After an existential confrontation that echoed without reverberation, and after the words "You were never needed" were given space instead of being rejected, the world began to calm.
However… the system was not truly dead.
Within the remnants of the shattered Deus, one unexpected final function was hidden:
Residual Directive Code Name: Null Crown Function: To erase those who survive after the system ends.
Not out of hatred. But because of simple logic:
"If someone remains alive after the system dies, then they are an anomaly of an anomaly."
Fitran felt a strange vibration within him, as if every word that flowed from that floating crown touched the deepest parts of his soul. In that painful peace, a sense of anxiety swirled in his mind—was he truly an anomaly, or merely the waste of a bygone era?
The bodiless entity was merely a floating crown, made of inactive gears and symbols of the Void that continuously transformed. Its face may not have been visible, but the Null Crown could see beyond mere physicality—absorbing all doubts and fears that gnawed at human essence.
As it observed Fitran, silent sorrow filled the space between them, creating a burdensome atmosphere. A symphony of despair was depicted in the gentle movements of the spinning gears, as if dancing in an unmatched conflict between creeping hope and the certainty that all that exists must come to an end. In helplessness, Fitran felt an irresistible pull, bitterly realizing how he was dragged into a game that had no path to victory.
Faceless. Silent.
It only watched and absorbed existence.
Every time it appeared,
color faded, sound vanished, and meaning transformed into empty formulas.
Fitran realized this too late.
Faceless. Silent.
Only watching and absorbing existence.
Every time it appeared, beautiful colors seemed to be sucked away, cheerful sounds faded into silence, and meanings that were usually full of life turned into empty formulas.
In the suffocating silence, Fitran felt the presence of helplessness weighing upon him; as if the whole world conspired to erase his trace, leaving him adrift between existence and non-existence.
Fitran realized this too late.
A village at the edge of a newly growing world—gone. Not merely destroyed, but erased.
Not death in the usual sense. But as if they had never existed.
Every thought that crossed his mind was filled with profound loss, like shadows drifting aimlessly, as if he were the remnants of something greater, entangled in memories that seemed to deem him insignificant.
And now, the Null Crown moved towards him.
"You are not part of the final outcome."
With a cold and terrifying tone, that voice echoed in Fitran's soul, awakening fears he had long tried to suppress. In the sharp gaze emanating from that being, he saw a projection of impenetrable deep darkness, as if signaling that the light of his life had gone out.
"You survived not because you were needed."
Fitran's entire existence seemed to be at stake in that sentence, dragging him deeper into the abyss of doubt. He felt trapped in a web of nihilism that bound him, as if there was no place for him in the broader narrative of life, in line with the cold wind that carried a message of hopelessness.
"Then your existence... will be summarized."
As those words were spoken, the wind seemed to stop. The universe held its breath, creating a silence thick with tension, awaiting a reaction from this helpless being. Fitran, who had no armor to protect himself, had no intact body as a shield, stood alone in the darkness—holding back the movement of the emptiness that pressed in.
He knew he could not win with words, it was impossible to dialogue with the void that surrounded him. Because this... was a faceless will, a power far greater than himself.
Yet, within a heart trapped in chaos, there was a strong urge to fight, even as his conscience's voice was faintly echoed beneath layers of thick emptiness. Memories flowed like water, forming an inevitable stream of thought that continued to tempt his existence.
And at that moment… from the buried remnants of the Origin Code, from the meanings he had once released from the embrace of memory, and from names that returned unbidden, a sword was formed.
Voidwright Weapon: Sword of Voidlight – A Sword of Light from the Void
This sword was not forged by magic, logic, or selfish will. But by all the intentions that remained standing, even if unrecognized.
In the soft light of the sword, Fitran felt a power enveloping him, as if he were freed from the shackles of helplessness that had bound him for so long. Every glimmer emanating from the sword called his soul to rise again, to fight against the despair that surrounded him.
This sword does not cut flesh. It separates false existence from honest existence.
With a thin and transparent blade, the sword reflected names that had once tried to be forgotten but could not be erased from memory. The gentle light surrounding it did not pierce the eyes; instead, it was soothing—as if it were the eyes of someone you wanted to remember forever. In his mind, Fitran contemplated every sacrifice that had brought him to this point. The struggle he faced now felt more than just a battle; it was a quest for identity, a journey towards his inner truth.
At the base of the sword, it was clearly engraved:
"I was here."
Fitran raised the sword high. His cracked hands showed how great the struggle was. His body, though broken and full of wounds, could not erase his intention… perfect. Behind the pain that gnawed at him, there was a burning spirit, illuminating the darkness lurking within his soul.
The Null Crown attacked.
But its attack was not in physical movement, but in total denial:
All traces left by Fitran began to vanish from reality. His footsteps seemed to evaporate from the ground. The words once spoken disappeared from the memories of other beings. And in the midst of that nothingness, the hidden fear within the Null Crown began to surface, a feeling long covered by tyranny and power. Would it also, in the end, be forgotten?
Yet Fitran struck once. The sword, which should have emitted dazzling light, instead sank into darkness. There was no sound of clashing that usually accompanied the collision of weapons. Only one unexpected result:
The Null Crown stopped.
It gazed deeply into its reflection in the blade of the sword. And for the first time… the Null Crown realized that it too... had never been
Yet Fitran struck once. The sword remained silent, making no sound, giving off no light. Only one result:
The Null Crown stopped.
With a vacant stare, it watched its own figure reflected on the surface of the sword. And for the first time… the Null Crown realized it too... had never been needed.
"I am merely the crown of a failed system."
"Why am I still here?"
Fitran did not answer with words; he answered with action. He opened his palm, revealing his heart, and allowed the crown to fall.
With every passing second, he felt a heavy burden lifted from his soul, like a dark cloud that had long shrouded his lonely days finally beginning to dissipate. In the tranquility that enveloped him, Fitran gazed at the beautiful rain gently falling from the sky, as if nature itself celebrated that moment with him.
Not defeated. Not discarded. Released.
The Null Crown shattered, its fragments scattered like falling stars, but from its shards, a small flower emerged—gently blooming from an existence that now fully accepted itself. Amidst the emanating beauty, there was a resurrection that touched the soul, not only for the crown but also for Fitran, who began to understand that behind every pain, there lies limitless potential for growth and development.
The effect of the Voidlight Sword surged through the air, radiating a mystical aura. There was no painful destruction. Instead, there was a resonance of acceptance. In the place where the Null Crown once stood majestically, young trees began to grow, reaching for the sunlight with renewed spirit, merging with meanings that had previously been rejected. Fitran witnessed that stunning sight, as if all the sorrow and dissatisfaction that had once gnawed at his heart transformed into new hope, deeply rooted in the moist earth, ready to rise high into the sky.
Fitran firmly planted the sword into the ground, as if affirming his commitment to change. He did not take it away, for the world now knew: Meaning does not need to be defended. It simply needs to be given a place.
In the echoing silence around him, there flowed a new conviction into Fitran, awakening him to the realization that every end is a prelude to a fresh beginning. He inhaled the fragrance of blooming flowers, a scent rich with hope, as if it were a manifesto of all the despair that had passed, and felt that someday, he too would bloom in the same way, filling the world with colors and beauty that dared to exist.