The sky above Yamato now cracks like a mirror thrown from an immeasurable height. The pillars of heaven, a network of glyphs and remnants of reality, tremble. Below, the altar of the upper world turns into nameless ruins—remnants of past glory that are now just shadows.

  Fitran stands at the pinnacle of the world tower, an aura of void swirling around his body, his eyes cold. “Nothing is eternal in this world,” he says, his voice flat and calculated, “not even heaven, if its foundation is built on sins and false names.” He watches Izanami, a sly smile appearing. “Do you think heaven is a refuge? Just an illusion, a performance that hides the emptiness.”

  “Voidwright's magic creeps through the cracks in the sky,” he says, marking the dark blue patterns that dance. “Merging with the pillars of heaven, sucking the remnants of the old world’s energy; look, the arrogance of heaven begins to crumble. Agility in transforming grandeur into emptiness.” He chuckles softly, “Do you see, Izanami? This is not the end; it is the beginning of something more… interesting.”

  Izanami stands beneath the tower, her voice trembling, “Fitran… do you really want to erase heaven? To vanish from history itself?”

  Fitran looks down with a sly smile, “Izanami, all this time you have considered heaven as hope. But for me, it is a trap—a cage that holds the world from changing. Don’t you feel that hope is often a disguise for fear?”

  Izanami steps closer, tears streaming down her cheeks, “What will you give for a world that has lost all its foundations?”

  “Everything,” Fitran replies calmly, “I will sacrifice the illusion to build the truth. And for that, this emptiness must be filled with what you call 'sorrow.' I will not save it; I will free it.”

  Fitran touches the cracked altar, his voice flat, “A new world must be built from scratch—without memories. Without chains of sin. Without false myths. What remains is only the will strong enough to survive the longest night.” He pauses, observing Izanami's reaction. “Do you understand, Izanami? Emptiness is the beginning of power.”

  The pillars of heaven begin to shatter, their rumbling sound deafening the soul. Spiral monsters break free from the upper limits of the world, diving into the ruins like a rain of souls—“They are nothing more than shadows,” Fitran notes sharply. “Darkness is a blank slate; true power awaits within it.” He takes a deep breath, giving a cold smile, “Remember, Izanami, those trapped in the light will only burn themselves.”

  Izanami screams, “You will kill all hope! Even the strongest souls will not survive in the midst of emptiness!”

  Fitran bows his head, calculations in his gaze, “Hope is the currency of the old world. In my new world, only logic, strength, and the courage to erase the past will be the capital.” He adds mockingly, “Do you really think hope can change fate? When darkness embraces you, what do you have besides sorrow?”

  Voidwright, with every movement, is like a predator, demanding. The blue glyphs shatter the gates of heaven—heavenly light is absorbed, reducing it to mere thick smoke. The cries of angels and deities who have lost their footing are embraced in darkness.

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  Fitran steps to the edge of the tower, cold, “One by one, I have torn apart the old world. Yamato now stands at the threshold, between emptiness and rebirth.” “Farewell to the old,” he adds with a bittersweet smile. Izanami falls, her tears flowing, “What is the use of birth if what is born is only eternal emptiness?”

  “Exactly,” Fitran replies, narrowing his eyes, logically, “Emptiness does not mean void. Emptiness is a canvas.” He continues, “You can rewrite meaning if you dare to let go of all false memories.”

  Below, the people of Yamato kneel, thousands of souls losing the light in their eyes. Some crawl among the ruins, moaning as they scrape for remnants of hope in a world that has lost its own name. They do not know that the resurrection is a mere illusion; hope that Fitran uses as a tool.

  Fitran closes his eyes, measuring the remaining energy, “Voidwright: Paradise Collapse.” The rumbling voice feels like a tremor, and he can sense fear penetrating the darkness. “Do you see?” he says to Izanami, “This world will collapse, and among the ruins, I will find power.”

  The main glyph on the pillars of heaven cracks, causing a magical shockwave. Fitran observes the ruins beginning to float, watching the sky slowly collapse, and the walls between the upper and lower worlds crumble—turning Yamato into just a floating island in a sea of emptiness. With a cold gaze, he declares, “Every fall gives new life.”

  Izanami screams, “Stop! If heaven collapses, we are nothing more than dust of history!” Fitran scoffs, “Dust that flies, Izanami. History may disappear, but not without leaving a meaningful trace.”

  Fitran grins, his voice flowing slyly, “Dust builds new stars. Only those who do not understand reality believe eternity lies at the peak, not in will. We position ourselves in this emptiness.”

  “And here, in this emptiness, we are the unseen rulers,” he adds challengingly, observing Izanami's reaction with a penetrating gaze. The spiral of souls flies in all directions. In the midst of destruction, Fitran activates a mental technique: Brainwork Annihilation. “Logic is the sharpest weapon, and I will hone it until it falls,” he says while closing his eyes, calculating new paths among the ruins—a chess game among debris and the wails of angels.

  Fitran leans on the void staff, his voice sly, “Look, Izanami. Once all meaning is burned, what remains is only the desire to survive. Here, the magical natural selection begins.” “Do you think that can save you?” he adds, a half-mocking smile dancing on his lips. Izanami shivers, wiping her tears, “You are more wicked than any deity I have ever met.”

  “Wicked is merely a label for those who lose negotiations with fate,” Fitran replies, folding his arms, genius-like, “I don’t need labels—I need results. Only results matter in this world.”

  At the edge of the sky, the last light of heaven finally fades. Yamato sinks into eternal semi-darkness, adrift between worlds and emptiness. There is no sound except the breath of monsters and humans who now have no map or purpose.

  Fitran gazes at the ruins, analytical, “Paradise is finished. The old world has vanished. A new world must be built. But,” he pauses, scanning the dust-filled sky, “who dares to start from emptiness? As the saying goes, ‘Only those who dare to get lost can find a new path.’”

  Izanami looks at him with hatred and despair, “And what will you build, Fitran, on all this death?”

  Fitran stares blankly into the abyss below, “I will build whatever is necessary so that I am never remembered as a hero—but as a monster who teaches the world the meaning of true loss. It is not about building, Izanami. It is about creating an unforgettable fear.”

  The ruins of the upper world are utterly destroyed. Yamato now stands at the threshold, waiting to see whether will or despair will write the new history first. Fitran stands at the pinnacle of emptiness, genius and alone, ready to devise a new strategy for a world that has never existed before. “This world is a chessboard, and I am a player who is not afraid to sacrifice pieces to achieve victory. The appetizer of this emptiness will only make the final dish more valuable.”