The stairs leading to the Room of Initial Termination are not made of metal like the other parts of Narthrador. These stairs are formed from solid memories—fragments of spells, symbols of will, even shards of unfinished sounds. Each step feels like walking on untold stories. Whispers surround them, not to disturb, but... to convey things that even the system could never conclude.
In the depths of the corridor, only two figures move.
Fitran. And Beelzebub.
But Beelzebub... feels much quieter than usual. Her body, which usually moves with arrogance, now slightly slouches. The gaze in her eyes—usually burning with arrogance or hunger—now dims, as if she bears something that is not hers. It's as if a heavy shadow clings to her shoulders, pulling her into darkness.
And as the stairs end at the dark room's courtyard, Beelzebub stops. Her heart races, as if each beat awaits an answer to an unspoken question. She takes a deep breath, struggling against the anxiety that creeps into her soul.
Fitran steps a few meters ahead before realizing his companion is not following. He turns, sensing the helplessness that begins to infect the space between them.
He turns back. "What's wrong?"
Beelzebub stands rigid. Then, slowly, she opens her mouth: Fear and hope swirl within her chest, creating a storm that is hard to calm.
"…Before we go any further… there's one thing you need to know."
Fitran is silent. His gaze hardens slightly, but he does not speak. He allows Beelzebub to take her time, feeling the tension build as if it becomes increasingly difficult for them to rise from the darkness that colors this moment.
Beelzebub looks down. For the first time in her life, she does not know how to speak.
"In the Gödelian Labyrinth... I'm not just with you to help you out. I... I hold something that I shouldn't have."
Fitran squints. "What do you mean?"
Beelzebub looks down. For the first time in her life, she does not know how to speak. Her mind spins, trapped in the complexity of words that feel like shackles around her neck. A fear overwhelms her, a fear of what will happen if she reveals that painful truth.
"In the Gödelian Labyrinth... I'm not just with you to help you out. I... I hold something that I shouldn't have." Beelzebub's voice trembles, as if the world around her weighs heavily on her chest. She feels her heartbeat quickening, as if trying to escape from this painful reality.
Fitran squints. "What do you mean?" The question slips from his lips, uncertainty reflected in his gaze. He feels there is something urgent to be revealed, a truth that might shake him to his core.
Beelzebub raises her hand—and slowly, she presses a spot beneath her ribcage, an action that feels incredibly heavy. One of her stomachs—Stomach Four—opens. A soft purple light spills out from within, forming a small spiral pattern... that slowly transforms into a fragment of a soul—a form of light, almost like a flower petal that has not fully bloomed. Beelzebub feels a piercing pain as she reveals the most vulnerable part of herself.
And from within the light, a faint voice is heard. The voice... Rinoa. A voice that should bring beautiful memories, but now feels like a thorn piercing her soul.
"…Fitran… I can't… stay here…" Rinoa's voice trembles in the air, like a melody separated by an unbearable distance.
"…but if there's one part of me that you want… I give it to you…" Her words sound so soft yet filled with uncertainty, as if touching Fitran's heart with a warmth that burns.
Fitran is silent. His eyes freeze. In his silence, he feels the entire world collapse. The whisper of the wind seems to bring relief and sadness at once, creating a wave of emotions that floods his mind.
"How—?" his voice breaks, sounding like glass shattering, a thousand shards of hope surrounding him. His courage collides with a deep fragility.
Beelzebub bows deeply, her body trembling. Guilt and resignation envelop her, like dark clouds that refuse to dissipate. She knows the consequences of the step she has taken, but the fear of loss buries the pride she once held.
"I... stole it," she says. "Or maybe… I saved it. When the Gödelian system rejected you, and swallowed all meaning about Rinoa… I swallowed it first. Before the system could erase it." She expresses each word heavily, as if lifting the weight of the world from her shoulders.
"Why?" The question slips out in desperation, as if inviting Beelzebub to reveal everything that has been buried in her heart.
Beelzebub lifts her face. This time, there is no arrogance, only emotional nakedness. In her gaze, a battle intertwines between hope and fear, between the desire to protect and the unavoidable guilt. Uncontrollable tears threaten to fall, marking how fragile she is in this moment.
"Because I knew… one day, you would reach this point. And... I wanted to have a reason to stay with you. I wanted... to carry a part of her, so I would have a reason to walk with you. So I wouldn't be completely... alone."
Fitran stares at her, his soul feeling tossed in a sea of doubt. He senses the tension between them, like an electric current tingling against his skin. Every word Beelzebub utters flows like water forming an unexpected pattern on the surface of a mirror. He feels his heart racing, recalling all the memories wrapped in pain and hope.
And for the first time since this journey began, he is angry.
But not because of Beelzebub's lies. No, the anger arises from the depths of his heart, surging like a volcano ready to erupt. He feels trapped in the labyrinth, with no way out of the sorrow that wraps around him like a dark shadow.
Rather, it is because he feels pain.
Pain... because someone he never thought would care, actually harbors such deep love, but wraps it in evil and lies. As if every confession erodes his trust, draining the sense of security he once had.
"If that's a part of Rinoa…" Fitran's voice is soft, "...why didn't you give it to me from the start?"
The voice sounds like a ghostly whisper in the middle of the night, hope and despair united in a melancholic tone. He bites his lip, feeling the bitterness of tears welling up, struggling not to fall into the deep abyss of sorrow.
Beelzebub closes her eyes. "Because if I gave it to you… I wouldn't be me anymore."
Silence. As if time slows down, the vibrations of tension strike the heart like the flow of unspoken words, binding them both in the shackles of feeling. Every second feels suffocating, bringing them to a deep abyss of awareness.
The light from Rinoa's soul fragment begins to tremble.
It is unstable. It can only endure... as long as Beelzebub keeps it in a form that cannot be classified. However, she clearly envisions the risk when that fragment is transferred. But if transferred—to Fitran's hands, to a place outside that chaotic stomach—it will change.
It might shatter. The shadows of light fragments merging and separating repeatedly dance in her mind. Every glimmer that reflects carries forbidden memories and hopes.
Or... it might become the key. The key to freeing something trapped in darkness, or perhaps becoming hope in a dark night.
"You have a choice," Beelzebub says softly, her tone having a depth like an ocean that can never be measured. "Take this now... and I will change. I may no longer be Beelzebub. I may... become something that cannot even speak." Her words hang in the air, evoking fear and longing that burn in Fitran's heart.
Fitran steps slowly, his feet wanting to launch him back to the past, but his heart holds him back.
He gazes at the light. The light that reflects both hope and fear. He feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears, doubt enveloping every decision he is about to make, as if everything spins between desire and sacrifice.
And he asks, like a child to his father:
"…You know, right? That I love her. But I also don't want to lose you."
Beelzebub nods. "And that's the most painful thing of all. Because I love you too."
Fitran extends his hand, his fingers trembling as if taking a deep breath before facing the coming storm. The voice of his heart whispers, his inner self battles between longing and fear. Is this love enough to dispel the dark shadows lurking?
But before he touches that light, Beelzebub says one last sentence, her voice deep and trembling like the sound of a bell breaking the silence:
"If I change… remember me, not as a demon... but as someone who finally knows how to love."
Fitran closes his eyes, as if the world around him disappears in the fragility of his heartbeat. Hope and fear intertwine within him, embracing him tightly. Can he remember Beelzebub without the shadow of a demon behind this deep love?
And touch that light.
A small voice explodes. The air trembles, as if nature feels the tension of that moment. Fitran feels the burden lift, mixed with a deep heartache, as if the world around him collapses.
The fragment of Rinoa's soul shifts into Fitran's palm—and at that moment, Beelzebub falls to her knees.
Her body begins to change, every bone and muscle flowing in a rhythm she does not recognize. Her face pales, the light in her eyes dims, but at the same time, there is an unexpressed relief. In the sincerity of love, she finds the lost peace.
Her face fractures, her wings retract, the voices within her stomachs cease. She loses her form. Her eyes—which always shone greedily—now become empty. But before everything fades, she smiles.
A sincere smile. The last smile. In her smile, there is a deep sadness, as if she holds all the memories of life in a faint beam of light shining on her lips.
"Thank you... for making me fail."
And she falls. Loneliness wraps around her like a cold blanket, creating an empty space around her, a place where hope and sorrow collide.
Her body remains, but... her soul is no longer Beelzebub. The remnants of her power evaporate into the air, like morning dew swallowed by the heat of the sun, leaving only a shadow of what once was.
Fitran stands still. In the silence, he feels the weight in his chest, gripping it as if demanding his presence.
His hand clutches the soft light that now trembles weakly. Within it, Rinoa's voice sounds softly:
"…Why... why do you keep coming... even when I'm gone?"
Fitran sheds tears. Those tears are remnants of pain and longing, creating a small river atop the shadows that once existed.
And he answers, in a whisper that can only be heard by the shattered will:
"Because I never loved you... as a part. I loved you... as a wound that doesn't