Excalibur pulsed strongly in Fitran's grip, a living relic marked by the scars of time and conflict, its once-glorious silver now stained with streaks of throbbing crimson. Each rune etched along its blade—once a source of wisdom—now lamented sorrow into the night air, poisoning hope and suffocating memory. The sword's former magnificence had faded into a distant legend; now it whispered only of wounds, each an unmet debt resonating with the rhythm of Fitran's heart.
He glanced up at the swirling red runes above—remnants of the spell that had unleashed Elbert's madness upon the world. "In days gone by, these runes shimmered with insight," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Now they leak poison, spreading despair into everything they touch."
A chill wind swept through the ruins, stirring the ashes and the acrid scent of charred magic. The field lay before him, a graveyard of shattered dreams: fractured stone, twisted corpses, and pools of blackened blood. In this cursed place, vengeance was not merely an act but an oppressive atmosphere.
"What pieces of your soul has the abyss devoured, Elbert?" Fitran's voice shattered the stillness, sharp and resolute, like the keen edge of his sword. "Or have you become so hollow that ambition can now only echo within you?"
No response came—only a shadow flitted through the debris. "Do you think I take pleasure in what I've become?" Elbert's voice shook, each word tinged with a hint of madness. "The whispers of the runes—you can't comprehend! They promise so much, yet all they deliver is chaos!"
Fitran steeled himself, stepping closer, his grip tightening around Excalibur. "You were once a man of vision, Elbert. Now? You are nothing but a wraith, a puppet dancing on threads of despair."
"A vision?" Elbert laughed, though the sound was hollow, echoing like a distant memory of joy. "Is that what you call my relentless pursuit of power? It was all a deception! Look around you! This is the harvest of ambition!"
Fitran's gaze sharpened, surveying the ruin around them. "Yet, it was your choice, Elbert. You played with powers beyond your control, and now they manipulate you like a fool."
"A fool?" Elbert's laughter faded into a harsh whisper. "This world itself is the fool! It hides its truths behind a mask of beauty, yet beneath lies nothing but chaos!"
"You are losing yourself," Fitran urged, and in that moment, his tone softened. "I can still guide you back to the light, but you must choose to step back from the edge."
"You think it's so simple?" Elbert countered, a flicker of lost humanity piercing through the madness. "The abyss calls to me like a lover. Can you truly deny such passion?"
Fitran felt the weight of the moment; the tension stretched tight like a bowstring pulled to its limit. Shadows flickered and danced as he steeled himself for the confrontation ahead. "You've let your desires ensnare you, but you can break free of those chains. Rediscover your purpose, Elbert."
A heavy silence enveloped them, a vast chasm filled with uncertainty. Elbert stared into the distance, the remnants of his former self haunting the depths of his gaze. "Perhaps… but what price must I pay?"
No answer came, only a stifling quiet, as a fleeting shadow slipped through the shattered remnants that surrounded them, laughter breaking apart like fragile glass.
Fitran surged forward, Excalibur whirling in his grip, the blade trailing droplets of crimson along with echoes of sorrow. "Feel the weight of your choices, Elbert!" he shouted, each word striking like a whip against the dimming light. Pain resonated through him, a dirge that only the broken could hear. With each step he took, reality twisted: the vibrant colors of the world faded, engulfed by a shroud of red and black. Even the sky seemed to shudder, as if aware of the impending reckoning.
"What you think of as vengeance," Fitran rasped, his voice low and resonant, "is your birthright—shaped by your own actions, not by the world's design. It's time you embraced this truth." The air crackled with tension as he raised Excalibur high, its stark light piercing the encroaching gloom that clung to the battleground like a suffocating fog. The blade glimmered with radiant luminescence, yearning for release. "Blood Eclipse Slash!" he commanded, weaving the words of the ritual into the very essence of his will.
The air quaked at his command. The slash went beyond the simple arc of a blade, transforming into a torrent of anguish unleashed—a spell steeped in deep sorrow and raging fury, making the very stones lament beneath its crushing weight. "Can you hear them?" Fitran insisted, his gaze dark and piercing. "The tortured wails of those who fell before you? They crave vengeance." Every spirit caught in its path cried out with the burden of centuries-old grief, their suffering echoing across the desolate expanse.
Elbert stood firm, unsettled yet defiant. "Do you genuinely think this will set you free?" he shouted, a touch of desperation creeping into his voice. "You don't understand the abyss you're inviting! This is no power; it's a curse!"
Fitran's laughter was bitter, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere. "Whether it's a curse or a blessing, it's mine to control! Free yourself from the chains of your doubt, Elbert. Embrace what you truly are!"
As they faced each other, the shadows deepened, and the world around them shimmered with eager anticipation, ready for their wills to collide.
Elbert's form faded into the chaos, a hollow laughter echoing from the swirling dust. Fitran remained resolute, a taut tension twisting in his chest, the metallic taste of blood lingering on his tongue. Whether it was his own lifeblood or the remnants of a shattered realm, he could not tell—and in that fateful moment, he felt the crushing weight of doom pressing down on him.
"You cling to life like a leech, Elbert," he called, his voice steady but tinged with despair. "You've forgotten the art of surrender."
From the depths of the shadows, Elbert's laughter reverberated, fractured and chilling. "Did you really think suffering could extinguish my spirit?" His voice cut through the air like a blade, mocking and sinister.
As he emerged from the shattered haze, a waking nightmare lay before him: Elbert stood there, his form twisted into a grotesque mockery of life—skin stretched tight over hideous scars, a gaping void in his chest resembling a wound that refused to heal, a hollow space where heart and lungs once pulsed with vigor. His eyes, dark as the deepest chasm, held an insatiable hunger, yearning for something far beyond mere survival.
Fitran felt his resolve falter for just a moment, shock gnawing at his composure. "You have cast aside your humanity like a serpent shedding its skin," he murmured, awe and horror mingling in his tone. "What price did you pay for this twisted semblance of existence?"
Elbert's grin twisted into a grotesque mask of triumph. "Behold what I have achieved, Fitran! This is the pinnacle of zombification. I stand before you as the Devil of Zero: insatiable hunger, unending suffering."
Fitran's lips curled into a sardonic smirk. "A tale spun for the damned. Is this truly your desire? To reduce yourself to nothing more than an endless want?"
Elbert's voice turned cold and unyielding as iron. "Do you think I am just a joke? Mock me all you wish, yet the power I wield surpasses your gods and all your blades."
Fitran shrugged, an air of fatigue dulling his gaze. "You long for dominion while you remain just a specter, Elbert. A self-proclaimed king of nothing."
A flicker of pain crossed Elbert's features, his pride shattered more deeply than any wound. "Do you dare speak of sacrifice? Everything I once cherished, I have given up for this!"
Fitran couldn't hold back his laughter, a dark, joyless sound that echoed in the still air. "Creatures like you? I consume them like a morning meal." He turned away, a deliberate dismissal of Elbert's anguish.
Elbert's composure splintered, rage simmering just below the surface. "You will pay dearly for this affront! Spirit Collection!"
As if summoned by his command, the lifeless forms scattered across the ravaged earth began to writhe. Their souls twisted in agony as Elbert yanked them from death's grip, binding their suffering to himself. His wounds healed, revealing a hollowness that loomed larger—almost human, yet his eyes remained an endless abyss.
Fitran approached, his voice devoid of warmth. "You may mend your injuries, but you cannot fill the gaping void within."
With unwavering conviction, he began to chant in a long-forgotten tongue—"Dunkle Flamme Drachen." The ground trembled beneath them, cracking open to unveil the gaping maw of a dragon surging forth from the shadows. Flames erupted violently from its depths; a blaze that brought no warmth, only the bitter chill of harsh memories—a storm of sorrow that shattered every illusion Elbert had clung to. Black fire consumed him, burning through flesh, ambition, and every mask he had ever worn.
As the flames at last began to fade, a chilling laughter rang out above the smoldering ruins. Elbert appeared like a wraith, haunting in his presence, more shadow than substance. "Is this all you dare to show, boy?" His voice dripped with disdain, a horrifying melody that danced above the crackling embers.
Above them, blood swirled like dark storm clouds, weaving together a tempest of crimson shards. "Fitran!" his instincts screamed with urgency. "Aegis!" he called out, and a dome of golden light surged around him, shimmering with protective magic. Yet, the storm remained relentless, forcing him down to one knee as it battered mercilessly against his shield.
Elbert loomed over him, a specter wrapped in darkness. "You bleed, you break, and here you will meet your end—alone," he taunted, his eyes glinting with sadistic eagerness.
Fitran, though battered and weary, clenched his jaw, feeling the sharp sting of pain—but he refused to yield. "Pain is merely a stepping stone, not the end of the journey," he replied, his voice steady, as resolute as steel in the face of despair.
"Spirit Explosion!" he shouted, channeling the anguished cries of the souls ensnared within the very essence of Elbert.
Within Elbert, souls erupted like dormant explosives, unleashing relentless waves of sorrow. Flames surged wildly, threatening to consume everything—the battlefield, Fitran himself, and even the fragile fabric of memory.
Yet, amid the blaze, Fitran stood tall, his laughter dark and resonant through the chaos. "You still don't understand the true nature of ruin," he remarked, his voice heavy with solemnity.
"Totem—Phoenix!" he intoned, summoning the ancient powers of renewal.
The flames whirled and curled around Fitran's form. While others might have crumbled in the heat, he soared forth like a living phoenix. His wounds healed in the blaze, the flames transforming into brilliant feathers that adorned his visage. He emerged anew, crowned in embers and propelled by an unyielding spirit.
Elbert recoiled, disbelief etched across his hollow features. "That cannot be," he gasped, his eyes widening with a flicker of trepidation. "Where is your Yttrium?"
Fitran locked eyes with him, a flicker of dry amusement igniting in his gaze. "Why would I lay bare my heart before the heartless?" he retorted, his voice laced with disdain.
Elbert hesitated, his next words stuck in his throat. The weight of his own darkness pressed down on him, and the uncertainty of Fitran's strength gnawed at his sanity.
Fitran moved closer, his voice a menacing whisper thick with foreboding. "Night Severance." The blade of Excalibur arced through the air, not slicing flesh but severing the very essence of light. Spells that had once been formidable faded away as if extinguished by an unseen wind. The threads of power that held Elbert's undead form began to fray, trembling under the weight of approaching despair.
"I will not let this end like this!" Elbert shouted, his voice trembling with desperation as he fought to cling to the threads of reality. But Fitran, resolute, pressed on: "Dusk Fang!" Shadows twisted around Elbert's feet, writhing and shifting like serpents, as fangs erupted, tearing at the void above where his spirit had remained dormant for so long. The dark blood spilled forth in a haunting dance, a testament to the madness consuming him.
Fitran's gaze pierced through Elbert, predatory and unwavering. "You see," he said, his tone almost reflective, "I don't just break bodies. I devastate souls, stripping them away until only despair remains."
In a soft voice, with the burden of his grim fate heavy in the air, Fitran spoke, "Tenebris Lumen—Eternal Dark Light." The incantation lingered ominously, as if the very fabric of reality trembled at his command.
Excalibur cried out defiantly, its voice merging with the tumult of shadows surrounding them. A flash of lightning—a tempest of darkness and brilliance—sliced through the air, illuminating the illusions that had ensnared them in this bleak realm. The ground shifted, transforming into a mirror that revealed each sin, every chilling truth. Elbert's remaining minions shriveled at the sight, reduced to merely shades of their former selves, whimpering in despair.
Then, from the depths of the gloom, a new voice cut through the silence: a woman's laughter, both enchanting and dreadful. "Ah, how delightful it is to find you once more, Fitran," it resonated as shadows converged, unveiling Beelzebub—her long hair trailing like tendrils of smoke, her gaze as deep and unfathomable as the abyss.
Fitran met Elbert's eyes, sorrow flickering within each of his words. "Can you grasp why I have allowed you to endure until now? It is not merely to witness your downfall, but to uncover the truth buried within you."
Elbert, panic gripping his heart, stammered out his trembling question, "What are you?" His face was a mask of terror, the fragility of his mind laid utterly bare.
As Beelzebub's shadowy arms enveloped Fitran, their darkness intertwined like serpents, he recoiled, a shiver racing down his spine against his will. "I am the nightmare you have brought into being, Elbert. You have forged the very chains of your own demise."
With a commanding tone, he proclaimed, "Devourer's Doctrine. Ultimate Skill—The Ninth Stomach." His voice echoed in the air, infused with an eerie power that felt as cold as ice against Elbert's skin.
"What is happening?" Elbert gasped, his eyes widening as the very fabric of reality above them began to shimmer and warp. "This isn't just sorcery—it's pure madness!"
Fitran's gaze remained steady. "Madness? Perhaps. Yet, it is the only truth that remains," he responded, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos around them. Nine sinister orbs emerged from the distortion, their forms twisting with a predatory hunger that clawed at the edges of Elbert's sanity.
The wailing souls of the departed rose, their anguished cries merging into a dissonant symphony of lost whispers. "Do you hear them, Elbert?" Fitran asked, subtly shifting as if inviting him into the swirling depths of despair. "Kings, traitors, children—forever tormented by the specters that pursue them."
The colors faded from the world, leaving behind a profound emptiness that devoured the dwindling remnants of light. "No!" Elbert shouted, stumbling backward as shadows curled around his legs, dragging him into their suffocating grasp. "I cannot... I refuse to let them take me!"
"You have already surrendered," Fitran said, his voice cold, observing the panic twisting Elbert's features. "When you chose to wield power, you invited its insatiable hunger."
As silence enveloped the room, the only sound that shattered the stillness was Elbert's ragged breathing, each gasp making him feel as if his very life was unraveling. Beelzebub's eternal gaze fixed on him, each look imbued with dread, as the summoning circle erupted in blinding light around them. From the depths of the abyss, a grotesque swarm of maggots and flies surged forward, ravenous and eager to devour.
"Do you really think this is the end?" Fitran's voice descended into a dark whisper, tinged with mockery. "Your essence will not be lost; it shall merge with something far greater."
Elbert's heart raced as he fought against the shadows closing in on him, squeezing with relentless force. "I refuse to be nothing more than a mere echo!" he shouted, desperation tainting his words. "I will break free!"
"Break free?" Fitran replied, a trace of pity creeping into his voice. "You do not understand the truth. You have already become the echo, merely a footnote etched in the tomes of despair."
The portal loomed before him, a yawning mouth of oblivion that consumed every hint of the struggle, every shard of secret and regret. "No! I will not let this be my fate!" Elbert roared, but the darkness snuffed out the last flicker of his resolve.
Fitran stood unmoving, his expression an unreadable mask as the shadows of Beelzebub coiled around him. "Covenant of Filth." There was no hint of triumph in his voice; it was a grim acknowledgment of the inescapable—a lament for any shred of hope.
All that remained was Fitran, weighed down by the oppressive darkness that enveloped him, while a single flicker of light stubbornly refused to fade, standing defiantly against the encroaching void.