Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 507 Second Pillar – Zero Dogma

The sky of Narthrador turned gray again.

After the destruction of the First Pillar, there were no cheers of victory. No ringing of magic. Only silence flowed from the cracks of the machine world, a silence witnessing that the system had faltered but had not yet surrendered. In the suffocating stillness, Fitran felt the shards of hope and will being shattered, like fragments of glass scattered on the cold ground. He shivered, not only from the cold atmosphere piercing his skin but also because the pillars of his desires collapsed in despair. The voices in his head, like echoes without sunlight, began to deepen his doubts.

The Second Saint stepped forward.

Draped in shining white, her face covered by a dimly glowing number 0. Unblinking. Unchanging. Unbreathing. She was the manifestation of absolute nothingness—an entity that believed that will was the root of all faults, and that perfection could only be achieved when all desires were annihilated. Unbeknownst to him, a sense of emptiness enveloped Fitran's chest, shrouding his soul with a sense of meaninglessness. In the gripping fear, he felt a heavy burden on his shoulders, as if the entire world pressed against the flow of blood in his veins, reminding him of everything he had to let go.

"Welcome to the Second Pillar."

"Dogma: All will is flawed."

"Flaws create choices. Choices create lies."

"Thus, you will be cleansed of your own will."

The Nihil Dogma Field formed.

A disk of gray light descended from the artificial sky of Narthrador, enclosing Fitran in layers of darkness that gripped him. In the midst of the terrifying mental pressure, his body felt heavy, as if crushed by the inevitable nothingness. With each passing second, despair crawled into his mind, releasing the fragile grip of hope that once existed. The disk surrounding him not only exerted physical pressure but also sowed the seeds of doubt that gnawed at his soul and customs. Everything he had ever loved, every decision he had ever made, trembled in the dissatisfaction around him.

In the arrogance of experiencing the process of emptiness, Fitran could feel his soul and body communicating in the same language: helplessness. Once again, he was gripped by the shadows of the past, aspirations that fell under the power of nothingness born from dogma. His spirit wanted to fight, but the influence of the Second Saint trapped him in limbo, between the desire to survive and the demand to erase that desire. His humanity hung by a thread, struggling in the darkness that sought to invade everything.

"Flaws create choices. Choices create lies."

"Thus, you will be cleansed of your own will."

The Nihil Dogma Field formed.

A disk of gray light descended from the artificial sky of Narthrador, enclosing Fitran in layers of silver mist that were neither hot nor cold—but absorbed all intention.

In that emptiness, a suffocating sensation crawled over Fitran's body. Each heartbeat felt heavy, as if filled with unspoken burdens. Thoughts that once struggled to be free began to collapse into darkness. It was as if every part of him was being pulled into a deeper void, drowning hope and pain in silence.

Fitran stood in the midst of that field, trying with all his might to choose. He was not only facing a field that demanded everything but also the deepest fragility of himself. Tears he could not shed flowed within his heart, indicating that he was trapped, not only physically but by his obstructed desires. He tried to raise his hands.

He couldn't.

He tried to think of Rinoa.

Her image... faded.

In the midst of the darkness, Beelzebub's voice from outside felt like a distorted call. "The field devours the will! Get out quickly!" The voice tried to pierce the mist, but only emptiness answered. Yet, in Fitran's heart, the slowly fading fire struggled to survive. He knew that even though trapped in this painful void, there was something worth fighting for.

Fitran knew.

This was not a physical battle.

It was the erasure of the form of existence from within.

Saint Nihil raised her hand.

A wave of logic was released.

Not crashing.

Not burning.

But... extinguishing.

One by one:

Fitran's goal to save Rinoa vanished.

The goal to fight disappeared.

Even the goal to stand began to collapse.

Fitran's body weakened.

His knees touched the metal floor.

In his mind, only one voice remained:

"If will brings suffering... isn't it better to just disappear?"

Then another voice—soft, gentle, cracking like a mirror—whispered from within him.

Rinoa.

"...If I disappear... why do you keep going?"

And that voice... ignited.

A little.

Fitran felt trapped in a strong wind, each gust tearing at his intentions and hopes. Darkness enveloped his heart, like a thick fog blocking the light. He could feel the pressure in his chest, a sensation as if something precious within him was slowly being dismantled and sucked out by the emptiness surrounding him.

His body trembled, not only from physical pressure but also from the mental fragility that increasingly tightened. He wondered if all his efforts were just a cruel joke of the universe; whether hope was merely an illusion offered to desperate souls. His legs felt heavy, as if being pulled into a deep, dark abyss, resisting all efforts to fight. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

As his mind floated between life and emptiness, he felt a gentle rustle around him, like a soft whisper from the shadows embracing his soul. That voice, Rinoa's voice, mingled with others in the darkness. The more he listened, the heavier it felt—was his fate bound to this emptiness forever? Would he be forgotten, becoming dust in neglect?

Fitran lifted his face.

"I have no purpose."

"Correct."

"I have no hope."

"True."

"But I am still here."

"Contradiction."

And at that moment, Fitran embraced the nothingness around him.

Cold and stiff, as if he wrapped himself in a blanket of silence that enveloped him. A place that should have been quiet and empty now felt suffocating, presenting the voices from within him that surged between emptiness and anger.

He did not try to drive them away. He was well aware that there was power in that nothingness. He embraced it. In that embrace, he felt a strange sensation, one side cold while the other burned with firm intent. His muscles trembled, not only from his physical state but also from the thoughts swirling rapidly, creating chaos that brought him to the brink of anxiety.

He said:

"I am not a being who always knows what I am doing." That sentence escaped as if from the depths of his heart. He felt every vibration awakening the awareness of the uncertainty surrounding him. His mind wandered to dark places, where all that was known began to wash over him in shadows.

"But my will... remains." There was a new spirit in that voice, a voice that refused to shatter even when surrounded by darkness. That determination represented his existence in a seemingly empty world, reigniting the light that had dimmed in his heart.

"Because I want... to keep walking." Hope, though withered, still existed. The Voidwright sigil glowed faintly beneath his palm, providing a little warmth amidst the coldness of nothingness. However, it was not in the form of a perfect rune. He felt that energy breaking through and fading, struggling against the nothingness that sought to silence his existence.

Instead, a broken symbol emerged:

⊘ → ∃

Meaning: From nothingness, existence arises. And there, at the edge of darkness, Fitran found himself again in a vague form. Though seemingly fragile, his existence shone, compelling him to continuously struggle through the noise between hope and emptiness that alternated.

And with that, Fitran's body began to shine from within.

Not because of magic.

But because of a determination that had no purpose but refused to stop. In every pulse, a warmth spread, warming parts of his body that had once felt dead. Fitran felt a vibration of energy he had never experienced before, as if his soul and body united in an endless war. There was a strong pull surging within him, filling the gaping void, but also causing an almost unbearable pain.

The Second Saint moved quickly, trying to swallow that light with a spell:

"Null Invocation: Collapse of Intention."

But Fitran replied:

"Voidwright Echo: Will Without Name."

—

Two forces collided.

One came from a system that wanted everything to be silent.

One came from a will that did not want to be spoken of... only wanted to remain. In the suffocating silence, Fitran felt a struggle that was more than just physical. The unheard voice, his inner scream fought against the emptiness, a tug-of-war between spirit and darkness. Each passing second felt like centuries, pressing on his consciousness, creating a schism between who he once was and what was now being born.

Silence.

Then...

A crack.

The Second Saint trembled.

Her face—the number 0—slowly split apart. In the line of the fracture, Fitran began to feel the remnants of long-buried hope, the darkness that had ensnared his soul began to lift momentarily. Various colors full of hope emerged in the cracks, tempting the soul that had long been imprisoned. However, in his heart, there was a creeping fear that these colors were merely haunting illusions that could be erased by nihil.

And from within his body, a flash emerged... color.

Color?

In a place like Narthrador, color is a mistake.

The Second Saint screamed.

"Color is a form of undefined will—why... why is there color in me?"

Fitran replied in a hoarse voice:

"Because even those who wish to extinguish everything... have remnants of curiosity."

The saint exploded into soft dust.

But unlike the First Saint who vanished with a crash, the destruction of the Second Pillar felt like forgiveness.

Not perfect.

Not total.

But enough to let the light of will through.

Fitran stood again.

His body was tired. But his eyes were calm.

The colors that emerged left a warm feeling in Fitran's chest, as if his imprisoned soul was now trying to unite with something more than mere emptiness. He felt a tingling on the surface of his skin, as if every cell in his body vibrated, calling back the desires that had long been hidden. This invited anxiety, for every trace of hope was a reminder of the pain that might arise when emptiness filled the remaining space.

Beelzebub approached, though limping, and grasped Fitran's shoulder from behind.

"You are not just a human, Fitran," she said softly.

"You are... a flaw that refuses to be purified."

The Third Saint advanced.

With each of her steps, the gloom around her thickened, almost creating a tension that could be felt by her opponents. Fitran could not shake the cold creeping down his spine, as if every movement of the Third Saint brought the presence of emptiness and nothingness ready to swallow anything standing in her way. A sense of alienation, lurking in the farthest corners of his mind, deepened the confusion about the meaning of all he was fighting for.

Her face flickered rapidly between 1 and 0.

"Third Pillar."

"Dogma: All love that is not witnessed... never exists."

"Is your love real if only you feel it?"

Fitran took a breath.

He felt the damp air clinging, heavy and suffocating, as if every particle around him questioned his existence. As those words slipped from his lips, his heart whispered, 'Is all this effort, all this longing, just poison that destroys yourself?' He felt tossed between hope and extinction, one desire to be seen and acknowledged, while the other wished to sink into nothingness.

"If so, let us test... what love that is unseen means."

And he stepped into the next trial field.