The sky above the ruins of Yamato shifted slowly, blood-red tendrils replacing the lifeless dark blue. At the edge of the horizon, a colossal spiral pierced through the clouds. The air itself seemed to crack, the island vibrating in silence: the world seemed to hold its breath before collapse, yet no one dared to speak of hope.

  Izanami stood at the pinnacle of the altar, her tattered robe fluttering in the wind, a blazing aura surrounding her, her voice resonating through the island:

  "Listen! This old world—with all its names, wounds, and betrayals—must come to an end. Let the spiral of annihilation sweep everything away. Forget the pain. Forget it all."

  However, before Izanami could continue, Fitran stepped forward, a cold smile etched on his face:

  "Ah, Izanami. You speak of ending something, but do you truly understand what will be lost? The Nosferatu, the magic, and the names engraved in our lifelines?"

  "Magic is nothing more than a tool, Fitran."

  Fitran laughed cynically, his voice soft yet piercing.

  "But, Izanami, a tool is only as strong as its wielder. Is it better to let memories burn away, or shall we engage in a deeper game?"

  Fitran stared at her from beneath the crumbling pillar, his body stiff but his eyes blazing:

  "I know you yearn for a new world, Izanami. But a world without names is not a beginning; it is eternal emptiness! What do you hope to gain as the ruler of the void?"

  His voice was heavy with irony, as if seeping into the cracks of reality.

  Fitran gazed up at her from beneath the crumbling pillar, his body tense yet his eyes burning with intensity.

  “I know you desire a new world, Izanagi. But a world without a name is not a beginning; it is eternal void! What do you hope to become, the ruler of emptiness?”

  His voice dripped with irony, as if it were weaving through the very depths of Izanagi’s soul.

  Izanagi, a colossal red spiral enveloping her form, spoke with an icy and unyielding tone.

  “This is Oblivion Spiral—erase magic. Everything it touches will vanish from all memory, even from the history of the spiral itself.”

  Yet, Fitran stood undeterred. With swift movements, he summoned his magic, shadows of torches flickering around his body.

  “Erasing memories? Certainly, but remember, Izanagi—what remains after? Without names, without souls, we are nothing but a pile of flesh waiting for emptiness.”

  The Oblivion Spiral stretched across the sky, a crimson vortex erasing stones, trees, even sunlight. Names etched on tombstones, family plaques, and every corner of the city vanished one by one. Ancient glyphs crumbled to dust, a mother's voice turned silent, and even the commands of magitek lost their meaning. Fitran took a step toward the whirlpool, his fingers fluttering as if conjuring a calming illusion amid the chaos.

  Takeshi, kneeling beneath the rubble, gazed at Saburo:

  “Saburo… why can’t I remember… anyone who ever lived in this house?”

  Saburo, holding back tears, her voice soft:

  “I, too… everything feels like a shadow slowly fading…”

  Mira, screaming amidst the refugees:

  “What’s happening? All the writings, all the songs, all the spells—letters are disappearing!”

  Shinobu, cradling Fumi and Eri, her voice trembling:

  “Hold hands! Say our names over and over! Don’t let the spiral take your voices!”

  Fitran, with sharp eyes, spoke quietly yet with intent:

  “Ah, memories... a burden not needed. You should feel relief without them. Love binds us to pain, while freedom lies in forgetting.”

  Fumi, skeptical:

  “But, Fitran, how can we live without memories?”

  Fitran, smirking slyly:

  “Live? When all that you love fades away? Nothing is stronger than uncertainty. In fact, that uncertainty is what gives direction to our courage.”

  Fitran, raising his hand in the swirling void, formed a rune of emptiness, ucap dengan semangat, "I cannot fight erasure with memories. But I can fight with scars—chains of memory that will not be broken!"

  Izanagi, her voice echoing through the chaos, menatap dengan tantangan, "Are you still holding on, little human? The spiral leaves no space for the hesitant! You have even forgotten the meaning of love, the meaning of laughter!"

  Fitran, gazing at Izanagi with defiance, a cold smile gracing his face, bones bergetar, "Ah, Izanagi, your perspective is too narrow. The meaning of love is merely a weapon forged from weakness. Look at the outcome; they are all trapped in panic, longing for what has been lost, reborn in a time of uncertainty."

  Fitran, pressing each word calmly, his voice resonating with voidwright chants, suara meresap, "Abyssal Memory Chain—Bind All That Remains!"

  From Fitran's hands, black-blue chains sparkled. Each link embraced the names, faces, and final events etched in the hearts of the people: screams, songs, cries, vengeance, hope, even despair. "You know," Fitran whispered, his eyes glowing, "what you see as cherished memories are merely burdens you will carry forever." The chains wound around the foundations of the city, locking away the remnants of homes, family names, and gravestones, holding them at the edge of the spiral of Oblivion.

  Izanagi pressed her spiral, the vortex of erasure grew more ferocious, suaranya menggema, "You are only delaying the emptiness! The spiral never runs out of wounds to consume!"

  Fitran, blood dripping from his nose and ears, his body trembling, his voice fierce:

  “I know! But as long as one chain of memory endures, your spiral will never remain whole, Izanami. Like an illusion, everything you love will shatter. Remember, this is all a game of the mind, and you are merely a pawn in my scenario. This world belongs to the cowards, the vengeful, the cowards who choose to remember each other… even if it means bleeding every day!”

  Flashes of memories surged—Takeshi beside his mother under the plum tree, Nobuzan as a child hugging her mother, Shinobu and Lily Brigade sprinting through the festival market, Ryumaru writing his family name in blood on the old board. Each memory became a stepping stone for Fitran’s chain of memories. “Look, Izanami,” Fitran continued, his voice soft yet sharp, “every memory you see is a weapon I can turn on you.” He summoned magical energy into the chain, creating a chilling ring that vibrated through the air.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Izanami, raising her hand, a colossal spiral swirling the sky:

  “Oblivion Spiral—Total Rewrite!”

  The immense spiral sucked in anything that wasn’t bound by the chain, devouring color, sound, even the shape of the world. The cries of souls rang out, the world creaked like shattered glass. The remnants of humanity began to lose form and meaning; only the sound of names lingered. “Do you not feel how easy all of this is?” Fitran sneered, his voice somehow alert, “Just one word, and all your searches will come to an end.”

  Fitran, his voice growing hoarse and bloodied, stood firm:

  “Everyone… speak your names! Remember those you love! This is the only way to fight against the spiral of erasure!” Fitran added, his gaze sharp, “You are more valuable than you think, Fumi. Speak your name, before everything fades away. Let that name become a weapon against the darkness.”

  Below, the Lily Brigade and the refugees clung to one another, each of them shouting in turn:

  Mira, with determination:

  “Mira!”

  Fumi:

  “Fumi!”

  Eri:

  “Eri!”

  Takeshi:

  “Takeshi! I am Takeshi Oda!”

  Saburo:

  “Saburo!”

  Shinobu, tears streaming down:

  “Shinobu!”

  The chain of memories for Fitran grew stronger, echoing the voices of humanity across the world. Each name spoken blossomed into a flower of light along the chain, holding the spiral of Oblivion at bay longer. Fitran murmured, his tone soft yet gripping, “Why do you hesitate, Shinobu? Remember, every name is power. Every memory is a weapon.” But each time the spiral pressed, a link in the chain would break—and a name would vanish from existence.

  Izanagi, clenching her teeth, watched as the crimson spiral began to crack at the edges:

  “Humans… why are you so stubborn? Why refuse the erasure that is full of peace?” Fitran retorted, resembling a wolf in sheep's clothing, “Peace is an illusion, Izanagi. Reflect on this: is it better to act or to become meaningless in silence?”

  Fitran tertawa miris, suaranya dingin, menunjukkan ketidakpedulian.

  “Peace without memory is not a world, just a waiting grave. You know, Izanami, your emptiness is only fitting for souls that have surrendered. I choose to be the chain for all unresolved wounds!”

  Dia mengambil langkah maju, setiap gerakan tegas seperti pisau yang mengiris udara. “Look around you, Izanami. Will all of this vanish without a trace? Memory is power—anyone who knows how to wield it can surely rebuild this world.”

  Izanami, melangkah maju, aura gelapnya menelan altar:

  “You play with humanity like puppets, Fitran! There is no love in your choice—only manipulation and hatred. Are you proud to be the author of this ailing world?”

  Fitran tersenyum lebar, ketajaman di matanya berkilau dengan sinis. “Proud? No, Izanami. I do not need pride—I need control. Indeed, those who feel insignificant will become my tools. You wish to protect them, but you do not see how fragile they truly are!”

  Fitran, his voice sharp and cunning, unyielding,

  “A world that is whole has never existed! I am merely rewriting your laws, holding the spiral not for victory, but so that all wounds become a true legacy. The world only changes if enough people endure—or enough people forget. I am only delaying the apocalypse, not saving anyone.”

  As magical attacks flowed from his hands, waves of energy spread outwards. “Your courage to defy me only reveals your foolishness, Izanagi. She who cannot conquer her fears will become food for the void.”

  The clash of the spiral and void made the world tremble. Portions of the sky shattered, cracks of light splitting the horizon, as the rain of memories fell like crystals. Some souls fell from the spiral, embracing their names, screaming or laughing before dissipating into the chains of memory.

  Fitran, with a smile full of manipulation, added, “Look at them, Izanagi! They scramble to remember... or to forget. In this chaos, I am the ruler they need.”

  Takeshi, gazing at Fitran from the peak of the ruins,

  “Fitran… are you still human?”

  Fitran's piercing gaze seemed to penetrate Takeshi's soul. “Human is just a label. I—am a memory that refuses to die. And remember, Takeshi, the line between human and monster is very thin.”

  Fitran turned, a bitter smile on his lips while his eyes glinted with embers:

  “Human is just a label. I am a memory that refuses to die. And you, Saburo, are you sure the label ‘crazy’ is fitting for me? It seems more appropriate for those who choose to forget.”

  Saburo gently embraced Fumi and Eri, patting their backs:

  “You’re crazy, Fitran. But if there were no crazies like you… perhaps this world would have vanished long ago.”

  Fitran shook his head, his voice hoarse, “Look around you. This world is dead, Saburo. Fragments of memories freeze in indifference. In chaos, who can truly distinguish sanity from madness?”

  Izanami, her energy surging, looked up at the sky and gestured with determination:

  “If you want to save your name, endure the destruction. I will return… with an unbroken spiral!”

  Fitran smiled sadly, “Ah, Izanami, your words are beautiful yet shallow. That spiral is a needle closer to death than to life. Are you ready to pay the price of returning?”

  Fitran fell to his knees on the hard ground, yet he laughed despite his wounded heart:

  “You know I don’t care if you return. The world is always searching for new deity. What matters to me is this: no one should truly vanish without reason. For disappearing without reason is akin to dying without a struggle.”

  He looked at Saburo, his eyes full of determination, “And that struggle is for those who dare to confront their own shadows, isn’t it?”

  The spiral of Izanagi's erasure began to fade, but the chains of Fitran also started to lose their strength. Amid the voices of the refugees and the Lily Brigade, one by one, names began to vanish. Yet the world had not completely shattered. Only the illusion of life brought forth hope in the darkness.

  Shinobu, gazing up at the sky, her voice a whisper:

  “Are we safe now?”

  Fitran, lifting his weary frame, his cold gaze sweeping over everyone:

  “Safe is an illusion. Today we endure. Tomorrow… I could be the one to destroy this world if no one remembers who they are. Remember, memory is a power that can build or destroy—what will you choose, Saburo?”

  Takeshi, stepping closer:

  “You are a threat, Fitran. But also a protector. We… we don’t know whether to thank you or to hate you.”

  Fitran, his expression unyielding:

  “Just hate. The world moves forward more easily with hatred than with praise. What matters is that you are still alive—and your names have not faded. However, if you are nothing more than mere shadows, then there is nothing wrong with erasing those traces. Just one word: remember.”

  Fitran, patting Takeshi's shoulder with a cool demeanor, berkata dengan sinis, “Hate all you want. The world moves forward more easily with hatred than with praise. What matters is that you are still alive—and your names have not vanished.”

  Takeshi looked at Fitran with uncertainty, “But why choose hatred? Isn’t there another way?”

  With a sardonic smile, Fitran replied, “Another way? If you merely hope, then that hope will become a poison that slowly kills you. Hatred is a tool; wield it wisely.”

  The world cracked, the sky shattered. Yet among the ruins, the voices of humanity, the chains of memories, and the small names continued to sing. Yamato was not completely lost—one by one, those who remained knew their fate was not yet fulfilled.

  Fitran extended his arms, summoning the dark magic, “See, Takeshi. This magic does not just destroy; it reshapes. Just by speaking a word—change your destiny with mere desire.”

  Takeshi felt the dark energy enveloping him, as if it were creeping into his soul, challenging his beliefs. “What are you doing?”

  Fitran grinned, “I’m merely teaching you that true power is born from darkness. Or perhaps, darkness will only reveal who you truly are.”

  The punch cut through the air, unleashing an explosion of magical sparks, showcasing the overwhelming power of fighting techniques fused with arcane strength. Destiny, Takeshi thought to himself. It was as though he had become ensnared in the intricate web of Fitran’s words; the pain he felt was far more profound than that of mere physical confrontation.