Sky Breaks.
A ray of dazzling light descends from the sky and strikes the center of the ruins of the Philistines, creating a large circular crater that burns the earth's surface, forming a depression resembling a cosmic womb—curved, shining, and soulless. The whispering sound of a gentle wind spreads within the silence of the night, singing ancient songs that can only be heard by those sensitive to the presence of the invisible. The light is not merely a beam; it is a mirror of all the latent possibilities, inviting every soul to reflect on creation and emptiness.
From the center of the crater, a figure slowly rises.
She has no face. Her form resembles a sacred mannequin made of white marble, her body adorned with heavenly symbols that burn in reverse. Wings of light grow from her back, but the light does not bring hope—instead, it brings a silence that kills the sense of birth. Around her, boiling energy forms geometric patterns in the air, as if revealing secrets accessible only to those ready to accept.
Anathema Partus.
"The One Who Rejects Birth."
An entity that condemns all seeds. She is the structured failure of the age of the Babylonian priests—a reaction to a world that continues to give birth to destruction, using light as a tool of annihilation. In the silence, the voice of nature seems to echo, expressing fear of what is to come. Sometimes, even silence speaks; it hints that neglecting creation brings unimaginable consequences.
"Birth is an evil wrapped in love," Anathema murmurs.
"I come… to close the womb of every existence."
The Philistines change.
The light from Anathema's body touches the ancient buildings—and they do not burn, do not crumble, but are erased. The pillars that once stood tall vanish as if they never existed. The stones freeze, then disappear. As if, with every passing moment, they erase the memory of struggle and hope. Everything that contains "memories" of creation—wiped clean. And in the diminishing silence, there is a restless creaking, reminding that every end is the beginning of something new, even if it is frightening.
The space around the crater becomes a sterile zone:
No sound.
No echo.
No trace of time.
As silence envelops the area, the wind calms, as if honoring the unimaginable power. Among the passing shadows, there is a trembling anxiety in the air, every particle seems to await a grand decision.
Beelzebub, watching from a distance, immediately kneels. Her hands tremble on her stomach. "That light… is not for healing. That light… is to cancel existence."
Fitran steps forward.
The Voidlight sword in his hand slowly transforms, glowing not only red—but also gold. The aura around him vibrates.
As if an unspoken joke, the golden light creates an illusion of musical instruments that can only be heard by brave souls. Each ray vibrates with the notes of latent hope, adding weight to the tension that overcomes the space.
"Anathema Partus," Fitran calls out loudly, his voice soft yet firm. "Your light is not bright. It is denial. And I… come bearing the light that accepts."
Anathema does not respond with words. She raises one hand to the sky, and the next moment, it seems the entire cosmos bows to her.
Suddenly, sacred white light descends in the form of large nails from the sky, creating her magic:
Anathema's Magic: "Lucem Absentia"
Light that eliminates the source of all desires.
It does not harm the body, but extinguishes the reason to live.
Those affected by this magic will not feel hunger, will not wish to love, will not feel fear or courage. Only… silence.
Like sand in a time that has stopped, souls are trapped in silence, witnessing the dark power that awaits. Each, as if called to remember what they have forgotten, but bound by silence.
Fitran raises his sword.
"Then," he whispers softly, "I will answer your light—with my light."
Fitran's Magic: "Lux Firmissima: The Light that Binds the Weak"
A light that can only touch those who feel small, fragile, and wish to live. Not an attack magic. This is a magic of courage. Anyone who sees this light will remember their first reason for wanting to stay alive.
In the silence filled with hope, the light vibrates gently, as if creating a bridge between the disconnected souls. A soft whisper flows in the air, seeping into the hearts of those present.
Fitran slashes the sky with his sword.
The golden light spreads from the tip of his sword, encircling like a protective ring, halting the "Lucem Absentia" attack in mid-air. The two lights—white and gold—do not merge. They repel each other. Shine against each other. And form two poles of existence that cannot be united.
Between light and shadow, stories from ancient times unfold, where heroes and gods once traversed the same path, seeking meaning in every battle fought. Nothing is in vain, for every light has its own purpose.
Anathema steps forward. The ground beneath her disappears. Fitran steps as well. Each of his steps grows small flowers of light—not magic, but a response from a world that accepts the light of love.
The battle begins.
With the power of the growing light, it seems to silently ask, stirring the hearts of every being witnessing: "Are you brave enough to face the darkness to reach the light?"
Anathema raises her hand—thousands of magical circles shaped like sacred wombs appear in the air, releasing sterile light from every direction.
Fitran slashes each of that light with Voidlight, reflecting and redirecting its rays.
Time feels slow as his energy vibrates, releasing a hum of power that shakes the souls clinging to hope. There is an ancient whisper in every wave, calling those brave enough to carve their destiny.
The world is split between two poles: One erases the meaning of life and the other reminds that life, though painful, is worth living.
Anathema does not speak, but in every movement, there is one message:
"Life only gives birth to suffering. Why do you continue to create?"
Fitran answers not with his mouth, but with his sword—which forms an ancient glyph in the sky:
Glyph of Continuare:
I am not the creator of the world. But I will continue to walk with those who do not wish to give up.
The battle continues in silence—because Anathema has erased the echoes. Yet Fitran's light restores Beelzebub's voice—and as she cries out in tears:
"I WANT THIS CHILD TO BE BORN!"
Then the entire city trembles. As if the sky embraces the earth with the warmth of feelings lost for centuries, above the Philistines transforms into a canvas between birth and emptiness, and in the middle, the two final lights collide, creating a wave of resonance that seems to tear the sky.
For a moment, amidst the chimes of light, there is a soft whisper from the lost souls. They pray, pleading for a chance to give birth to new hope, and the courage to fight against the darkness.
—
Anathema lunges forward. Fitran plunges his sword into the ground.
Final Attack:
"Solar Invocation – Lux Vitae Signata"
Light that has been named by a loving heart.
The golden ray from Fitran strikes directly at the core of Anathema. And for the first time, her marble body cracks. From the fissure, not blood… but a baby that was never born—a fetus from an era rejected by history, cries in silence, its cries echoing like a call for rebirth for a desolate world.
Amidst the cracks of marble, heavenly light dances, as if reuniting the shattered pieces of wounded souls. Each ray brings new hope, promising life amidst despair.
Anathema retreats. Her body shatters. Not due to defeat—but because of doubt.
"Why… do you not hate me?"
"Because even you… once wanted to be born," Fitran replies.
Anathema Partus slowly disappears, leaving only one symbol in the air: a small light shaped like a baby's hand, gently radiating. That light dances, as if signaling a hope that has just been born, piercing the darkness that has long confined the neglected souls.
Beelzebub runs towards Fitran, who falls to his knees, exhausted. She cries, not out of sadness—but because the world no longer rejects them. That moment feels like a garden awakening from a long dream, where every petal of a flower depicts a rebirth.
"Fitran…" she whispers, embracing him tightly. Her soft voice is a melody of sorrow that has transformed into happiness, echoing throughout the corners of the once gloomy sky.
Fitran closes his eyes but smiles. "I have given you half of my name… and now, you have given me the entire meaning of my life." His words are like a mantra binding their souls, flowing into their bodies and reviving the lost spirit.
They embrace in the light that slowly warms the Philistines. The shadows of all past suffering now vibrate gently, transforming into new hope that rises high.
And for the first time in thousands of years, the city cries not for loss—but for birth. Every drop of tears flows from the eyes of the sky, carrying new stories woven into the fabric of destiny, promising a long-awaited beginning for thousands of wandering souls.