There is no battlefield.
Because their fight does not take place in the ordinary realm. Instead, it unfolds in the intricate folds of reality, suspended between fleeting human dreams and the vastness of cosmic amnesia. This dimension feels like a space ensnared in time, where the air vibrates with an ethereal resonance that hums softly, echoing with forgotten whispers. Its texture is woven from a heavy mist, wrapping around the body in a shroud of uncertainty and trepidation. Gravity behaves unpredictably, a whimsical force that pulls and pushes in erratic rhythms, as if this world defies the established laws of nature.
First Movement: Lament of Arista
Arista stands still, a solitary figure amidst the chaos of her reality.
Yet, when her puppet crashes to the ground, the world screams. Each heartbeat sends ripples through the void, creating waves that resonate in an unsettling harmony, and strange, flickering light radiates from all corners, illuminating the gloom. As Arista unleashes her magic, the spectacle is nothing short of mesmerizing—light suffuses into darkness, flowing liquid-like in vibrant hues, remaining tantalizingly just beyond the reach of ordinary sight.
"Ą̸̛̲̞͚̐̄͜ͅR̵̡͙̒̄̐̍͛I̷̘̖͛Ș̴̱̒́T̷̤̲͋͘A̴̰͎͉̙̓̓̈́̕͜!"
The voice echoed not from the lips of a living being, but instead emerged from the collective memory of a world unwilling to let go of the little girl who never existed. In this dimension, images manifest like shadows resisting the confines of reality—faces without bodies drift in the clouds, their haunting gazes empty and forlorn, weeping and clawing at the untouched air as if desperate to break free from the veil of forgetfulness.
"See me, or this world will forget your name too!"
Her magic was neither fire nor ice—but rather a misplaced existence that defied the laws of the universe. With a fierce intensity, she struck Fitran with Wounds of Memory, creating fissures in reality that caused the air around them to randomly replay fragments of the past. As Arista launched her attack, her radiant light shattered the oppressive darkness, unleashing a cataclysmic wave of visuals that swirled into a relentless vortex. This spiraling chaos tore at the very fabric of the dimension, as if it were liberating long-buried memories, infusing the atmosphere with an overwhelming sense of grief and profound loss.
The surroundings pulsed with a rhythm influenced by her burgeoning power, each beat echoing through the void as time itself began to bend and warp. Arista felt herself sinking deeper into this non-functional realm, her body seemingly engulfed by the dazzling brilliance of her own magic. Her silhouette quivered, physical boundaries dissolving in the turmoil around her as the distorted world's energy entangled itself with her essence. The collision of diverse magical forces ignited sharp flashes of light that erupted like fireworks, producing an array of supernatural phenomena. Below them, the ground transformed into arcs of luminescence, flowing erratically in a chaotic rhythm, as if rebelling against the very nature of existence itself, compelling the consciousness of all within to awaken and confront the fragile realities they had long forgotten.
Fitran attempted to utter a spell, yet his voice lacked direction. In this ethereal and timeless dimension, sound wielded an unpredictable weight, echoing through the void with a wavering cadence. He sensed his own existence... but why? His eyes shimmered with an uncanny light as the crescent-shaped glow enveloping him flickered, heralding the emergence of an extraordinary force.
Faranox reshaped the realm into an absolute structure, void of inquiries and answers—only perfect silence. The surroundings, once cloaked in emptiness, began to exude clouds of dark vapor that twisted and curled like liquid shadows, crafting illusions of indescribable forms that eluded comprehension. With each heartbeat, undulating waves of magic reverberated through the walls of this dimension, causing them to quake in a silent plea to dissolve into chaos.
And amidst that all-consuming silence, Faranox moved forward—gliding with an ethereal grace, free from earthly intentions—brandishing the Blade of Unconcept, a sword wrought from an uncreated essence. As the blade made contact with the void, bursts of light erupted, and the indeterminate material shimmered in response, conjuring fleeting silhouettes that depicted the intense duel between existence and non-existence. The energy unleashed in the clashing of these formidable magical forces resonated like the hushed whispers of a thousand secrets, slicing through the atmosphere of this dimension.
Fitran bled—a color absent from the spectrum of life. It was letters that failed to form a name. In this other dimension, the air exuded a heaviness, reminiscent of a dense fog that clung to him, refusing to seep into his very being. Gravity itself hummed in an unfamiliar tune, displacing his body with the sensation of floating, as spells wove themselves into the fabric of reality.
"You do not understand the void," Fitran whispered, his voice a soft echo muffled by a silence pregnant with significance.
"Because you have not desired it enough." As he spoke, a glimmer of faint light enveloped him, crafting intricate lines that undulated like silk woven from the shadows.
From the wreckage of his shattered arm, a crown began to materialize. It was neither forged from metal nor composed of ethereal light—but a structure of ideas that resisted comprehension. The crown pulsated, its essence resonating throughout an expanse of infinite nothingness. The very texture of the air transformed, distilling its vibrations into a soft hiss, conveying whispers of secrets from a universe beyond.
"Ultimate Magic: Nameless Crown – Second Recursion."
The Void split in two, revealing a chasm defined by glowing runes that outlined the boundaries of existence. The crown pulsed with waves of inverted reality, challenging every meaning within a radius spanning thousands of kilometers. The shackles of time convulsed violently, as if the very moment itself had frozen in the wake of a cataclysmic collision that reverberated through the dimensions. Cities, once vibrant and alive, crumbled into ruin. Languages, the essence of communication, disintegrated into nonsensical whispers. Impure love evaporated from the hearts of humanity, dissipating like mist under harsh sunlight. Each building disintegrated, transforming into an otherworldly dust that mingled with the encroaching darkness.
Arista's voice rose in a desperate scream, but her cry morphed into a soundless poem, its resonating vibrations echoing through the profound emptiness that enveloped them. Faranox struggled to stabilize the collapsing structure with Absolute Nullification, yet the Nameless Crown distorted the very fabric of the void itself, rendering his efforts futile. His physical appearance drained of color, paled as though the magical energy siphoned away every trace of vitality. He felt his entire being merging with the chilling void, caught in a tumult of emptiness and complexity that threatened to swallow him whole.
Fitran did not attack their bodies.
He attacked the very reasons for their existence. In this clash of titans, the swirling dance of magic unraveled an ancient tapestry, each thread influencing pivotal moments and illuminating dimensions with an unpredictable splendor. Every swing of his sword did more than cleave through flesh; it rent asunder the intricate fabric of ideologies and beliefs that had been so meticulously woven.
Benturan Akhir: Ketiga Voidwright dalam Spiral Kekosongan
Arista conjured Field of Forgotten, a realm cloaked in ethereal mist, where every ethereal whisper of memory flickered with a faint glow, beckoning souls to join them in a silent death. The air hung heavy and cold, as if stripped of gravity, rendering movement a Herculean task and luring consciousness into an abyss of undefined shadows.
Faranox, his visage twisted by raw power, turned dimensions inside out, transforming the sky into an unfathomable floor beneath him. With an elegant flourish of his hands, the heavens fractured, jagged edges forming as layers of energy in pulsating shades of purple and blue collided violently. The minds of his adversaries became ensnared within a labyrinthine void of silent contemplation, each corner echoing with a haunting resonance, only to be snapped back into the suffocating stillness.
Fitran surrendered to the disintegration of his being, each wound glowing with an enigmatic black light, marking the birth of countless versions of himself—fragments drawn from an alternate existence. His face began to emit a soft, dim glow, while the shapes and contours surrounding him faded rapidly, like an illusion whisked away by the night wind.
As these fragments collided, a thunderous resonance shattered the silence, echoing endlessly in the void. Yet, no vessel could truly encompass such a concept. The arcane violence of their clashing forces sent tremors rippling through the very fabric of the dimension, where fissures in reality gaped wide, devouring light and creating a void for an encroaching darkness.
"Then the Void itself… began to weep," resonated a voice in the stillness, as if it were the key unlocking the dark secrets ensconcing this battle. In that poignant instant… a single baby's cry emerged from the emptiness. This sound, born from the core of the world, was no human wail, but rather the lament of a world yearning to begin anew.
There was no victor to be crowned. What lingered instead was a permanent fracture in the very essence of magic. As the arcane energies slipped away from their forms, the air thickened, clinging to their skin with an aching intensity, as if each breath summoned forth long-buried memories from the shadows.
From the depths of encroaching darkness, another being emerged—whether a god or a dream weaver, it was uncertain—but they etched their indiscernible names into an unreadable stone. In that single, electrifying moment, a blinding light of suppression erupted amidst the shadows, starkly representing the profound fractures that had torn through the fabric of the world.
Mountains lay obliterated, now mere whispers of ancient tales. The seas, once vibrant with movement, no longer flowed; their waters stood still in mournful silence, as if in sorrow for the loss of their very essence. Names that once echoed through time had perished, buried within the emptiness of their own forgotten initials.
Amid the devastation, Fitran stood defiantly, his body marred by the relentless grip of reality, his gaze not fixed on the devastated landscape but piercing beyond it. Every pore of his being radiated a dark, consuming aura, devouring the remaining light and unveiling a vision of a new power poised to rise, ready to envelop the remnants of reality in its unpredictable enigma.
Faranox raised his hand once more, unleashing the harrowing Silence Absolute. In an instant, an alternate dimension unraveled around him; the very air felt lighter, pulsating with enigmatic vibrations. Each gust of wind carried a chilling texture, as if the fabric of space itself whispered a reminder that they had crossed into an unknown realm. As he released the magic, a dim light flickered between them, crafting ethereal strokes that twisted space and time, freezing reality in a shimmering void awash in a haunting bluish glow.
Arista vanished from the world, leaving behind only a haunting echo in the hearts of all the forgotten children. She struck not with the flare of traditional magic, but wielded the profound weight of collective sorrow that permeated humanity. In this void dimension, each teardrop of sorrow carried an intensity that shaped the very fabric of existence, setting Faranox and Arista in a cosmic clash, their beings intertwined in invisible waves of energy. Like spectral shadows ensnared in a labyrinth of time, they engaged in a fierce battle, a struggle that pitted light against darkness.
Fitran shut his eyes, searching for clarity. When he opened them, a new realm unveiled itself before him—something beyond sight. His physical form began to dissolve, fading as if he were an ephemeral illusion tethered to the vastness of the dimension. He sensed the ripple of every motion, every heartbeat, responding not merely with thought but with a soul deeply entwined with the mystical forces coursing around them.
"You have emerged from the death of Vorrak. But I am the one who died first... and chose to remain alive." As he spoke, vibrant light radiated from his magic, casting dark purple waves that rippled through the very fabric of reality, unweaving its threads. He lifted the Nameless Crown for the final time. It was no longer cradled in his hands but hovering above the very concept of the world itself. Each facet of the crown flickered with an ancient aura, as if the weight of secrets lingered in every point, casting an influence across the entire dimension—a lingering sense of eternity that beckoned within the void.
"Ultimate Magic: Nameless Crown – Final Recursion." A thick tension enveloped the atmosphere as the magic surged forth; it birthed visual distortions that defied the very laws of nature. There was no blinding light, no cataclysmic explosion—only the laws themselves slowly dissolving into nothingness. The fabric of reality began to wane, and the void dimension filled with shadows of unmanifested potential, lurking at the edges of perception.
— Arista attempted to dissolve into a mere memory, but the Nameless Crown obliterated the connection between cause and effect. He found himself adrift in a sea of forgetfulness, unable to remember who he was. His features faded into obscurity. His hands slipped away into the void. Then… his very essence disintegrated, slipping through the cracks of existence. In that instant, every pillar of energy collided, creating a breathtaking explosion—a spectacular display where reality hissed and writhed like shadowy tendrils endlessly consuming the last remnants of light.
"Who… am I…? I…"
[REMOVED]
— Faranox fought against the slipping grasp of existence, summoning the True Null Core, the ultimate foundation of emptiness itself. As the core unleashed its raw energy, a spiraling cloud of steam surged forth, darkening the surroundings and transforming them into an infinite void. Yet, the crown rewound the chronicle of the Void itself, tugging everything into a fathomless whirlpool of eternity. It rendered the void an impossibility.
Faranox stared at his own reflection, coming to the haunting realization that he was merely a concept carved by the fear of meaning.
In another dimension, the air hung thick and oppressive, each breath a struggle as if it carried the weight of untold memories. Gravity pulsated like a distant heartbeat, establishing an unsettling rhythm that resonated within the very fabric of existence. Shadows twisted and swayed, their dark forms dancing among the echoes of whispered thoughts. With every surge of magic released into this realm, brilliant bursts of light erupted, slicing through the murky void, rending the suffocating silence that enveloped everything.
So, am I… merely a shadow of humanity's desire to stop feeling…?
[REMOVED]
The sky crumbled within him, shards of reality breaking apart like glass. Mountains murmured in a cryptic tongue, their ancient wisdom lost to the ages. The very world around him quivered in response, as if the land itself were a living entity, pulsating with a heartbeat of its own. And Fitran stood at the center of this profound emptiness, now transformed into a true void. As magic surged forth from his throat, emerald blue flames ignited the air, weaving intricate patterns that defied the limitations of the eye. A bitter smile curled upon his lips, revealing the metamorphosis of his being—his skin radiated an ethereal glow, setting him apart from the engulfing darkness.
There was no Arista.
There was no Faranox.
There was no Vorrak.
Only himself.
The Nameless Crown faded into invisibility, its presence no longer required in the unfolding chaos.
The world around him fell into an eerie silence, not born of fear but of anticipation. Everything felt unmoored, as if reality itself was attempting to overturn its own rules, swirling in the depths of a void that seemed all too aware of its own rebellion.
"For even the world… does not know what to say. An unexpected wave surged forth, crashing against the boundaries of existence, while the threads of reality vibrated with an otherworldly energy, weaving currents that repudiated the very laws of nature.
Elsewhere…
Ancient glyphs blazed with a fierce luminosity, flickering magical writings illuminating the space around them and consuming all in their radiant grasp, as if they were drawing in the very essence of the universe.
The Tower of Atlantis shuddered, paralyzed by a presence far older than its own storied stones, while all beings of magic remained still for a heartbeat, acutely aware of a seismic shift in existence, as every strand of arcane energy resonated with the call of transformation.
"The Voidwright has killed two entities that heralded the void."
"Then what is left for it…?"
"...A throne."
As the last remnants of Arista faded into fragmented memories beyond reach, and Faranox disintegrated into an impossibility rejected by reality, The Nameless Crown refused to revert to its incantation form. It did not disappear into the ether. Instead, it merged with Fitran, manifesting like an aurora that flickered violently in the cosmos, its chaos entangled with the fabric of existence. This amalgamation signaled that within this vast emptiness, a new power was being forged—an energy eagerly awaiting the moment of its explosive emergence.
Fitran's physical form remained unchanged, but the ambient magic of the world instantly sensed his presence—not merely as a wielder of mystical arts.
But as a source of it.
"You do not wield magic…"
"You are the void where all meaning ultimately collapses…"
In a heartbeat, the flow of mana across the realms experienced a grave anomaly, as if the fabric of the sky in a parallel dimension had shattered, unleashing a torrent of swirling light that pierced through every shadow. The air became thick and oppressive, each breath weighed down by a palpable heaviness, while gravity itself quaked, drawing everything inexorably towards the center of the creeping void.
Around the battlefield, the very essence of space and time warped, birthing visual phenomena that shattered reality's illusion. Elemental magics spiraled into instability, forming a mesmerizing yet chaotic whirlwind of vibrant colors. Each unleashed attack generated resonating waves of energy that carved dark ripples of luminescence, a duality of beauty and dread intertwining in the chaos.
Contract Magic began to erase its own sorcerer's signature, weaving a mesmerizing display as shimmering symbols faded away, like echoes of a forgotten dream. A gentle whisper cut through the air, adding a layer of mystery, as if voices from another dimension teased the ear, playfully beckoning the onlookers to listen more closely.
Divine Magic lost its once-commanding "authority," no longer able to define who Fitran had become. The sacred light trembled and twisted like fragments of stars, struggling to maintain its brilliance, now stranded in an abyss of eternal emptiness, its former glory a mere memory.
Even Void Magic—the most formless of all—acknowledged its new sovereignty. As this dark force was unleashed, a viscous black texture, reminiscent of the depths of space, whirled around, voraciously drawing in light from its surroundings. This created a mesmerizing yet chilling visual spectacle for all witnesses, each pulse of darkness a reminder of the power that lurked within the void.
"Nameless Monarch" — Raja Tanpa Nama
"It is not that he lacks a name… but rather that no name can endure long enough to truly describe him."