Everything has changed. The reality that has been torn apart countless times now holds its breath in the longest moment in the history of the world. Fitran stands panting in the midst of emptiness, his body filled with cracks of light and darkness. Yet Tiamat has not fallen. From the swirling vortex of destruction, the form of the dragon begins to change, revealing a power that makes the air tremble. He feels a tension creeping from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers, as if the universe is waiting, holding its breath just to see what will happen next.
Tiamat, once a dragon of continents crowned by oceans and skies, now begins to shed her worldly skin. Giant scales peel off one by one, floating and transforming into meteor showers—each one striking the earth, piercing the ground, turning grass into crystal, water into blood, and light into shadows. Each impact makes Fitran's heart beat faster, as if his life is tied to the rhythm of destruction with every shard that flies.
From within the dragon's body emerge indescribable creatures—faceless eyes, hands branching into a thousand, laughter without sound. A cold aura envelops him, delivering a sensation as if something is embracing him from behind the darkness. They dance in the air, entwining the roots of Genesis, disturbing every prayer and spell. Fitran feels the hairs on his neck stand up as he sees those creatures, a sign that there is no way back, only a sorrow that settles within him, like smoke that refuses to dissipate.
Tiamat opens her mouth—inside, there are no teeth, only an emptiness that swallows sound, light, and meaning. She screams without a voice; the world around her fades, colors are stripped away, objects lose their forms. This process is not merely an erasure but a wearing away of knowledge and hope. Fitran feels a deep sadness seep into his soul, like a gray fog covering the light, robbing him of everything precious.
“THIS IS ME—THE ABYSS THAT ANSWERS EVERY PRAYER AND NIGHTMARE OF HUMANKIND!” The echo pierces the minds of all living beings, shaking bones, ensnaring hearts. The voice seeps and dances in the dark, bringing a collection of memories of failures and fears long buried in the corners of the soul. Cold sweat trickles down Fitran's temples, illustrating how deep his fear runs, recalling what has happened and what may come. He is submerged in a sea of emotions, trapped between wanting to fight and surrender. The deep darkness waits, lurking in every corner of the remaining hope.
The battlefield in Oda and Terra transforms into a field of shadows. All warriors and people see Tiamat's figure in dreams and wakefulness: on the walls of their homes, in the mirrors of water, behind their eyelids. In the dark embrace that penetrates the soul, fear scorches the spirit; vacant gazes stare into the void, while their stomachs twist as if a storm rages within. Some scream, fleeing into their homes only to find their rooms transformed into bottomless caves; others see their families turn into shapeless silhouettes, then vanish. That moment is painful, like a thorn cutting through the heart, creating a profound helplessness. Muffled cries, choking in their chests, signify an unbearable loss.
The magic of the world now feels cold and painful. Every time a spell is cast, an unknown fear creeps into the souls of the sorcerers, planting doubt: “Is this magic truly real, or just an illusion from the abyss?” Above the chaos, thoughts intertwine, urging them to question the reality in which they exist. The fingers gripping the potions tremble, signaling the creeping doubt like dark tentacles.
The circles of magic on the battlefield form new patterns never taught in any school—a language even the trees of Genesis do not recognize. With each failed spell, black auras rise from the ground, dragging objects and people into an endless whirlpool. The sound of muffled screams, beneath the weight of despair, makes hearts beat in a rhythm of anxiety. The sorcerers look at each other, their eyes speaking a wordless language, expressing fear of an uncertain future. They feel an unbearable weight, as if each failure steals a sliver of the remaining hope, crushing the spirit that once burned bright.
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Fitran struggles to stand, Voidlight now glowing faintly in his hand. His body feels heavy, as if filled with sand, every effort to move becomes a struggle against an invisible gravity. He tries to remember his own name, the soft yet powerful voice of Joanna, the cheerful laughter of Rinoa as if challenging the darkness, the warm embrace of Oda, and the promises he once made that now float like shadows, out of reach.
Yet the world around him continues to lose meaning—each step is heavy, like treading on sharp glass shards, every movement creates a wave of sorrow that crushes his chest. Every good intention seems cursed by emptiness, like a voice muffled in the void. In his pain, he feels the faces that once shone in his heart fade one by one, and he is a painter losing color on the canvas of his life.
On the other side, Joanna, Iris, and Oda hold hands tightly, seeking strength amid the storm. Joanna's face radiates determination, even though her eyes glisten with tears ready to fall. She shouts: “Don’t let go! As long as we are together, Tiamat cannot swallow this world!” Her voice is like a flash of lightning that tears through the dark sky, filled with hope and fear intertwined. Yet the roots of Genesis begin to blacken, spreading in all directions like a spider weaving its web, the flowers of light growing from it wither one by one, turning into threads of mist that entangle the bodies of the warriors, ensnaring the remaining hope.
Rinoa tries to awaken the young sorcerers who are beginning to fall into a dreamless sleep. In the dim light, she feels their weakening heartbeats reflecting their despair, as if time is reversing, sucking away their spirit. She screams, “Wake up! This world is not finished! I know you can hear me…!” Her breath fights against the terrifying silence. Yet Rinoa's voice sometimes fades, only trembling in the heavy air, as if the abyss has rewritten the laws of sound and love. Each time her voice sinks, a deep sense of loss crushes her heart, as if swallowing piece by piece the remaining hope.
The shadow leaders of Gaia, Sanctuary, Earth, and Atlantis gather beneath the roots of Genesis, huddled in a formation that seems increasingly fragile. Only the rustling wind adds to the tension in an already oppressive atmosphere. One of them, with a furrowed brow and vacant gaze, trembles, holding back a sob, “Should we give up?” asks one, tears streaming down, reflecting the collective sorrow that fills their hearts. “We don’t even know what is real anymore,” their voice drops, caught between despair and longing for a brighter past.
However, Lord Alaric, standing in the center, answers in a hoarse voice: “As long as there is one human who dares to reject emptiness, the abyss will never fully possess this world.” His statement rekindles their spirit, even though he himself feels the creeping tension in his spine, a toxic anxiety. Alaric's eyes blaze with determination, even as anxiety envelops his being—every remaining belief hangs by a thread of strength that is nearly extinguished. Their courage wavers between hope and fear, but at that moment, behind every soul at stake, there is an unexpected bravery, challenging the creeping darkness.
Fitran, standing alone before the abyssal giant, raises Voidlight—though his body is now faint, sometimes transparent, sometimes glowing. He gazes at Tiamat, speaking in his heart: “If I must disappear, let me be a bridge, not a grave. The world must not end here—not with fear, but with a final resistance, however small it may be.” Every muscle in his body tenses, as if feeling the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. His labored breath fills the empty space, and the dust floating around seems to dance to the rhythm of his quickening heartbeat. Tiamat, with fiery eyes, appears as a creature from a nightmare. Her rumbling voice shakes the air, as if challenging Fitran's courage. Cold sweat flows down his temples, but he holds his head high, igniting a fire of determination within himself. "I am not a surrenderer," he thinks, and every word gives a little warmth amid the freezing cold that has settled in his heart.
Tiamat spreads across all directions: her body becomes mist, swallowing mountains, rivers, and even the sky. Abyssal holes open, waiting for souls that have lost hope. Yet in the midst of the void, a small light—love, names, memories—still shines in the hearts of Fitran and the warriors. In their minds, the faces of loved ones, the sounds of laughter, and the hope that never fades are envisioned, like a lantern's light shining brightly in the darkness of night. The world has not completely shattered—but the answer from the abyss has arrived, and only the greatest sacrifice can resist the eternal night that is ready to swallow everything. Every spell they cast, every attacking movement, becomes a declaration that life, in all its forms, is worth preserving, even in the face of the abyss that waits greedily.
