The tallest tower of Yamato, the last symbol of the old world, challenges the torn sky. Spiral rain falls heavily—clear droplets carrying names, memories, even human dreams to the depths of forgetfulness. At its peak, Fitran stands alone. Tattered robe, void runes burning in the air, his eyes gaze into the void with the resolve of one who refuses to die as a hero.

  From the black spiral vortex in the sky, Izanagi descends slowly, her body absorbing the flashes of lightning. On her back, a red spiral hisses, in her right hand, Genesis Katana—a sword capable of slicing through concepts and history.

  Izanagi, her face half-human half-shadow, her voice echoes amidst the roar of thunder

  Fitran Fate! This is it. The world must be cleansed of wounds, names, and history. Accept the emptiness, and let the spiral rewrite everything.

  Fitran, raising his right hand, the void rune glowing dark blue, his gaze defiant

  You don’t understand, Izanagi! The world is not about new beginnings, but about those who choose to endure amidst the wounds. As long as one name is still remembered, your spiral will never win! And knowing all this, don’t you feel trapped in a game I’ve set up?

  Within his heart, Fitran feels a quiet laugh. Get ready, deity who thinks she is perfect. I will show you that nothing is eternal in this world, including your name.

  The wind howled, spiral rain fell like needles, dancing around the tower. Izanagi swung the Genesis Katana, a horizontal slash splitting the air—red lines cleaved the tower's peak, space and time vibrating under the wrath of the deity spiral. Fitran gazed at the slash coldly, not feeling threatened.

  Fitran stepped forward, his voice laced with a challenging tone, "Do you fail to comprehend my power? One wrong move, and this feather will turn into your gravestone." He advanced, the void rune dimming into darkness, gathering in his hands as if awaiting a command. "Forever to be meaningless. Let’s show who is stronger!"

  Izanagi smiled bitterly, her voice like thunder

  “Genesis Katana—Rewrite!”

  Waves of energy stretched out, striking Fitran as if wanting to swallow his entire existence. However, Fitran deflected with his right hand, the void rune forming a black fire shield that burned the concept of eradication.

  Fitran, smirking, his eyes glinting slyly, "Do you think this will stop me? This is just the beginning."

  Fitran, in a low voice, whispered a spell, "Nullfire Ascension."

  Fitran shot into the air, his body transforming into a silhouette of blue-black fire. He pierced through the spiral rain—every drop that tried to erase him burned into black smoke. A glowing void trail followed behind him, like the discarded wings of an angel thrown into the underworld.

  Izanagi, swinging the Genesis Katana down, the voice breaking the sky, "No fire is eternal! The world must return to its original spiral!"

  Fitran, nullfire gathering in both palms, bracing against the spiral wind, "As long as the world can still dream, I will endure! You are just a Deity trapped in an illusion!"

  Fitran, throwing a nullfire ball toward Izanagi, his eyes cold, "Ascension Burst!"

  Void fire and the slash of the Genesis Katana collided, a blue-red explosion splitting the sky. Names that had once been erased echoed—voices of infants, mothers, heroes, traitors—filling the storm's vortex.

  Izanagi, dancing in the air, the Genesis Katana slicing through reality, "You are just human! Your names are merely dust in the spiral wind!"

  Fitran, his body spinning, nullfire swirling around him to become black armor

  “Better to be dust that is remembered than a deity that is forgotten! And remember, this sky will write my name, not yours!”

  A brutal battle. Each slash from Izanagi rewrites a part of the world—stone becomes water, time rewinds, the memories of people vanish in an instant, the sky changes color. But Fitran's nullfire burns away every erasure, forcing reality to remain despite its tattered state. “Do you think you can change everything just with that foolish power? All of this, it’s just a hollow illusion!” Izanagi feels pushed, realizing Fitran's words become increasingly lethal.

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  Izanagi, pressing hard, Genesis Katana dances sharply

  “The world needs no more witnesses or regrets, Fitran. Spiral is the beginning and the end!”

  Fitran, holding a wound on his shoulder, his eyes blazing with hatred

  “Beginning and end? You think of yourself as more than just a painter scratching on the canvas of history. With that drunken title, you write your name in dust!”

  Genesis Katana cleaves straight into Fitran’s chest. Blood of void flows—but Fitran endures, void runes encircling his body, locking Izanagi's spiral energy. “Destroying me will only make me more real, Izanagi. Death is a small step towards the evolution you know.”

  Fitran, his voice low, his lips stained with blood

  “I have long stopped believing in immortality. I only believe that the wounds remembered are stronger than the emptiness you offer.”

  Izanagi, panting, Genesis Katana trembling, “In the name of the spiral, I will end this world!”

  Fitran, glaring sharply, arms crossed over his chest, “Nullfire—Heaven’s Rejection. When all of this is over, you will be remembered as a failure.”

  The nullfire formed a gigantic circle, holding back the attack of Genesis Katana. The spiral rain suddenly reversed direction, dancing around them, creating a blue-red aurora in the cracked sky. “Look, what you attempt to create will only become a shadow. Even the deities watch your emptiness!”

  Quick dialogue in the air—two kings of different worlds, pointing fingers at fate: Izanagi, teeth clenched, her voice cracking “What are you without a world to be remembered?”

  Fitran, his voice cold and sharp, “I am the witness. The writer of this world, and I choose to remember... or erase it. That is enough to keep the world real.”

  The tower gradually collapsed, stones lifting into the air, the battle continued in the open wind. The spiral vortex and void light created a tension-filled battlefield. Genesis Katana began to shatter, nullfire burning half of Izanagi's body, but Fitran stepped forward, a thin smile curling on his lips, his eyes gleaming wickedly—the void magic gnawing at his existence.

  Izanami, half-screaming, half-crying, her body swayed, "If I lose, this world will be filled with wounds that never heal!"

  Fitran, his laughter disturbing the silence, "Wounds? Ah, naive Izanami. Wounds are a sign of life, and I will carve a new history upon them—with your blood."

  Fitran's body began to turn transparent, the nullfire in his hand blazing wildly, creating an illusion of death in every corner. Izanami's Genesis Katana cracked, red spiral flashes scattering throughout Yamato. The voices below—survivors, Kaoru, Saburo, Daichi, the refugees—called a single name, their voices holding the world on the brink of destruction.

  Kaoru, beneath the rubble, yelled through the spiral rain, "Fitran! You must win! This world is not over yet!"

  Fitran displayed his cynical smile, the aroma of panic spreading. Fitran, laughing mockingly, "Win? Oh, Kaoru, what you call victory is merely an illusion. And I am the director of all this destruction."

  Saburo, striking the ground, his voice hoarse. Saburo, shouting, "Your name will be remembered! You will not vanish so easily!"

  Fitran, laughing with derision. Fitran, sneering, "Remember? Diminish your hopes, Saburo. Every second you spend searching for my name only adds to your suffering."

  Daichi, clutching the remnants of the glyph, gazing at the sky. Daichi, pleading, "Fitran! Don’t let the spiral take everything!"

  Fitran glanced with a cynical look, adding calmly. Fitran, with indifference, "What you call the spiral is an opportunity to give birth to a better world. I am simply erasing the weak."

  Izanagi swung the Genesis Katana one last time, slicing Fitran straight through the heart. But Fitran's nullfire erupted, engulfing the sword and the deity of the spiral simultaneously. The world trembled violently—the sky was on the brink of collapse, the last tower shattered. "You are bold to face me, Izanagi," Fitran said, his voice calm despite being at the edge of the void. "But this only prolongs the inevitable. Everything you do is in vain."

  Fitran, his final voice, whispered, half a bitter laugh. Fitran, with a chilling finality, "Your spiral is over, Izanagi. But the wounds of the world remain..." "Wounds that you have now created for yourself," he added, his eyes glowing fiercely, challenging. “And no one will remember you after all of this.”

  In the final explosion of blue-red light, the spiral rain stopped. The Genesis Katana turned to ash. Izanagi's body shattered into fragments of name and memory, vanishing into the sky that gradually fell silent. Fitran said, "This pain is pleasure. Every lost piece benefits me."

  Under the tower, the last remaining sound was a single name spoken a thousand times—Fitran. A name that endured, holding the world from fully collapsing. Fitran snorted, "Let the world kneel before me. I am the strongest; even the enemy before me is merely a tool." And in the new sky of Yamato, wounds still existed—but humanity continued to write their names, one by one.

  Amidst the rubble of the tower, Fitran stood alone, his body half-human, half-shadow, but his eyes remained cold, filled with the world's fire that refused to be forgotten. He whispered, "The spiral has shattered, and I will strangle every hope until it dies." The darkness of the world had not truly ended—because there was always someone rewriting the wounds, and there were always new monsters waiting behind the names spoken by humanity. Fitran added, "Prepare yourselves; the darkness will haunt the weak."