselves together, allowing golden sunlight to trickle through like hesitant tendrils of hope piercing a long-held darkness.
"True. But not today," Vorrak retorted, his expression steely amidst the cacophony of shifting skies.
And just like that, he vanished, consumed by the swirling black light that enveloped him. The shadows seemed to ripple outward, drawing the light from the very air, leaving Fitran in a state of awe mingled with dread.
The sky patched itself, but it bore the scars of what transpired, a hesitant truce forged between light and dark. The world felt forever altered, having glimpsed the terrible truths that should have remained buried in the depths of an unnamed realm. Fitran stood amidst the shattered ground, gazing at Lord Albrecht, and spoke, his tone heavy with unshed sorrow:
"Now you know… why I never sought understanding."
With those words, he too disappeared. The ethereal blue light that once surrounded him gradually ebbed away, surrendering to an encroaching stinging darkness that settled over the landscape.
Once more, the sky tore open, not with a shattering roar but with a profound silence that felt more potent than any upheaval. This silence was not tranquil; it brimmed with absolute emptiness, an echoing void that filled the air with an unsettling anticipation. The ground beneath appeared deceptively stable, yet the tremors that lingered beneath the surface stirred a deep-rooted uncertainty in the hearts of the Magus witnessing this unsettling transformation.
Vorrak stood with outstretched arms, his eyes a haunting void, yet brimming with a profound purpose. Behind him loomed not magic, not light, nor even shadow—but a gaping fissure in the very fabric of existence, reminiscent of a black hole that devours not objects but rather the essence of those objects. As he began to unleash his arcane power, an ominous black light pulsed forth, radiating with such intensity that it vibrated the very air, causing the ground beneath him to crack ominously with a sound like the snapping of ancient bones.
"You've played long enough, Fitran. It's time I show you… why the void is older than all magic," he proclaimed, his voice a chilling whisper that seemed to curl around those present.
From the depths of Vorrak's being, an otherworldly symbol began to manifest—neither a glyph nor a rune, but an unsettling absence of form that defied comprehension. He named it: As the symbol coalesced, a dim purple light radiated from it, casting a spectral glow that caused nearby shadows to writhe and dance in an erratic frenzy, trembling as if in the presence of unspeakable fear.
"Ultimate Voidwright Magic: The Silent Unmaking."
And with that proclamation, the world erupted into chaos and dread. A palpable wave of energy surged around him, causing the very air to quiver and resonate with a sound akin to an almost inaudible honk—a haunting echo that reverberated through the stillness.
In that moment, the Magi were struck mute by an inexplicable horror. They observed in frozen silence as their own hands began to fade into nothingness—not through destruction, but because the fabric of reality had chosen to forget them, erasing their existence before they could even comprehend their demise. Each flicker of reflected light seemed to taunt them, a cruel reminder of the lives they once inhabited.
Albrecht gripped Lumine Veritas with tremulous hands, the sword inexplicably losing its name as it transformed. No longer a beacon of radiant light, it now exuded a dim and foreboding presence, casting a chilling aura that suffocated the air around them.
For the first time, Fitran felt the weight of fear and took a hesitant step back, enveloped by the suffocating atmosphere that pooled around him like a thick, black fog.
"...You learn quickly, Vorrak," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
As the magic began its slow invasion of Fitran's body, it neither burned nor destroyed; rather, it systematically erased his very connection to the world. He no longer felt the ground beneath his feet, and the earth around him wilted under the weight of the void's presence—grass curling into itself, shriveling in despair, while an oppressive pitch-black aura coiled around him. The path ahead blurred into an indistinct haze, a nightmarish testament to the overwhelming might unleashed before him.
"You know, Fitran," Vorrak whispered with a haunted calm, "One thing you can never escape is that even chaos needs a language. But 'Silent Unmaking' does not require that. It simply… rejects everything."
Fitran struggled to hold on amidst the chaos. He activated his protective spell—Shell of Absolver—and bright blue light erupted around him, enveloping his body in a shimmering cocoon. Waves of protective energy rippled through the air, shaking the very fabric of reality. Almost immediately, the Shell: Metareason appeared in a brilliant purple glare, forming a complex geometric pattern on the ground that began to crack under the strain of its arcane power. As if answering a cosmic call, the Shell: Eidolon surged forth in an explosion of radiant green light, causing the nearby vegetation to wither and turn to ash at the touch of its raw magical energy. Yet, despite the brilliance surrounding him, everything began to unravel, one spell after another. Not due to a lack of strength, but because the very essence of this magic rejected understanding, rejected existence.
"You cannot fight emptiness with magic that still tries to explain the world."
Fitran felt his form fracturing within this new reality. His head remained intact, but the memories that defined his existence began to blur and fade like distant whispers on the wind. He sensed the world around him erasing his name, shrouded in an eerie silence that questioned his very right to be.
But... within that void, something ignited.
Amidst the mounting pressure, a smile broke across Fitran's face. An aura of red and gold radiated from him, a beacon of defiance that caught the attention of all nearby.
"You are right, Vorrak. You are right that magic needs language. But you forget... I no longer need magic."
His hands seared with energy, not from fire, but from pure intent. The energy manifested as blue flames, swirling and flickering, radiating an ethereal light that enveloped him, drawing the gaze of all onlookers. It was a form of will that needed no system, no words; instead, it was grounded in the ancient meaning that can never be erased: the awareness of one's own paradox. As his magic surged forth, the ground beneath him fractured violently, sending tremors through the earth that reverberated in the hearts of those captivated by the raw power unfolding before them.
He conjured magic not from ritual chants or incantations, but from a total denial of emptiness itself. It was an existential moment, a haunting realization that the forgotten would not fade into oblivion. The energy surrounding him coalesced into a tempest of light that leapt and crackled, striking everything in its path and making the very sky resonate with a trembling energy.
"If you are the void that erases... then I am the void that remembers itself," he declared, his voice echoing amidst the chaos. As those words resonated, a luminous blue-green light enveloped Fitran's form, unleashing waves of energy that caused the ground to quake with unprecedented ferocity. The earth splintered and buckled, etching intricate patterns into the soil as if responding to the immense power he channeled. Amidst it all, an ominous dark light emerged, conjuring an ancient magic long forgotten since the dawn of creation. Flashes of purple light intertwined with this resurgence of energy, imbuing the atmosphere with a thick tension that left the air quaking.
"True Dark Magic: Eidolon Resonantia."
This magic was not designed for conquest; rather, it existed as an enduring concept, resilient even in the face of total annihilation. As the dazzling intensity of the light began to wane, it was supplanted by a dark yet majestic aura that enveloped them, crafting a palpable illusion of presence that lingered heavily in the air. In the midst of this otherworldly spectacle, Vorrak was hurtled backward, not rendered defeated but propelled away by the cataclysmic clash that was creating cracks in reality itself. Here were two Voidwrights, each with philosophies that nullified one another, yet neither could obliterate the other. As this fierce confrontation unfolded, radiant colors erupted in streaks through the air, casting an enchanting glow that illuminated the faces of the awestruck witnesses.
And the world was torn apart
Some of the Magus succumbed to the overwhelming force, fainting in moments of vulnerability, while Albrecht found himself momentarily blinded by the blinding luminosity. Yet amidst this chaos, Fitran remained upright; a golden light began to swell from within him, emerging like a beacon of remaining hope amidst despair. The ground beneath him quaked, a tremor that served as a stark reminder of the formidable power that loomed threateningly. Yet, Fitran stood resilient… nearly hollow, yet defiantly present. For in that abyss, he had transformed into something indelible: an awareness that he once existed, a memory etched into the fabric of being.
Vorrak, realizing the need to retreat, erased the very air around himself, slipping into the dimensional crack he had created. This action summoned a violent wind that howled ominously, stirring up gusts of dust and debris. The light radiating from his dark magic caused the surrounding vegetation to wilt and decay, as if the very essence of life was being siphoned away, drained by the encroaching emptiness.
"You can still endure, Fitran. Let's end this... it's time for the final battle."
Fitran nodded slowly, a resolute glint in his eyes. "Until silence becomes the only language."
As if responding to his declaration, the wind fell silent, and the air thickened with an unnatural heaviness, clinging to the atmosphere like a shroud. Time itself appeared to freeze, caught in a moment where past, present, and future collided.
The sky hung still, an ominous canvas devoid of movement or sound.
The Magus stood rooted in place, paralyzed by the gravity of what lay ahead. Even time seemed to hold its breath, drawing back from the impending confrontation—only the rhythmic thundering of their heartbeats dared to disrupt the suffocating silence as they awaited the clash that would seal their fates.
In the void surrounding him, Fitran felt the insatiable hunger of nothingness, eager to claim him as its own. His features appeared as shadows, partially erased from existence; his arm flickered like a dying ember. Yet within his gaze, there burned an unmistakable fire: Determination.
"Vorrak," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of defiance. "You embody the emptiness that seeks to negate all meaning. But today, I will demonstrate that even the abyss can be held accountable."
As those words left his lips, a deep azure luminescence began to radiate from Fitran's core, swirling with an intensity that hinted at the magic poised to be unleashed. A tidal wave of blinding light erupted forth, casting dazzling reflections that danced in the air. The atmosphere around him quaked, resonating with a subtle yet powerful frequency that reverberated through the earth, causing the ground beneath to shudder violently with each pulse of energy. Tiny fissures sprawled like veins, creeping ominously in all directions from where he stood.
Vorrak's lips curled into a twisted semblance of a smile, his form an unsettling shadow, sculpted from the depths of a nightmare. "You cannot kill what does not wish to exist," he sneered, embodying the very essence of despair.
In this moment, Fitran closed his eyes, allowing the light around him to swell and intensify, unfurling in a mesmerizing gradient from deep azure to ethereal lavender. And for the first time—he prayed.
Not to a god.
Not to the world.
But to the last flickering echo of himself.
Ultimate Voidwright Magic: "Nameless Crown – Final Denial"
Unspoken magic.
Unshaped.
Not cast.
But remembered.
As the magic begins to awaken, a radiant aurora envelops Fitran, shimmering in a deep purple luminescence that slices through the encroaching darkness like a dagger of light. An undercurrent of energy ripples outward, causing the surrounding vegetation to wither and desiccate, as if each leaf and flower were being drained of life by an extraordinary, unseen force.
A magic that can only manifest when one adamantly refuses to be forgotten, even when all of reality has cast them aside. The earth beneath him splinters as the core of that power erupts in a devastating roar, deepening the fissures, while the atmosphere thickens with an electric tension that prickles the skin of all who stand near.
And from the very center of Fitran's being, an invisible crown takes shape—Nameless Crown. Each peak of this spectral diadem signifies a memory that clung obstinately to existence, each radiant light symbolizes the enduring pain that transcends the confines of time. The luminous crown blazes forth, unleashing waves of palpable power that heighten the tension, ensnaring all who witness it in a tumultuous harmony of peace and chaos, a paradox that resonates in the very core of their beings.
"You try to erase me, Vorrak," Fitran murmured, his voice laced with an unsettling calm. "But I... am the wound within reality itself. A wound cannot be eliminated; it can only be remembered."
As the weight of his words hung in the air, a palpable wave of energy unfurled into a mesmerizing circle around Fitran. Onlookers sensed the profound shift in the atmosphere, their senses tingling with the electric vibrations that filled the space. Many staggered back, their eyes wide with a blend of fear and wonder at the torrent of power unleashed before them.
Then, a primal scream erupted from Vorrak's throat.
For the first time, he felt… afraid.
This magic did not seek to attack nor did it wish to destroy the body, nor sever the soul. Instead, as he summoned this formidable force, a shimmering blue light erupted from his hands, cascading outward in brilliant flashes that painted the surroundings with an ethereal glow. The very fabric of reality seemed to quiver; the air trembled with a painful intensity that resonated deep within their bones, while fissures cracked open in the ground below, releasing a thunderous rumble that echoed ominously. And in that chaotic brilliance, this magic infused meaning into the heart of the void. It was a cruel irony, for Vorrak, a being forged from the rejection of meaning, began to burn from within.
Onlookers stood in astonished silence, their skin prickling with the tangible magic swirling around them, captivated by the dazzling light that danced before their eyes.
"Stop...!" one cried out, desperation lacing his voice.
"Too late," came the relentless reply.
"I will punish you... with existence."
Vorrak's body did not shatter into a thousand pieces. He did not explode in a violent burst of chaos. He did not dissolve away into nothingness.
Instead—a golden light enveloped him, casting a radiant glow that illuminated his form, which now stood clearly visible in a warm and gentle state. It was a fleeting moment, yet it felt eternal. He had a name. He had a childhood filled with laughter and shadow. He had hope flickering like a candle in the wind. He had fear, that paralyzing whisper of dread lurking in the corners of his mind. And in that single, precious second... he felt everything.
Then, with a hush, he passed away. The brilliant visual effect faded, leaving behind shimmering remnants of light suspended in the air as if bidding a sorrowful farewell.
For emptiness cannot endure as meaning.
Afterward...
The world began to move again. The Magi coughed, their voices breaking the silence that had enveloped them during the magic's execution. The remaining light slowly dissipated like a fading dream, making them feel as though they had just emerged from a relentless nightmare. Albrecht stared at Fitran in a blend of horror and awe, his mind racing, yet no one dared to speak.
For no words are sacred enough to describe someone who has dared to slay emptiness.
Fitran stood resolute, black blood seeping from his eyes like a dark reminder of the abyss he had faced. With each heartbeat, the dark light around him dwindled, causing the earth beneath to wither as if mourning the very heart of the world itself. The unseen crown still lingered, faintly hovering above him.
He did not lose.
He endured.
And the world was rewritten—where only one Voidwright remained.
"Remember," he intoned, his voice carrying across the desolate landscape, resonating with the gusts of wind that whispered through the barren trees. "Even the nameless can die… if someone is mad enough to keep their memory alive."