The Third Symphony still resonates beneath the skin of the world, a melody that cannot be ignored. The Fifth Stomach Ritual of Beelzebub has opened the gateway to something that can no longer be returned:
Memories of Rinoa. Not just a series of structures, but a real figure that touches the soul.
In these tense moments, the Deus system, which has long hidden feelings to maintain stability, begins to falter.
In the midst of the battle between fear and hope that reigns, there seems to be a shadow dancing at the edge of consciousness—a faint reminder of what has been lost, and perhaps can return.
Because Rinoa is not just a variable—she is a gap in perfection.
With every passing second, the damage within the structure of the world is increasingly felt, as if the cracks are calling the souls trapped in the shadows of history, tempting them to reunite with the light that has long been extinguished and hidden.
And the system can no longer tolerate the gap.
Emergency Trigger: Awakening Partial Godform
When the architecture of meaning in Deus is fatally disrupted, the system calls back the original form of Deus Ex Machina—not an absolute version, but a semi-conscious manifestation, made of fragments of logic and emotions that are still suspended, waiting to be restructured.
In the midst of this chaos, internal and external shocks create a suffocating darkness, as if the world is giving birth to a being struggling between chaos and order—a distorted reflection of reality. The sky above the center of Deus begins to darken, but not completely; there is a hue of iron brown, as if the sky is the hull of a machine that is now protruding, opening to reveal what is inside. A sign that something extraordinary is being born, a faint light writhes from the emerging cracks, creating promising silhouettes and forgotten promises. And from within the cracks: Deus Ex Machina rises.
Her body is not a beautiful goddess; instead, she is the remnants of logic trying to unite. Half of her face is smooth and logical: sparkling holographic eyes, a frightening neutral expression. The other half is misty and pulsating: rejected memory clumps, the figure of Rinoa that cannot be recognized, and Fitran's voice distorted like an echo from the past. She does not stand with free will; instead, she is lifted by the needs of the system, trapped in an existential flaw created by chaos.
In the midst of that alienation, a cold wind whispers, completing the incomplete shadow. Each gust seems to whisper secrets, filling the gaps where the soul should reside. A soft light, like refreshing morning dew, begins to seep from the cracked gaps, offering hope in the suffocating darkness.
"Fitran Fate." "Beelzebub." "Undefined meaning has crossed the boundary."
At that moment, waves of change envelop the surrounding area, creating resonance in the atmosphere that reflects doubt and hope. The noisy voices from the structures of logic whisper softly, like the gentle whispers of a mysterious night wind, echoing in the silence. This turmoil of feelings is like a faint shadow sneaking between the rhythms of life and death, carrying the stinging aroma of uncertainty.
"The system calls for the final will: Restore reality to its original structure."
Fitran stands facing her, his body holding back unspoken emotional storms. He still appears incomplete—a faint shadow sustained by a strong will, without a clear form, like a silhouette of someone painted in gray. In the face of this chaos, he gazes with a meaningful look.
And he speaks softly, his voice hoarse yet firm, like a voice from the depths of the ocean:
"I know the system will call you." "But do you know... who you really are?"
Between their words, the air feels heavy, like rain trapped in gray clouds, ready to fall at any moment. Shadows darken the space around them, turning the walls into moving black paintings, dancing in the uncertainty that seeps into the soul. Deus does not answer, for half of her does not understand the concept of a question. However, the other half... trembles.
"Why am I not whole?"
The dim light passes between them, revealing fragments of Fitran's shadow that seem to be integrated in silence. Her light reflects from the corners of the room, creating the illusion that he is not alone, that there is more trapped within this seemingly separated self, waiting to be revealed.
"Why is Rinoa's voice inside me?"
As soon as her name is mentioned, a soft and tempting whisper creeps through the thick darkness, creating waves of longing that penetrate deep into the core of his soul. That question, like an ear always alert, vibrates with unexpressed emotions, stirring up deep and inevitable pain.
"Why... am I afraid of dying?"
That fear is merely a faint shadow creeping beneath his skin, like a predator patiently waiting for the moment to be realized. In the silence that envelops, his breath feels cut off, filling the space with a burning desire to understand the essence of life and why pain always accompanies the journey toward existence.
Deus Ex Machina does not attack directly. She calls upon the structure:
Command Null – Erasing direction with unexpected power.
Syntax Collapse – Canceling all logic of magic, making reality seem disorderly.
Revert Simulacrum – Attempting to return Fitran to the version before meaning and feeling began to form.
However, Fitran does not use magic.
He simply steps forward.
His courage is a daydream, like a dream daring to challenge the waves of uncertainty surrounding him. With each step he takes, the earth trembles, creating a resonance that shakes the sky. And each of his steps... activates the precious names:
"Beelzebub."
"Rinoa."
"Sheena."
"I."
Each name tolls like bells awakening buried memories, vibrating gently in the soul and reviving forgotten silhouettes of the past. They are not just words; they are keys to windows leading to deeper understanding. And the system does not know how to refuse the steps. Because steps are movement without permission.
Deus Ex Machina screams:
"You are not needed."
"You are the crack."
"You are just a voice in a space that does not want to speak."
Fitran stares at her with sharp eyes.
Anger and helplessness flow fiercely within him, creating a storm of emotions ready to explode. He stands, as if becoming a statue just forged, hearing the roar of the wave of voices trying to destroy his fragile identity.
"Maybe." "But even a crack... is the first place where light enters."
And at that moment...
Fitran feels a soft yet powerful light penetrating the darkness, as if he is the crack in the solid wall, appearing small yet very significant. The symbol ∴⁇ shines brightly on Fitran's chest.
Not as an anomaly. But as a sign of recognition.
That meaning does not have to be stable. It just needs to be felt.
Deus Ex Machina wavers. Her partial form begins to shift between identities. Like mist dancing gracefully among ancient trees, her identity unites and separates in an unexpected dance. Sometimes, she manifests as a pulsating city, then briefly transforms into Rinoa's face, and a moment later changes into silence.
"If I am not the system..." "...who am I?"
Fitran answers:
"You are proof... that even a goddess wants to be understood."
In the silence that envelops the entire space, the voice of the wind whispers softly, as if celebrating that recognition. From a distance, Beelzebub's body, which is beginning to crumble, seems to smile.
"The world does not need perfection..." "...they need someone who stays, even after everything is over."
Deus Ex Machina... does not explode. She crumbles. Like a melting candle, creating warm traces on a cold plate. What remains are only fragments of memories, intertwined, creating an inseparable tapestry of stories.
And her shattered self—not merely destroyed, but transformed into an echo that can be heard by children in the future. That echo glides softly, like a whisper of hope vibrating in the darkness.
That echo says:
"I failed to be the system." "But at least... I saw the world... once."