Elbert's body wasn't instantly torn apart—instead, it was opened, dissected by something older than hunger itself. The magic of Beelzebub: The Ninth Stomach worked gradually, tormenting him with a rhythm akin to a long, unbroken prayer from hell. His flesh wasn't merely torn, but slowly ground down, akin to invisible tongues licking from the inside out, creating a painful sensation that dulled his sanity and deepened the madness lurking in his mind.
A billion tiny, glimmering black insects swarmed Elbert with an unexpected ferocity, forming a moving cloud that engulfed his skin. Their buzzing filled the air, as if singing an inevitable death song, while their sharp pincers clawed and gripped his flesh, creeping with an insatiable hunger, orchestrating a symphony of suffering that mocked any remaining hope.
"This... this is just an illusion, a deception peeling away from reality. This magic can be broken; I just need time to find a crack in this blinding darkness."
His shoulder blades melted, not exploded. Like toxic honey oozing from cartilage. His muscles did not tear, but unraveled into strands like intestinal threads, pulled one by one by an undefinable force that could not be explained by human logic, creating a chilling atmosphere that contrasted with the lingering hope within him, as if that hope was trapped in a snare of unexpected cruelty.
"I am Elbert… Lord Elbert. How could a lowly creature like this dare to touch me?"
"I have skinned traitors alive. I know how painful that feels. Yet… this… this means nothing, right?"
From his right eye, his brain began to leak—not from pressure, but because reality itself could no longer contain his existence. Small holes resembling mysterious gaps formed in his face, not like gaping wounds, but like entryways for something unseen. Something hungry, lurking in silence. Something patient, waiting for the right moment to claim a part of him.
"What is this… is this a punishment from the Gods? It can't be. Here, there are no gods to hear my cries."
"Please, anyone… Fitran… just kill me. End all of this!"
His stomach swelled before finally bursting in silence. No blood flowed; only thick black liquid emitted a pungent aroma reminiscent of human refuse—a stench that hinted at chaos and profound emptiness. The contents of his body did not explode dramatically but rather seeped out like a fine, mysterious mist—thin and elusive, evaporating before disappearing into the air. Within this vapor, his soul burned slowly, trapped in a painful and unbroken cycle, as if ensnared between unseen dimensions.
"It feels like… this world is swallowing my thoughts, creating chaos within my mind. The voices buzz around, an eerie melody intertwining with the silence. They sing, loud and soft, as if calling me from the darkness that envelops."
He began to laugh, but it was not a joyful laugh. Instead, it was a distorted laughter, reflecting the imbalance within his mind. The sound of his laughter came in fits and starts, as if caught in disturbing liquid, like someone choking on an unbearable pain. Each laugh became a jolt from a brain losing its grip, stepping over the boundary between reality and chaos.
"My name is El... Elb... Who? Where am I now...? Mother... this rain, I've never liked it."
"They dance. Dance within my flesh, tearing apart my soul. Look! Look at them all... hahaha...!"
"My head... feels like it's flowing out, as if my brain is melting and spilling. I can see myself, but I am not myself. Am I... him?"
Now, the human form has completely vanished. Only an organic mass remains, fused with the fog of magic, pulsating with an irregular rhythm, like a heart confused while waiting for its final moments to arrive. This emptiness, gray and eerie, paints an increasingly horrifying picture of what was once known as a body.
"...I... I... I... I..."
"It hurts..."
"White... white... white white white..."
"..."
And in the end, there is only a deadly silence. No echoing screams, no pleas for forgiveness. Elbert's existence seems to fade away.
Only the ninth belly of Beelzebub remained, now closed once more in satisfaction, like a predator that, after devouring its prey, feels as though nothing more exists. The silence that enveloped the area created an aura of emptiness that was chilling, leaving behind every trace of humanity that once resided within Elbert, as if he were merely a shadow of the life he had lived.
Where Elbert stood transformed into a black swamp, simmering slowly like the breath of an overheated earth. Beelzebub's Magical Trace: The Ninth Stomach not only left behind a void—it tore at the fabric of reality, creating an emptiness so palpable. All life around began to rot from the roots, flowers turned into eyes weeping blood, and that other dimension ceased to be blue or gray, but instead became a fractured violet, flowing with sounds that were not birthed from human tongues, as if crafting a symphony of despair.
Amidst the destruction, Fitran stood.
With a calmness that bordered on purity, he became a pillar amidst the darkness that engulfed everything. Light and darkness pulsated within him like two sides of humanity at odds within a single being, creating an aura that resonated with intensity. His clothing remained immaculate, yet his shadow reflected shapes that did not embody his own identity.
He did not smile. He did not cry.
He simply watched, gazing blankly at the void that surrounded him.
"So easy," he thought, "to annihilate something once called a legend."
Fitran gently raised his hand, and instantly the remnants of Elbert's body, now transformed into thick mist, dried up as if morning dew shrinking under the sun's rays. There was no ash. There were no remnants.
What was erased from the world was not merely a body…
…but also the name, traces, and memories of Elbert that vanished without a trace.
Even the grass that Elbert once tread upon now sprouted anew as if it had never been touched, as if nature had forgotten its dark history.
An old hermit, far away—on the mountaintop, ensconced in his lengthy prayers—suddenly fell silent. He forgot the name of someone he had feared all his life. That name now faded, once like lightning that shook his memory, now quiet without a trace.
"I do not like to leave a mark," said Fitran, his voice akin to a whisper in an empty space, needing no echo to resonate in the thick air.
His steps left behind a dim light, yet everyone who tread upon that place afterward…
…would feel a wave of nausea.
Fear gnawed at their souls.
And it seemed a voice whispered, in a murmur filled with vendetta:
"I am satiated. Yet, the hunger never fades."
The fractured dimension now created a second rift, seemingly gaping, revealing the darkness behind it. The full moon shone dimly, appearing awkward and fearful to gaze upon a world that seemed spellbound beneath it. Amidst the emptiness filled with silence, Fitran walked away—as if erasing his footsteps from anyone's memory. No one remembered the battle. No one recalled Elbert. There remained no reason to remember all that had transpired.
Only silence enveloped, replacing everything that once existed.
In the midst of the false tranquility created after Elbert's erasure, far removed from the battlefield—beyond the maps that could chart the terrain, outside the flow of time that clocks can measure—an eye opens.
This eye does not belong to a mortal creature, unbound by flesh and blood.
Nor does it belong to a god soaring above the clouds of heaven.
It is the Reminder.
A being with no physical form, yet present as a living memory, flowing fiercely in the gap between reality and haunting nightmares. It does not merely observe like a disinterested spectator, but feels—with an intensity that surpasses the limits of ordinary human emotion, becoming part of every fleeting moment that cannot be altered.
And for a moment that feels eternal, it vibrates.
"You shouldn't be able to do this…"
"You even erased the concept of him."
The shadow of Fitran flitted through the perception of the being, not appearing as a physical silhouette, but rather as a absolute imbalance. He seemed to be a flaw in the symmetry of the universe, akin to a mistake in the orderly patterns of stars. Like words in a prayer that had never been taught, yet suddenly emerged, caressing the dark silence.
"He is not a destroyer. He... is a confirmer of emptiness," whispered the voice, vibrating the surrounding air.
The Reminder struggled to inscribe Elbert's name onto the walls of existence.
His hand trembled, each stroke laden with anxiety and hope.
And… the letters melted, creating a stream of thick black blood.
Fitran had erased him not only from the visible world… but from all dimensions of possibility that had ever existed, tightly sealing what should have been a part of the collective memory.
…but from the spoken language.
From the possibilities that once were.
From the meaning that should have filled that space.
Nevertheless, the Reminder could still feel the empty space where something should have been.
And that feeling… spread, penetrating his soul, as if reclaiming the lost hope.
"Fitran," hissed the being with a growl, its voice echoing like thunder that shattered the silence of the night.
In the midst of the encroaching emptiness resulting from Elbert's erasure, the winds of time suddenly flowed like an unexpected primordial force, streaming like an enigmatic river. Fitran stood resolute before the mysterious creature, his eyes shining with cold light, illuminating every corner of faded memories, as if rekindling recollections that were meant to be forgotten.
Fitran opened his mouth, his voice resonating like a call from nature that trembled the structure of reality:
"Emptiness is the law of nature, the Remembrancer. Every memory must crumble to make way for the new."
On the other hand, the Remembrancer echoed softly, yet filled with determination, as if longing to revive every fragment that had been erased:
"Without memory, there is no identity. Without identity, the world is merely an absence that creeps in silence."
This battle does not take place through physical clashes but rather through echoes of sound and shadows dancing. Every spoken word, every wandering vibration, dismantles and reconstructs the fragile lines of time. Fitran unleashes a cold light that sweeps through, attempting to erode every remaining trace, like ice melting beneath the sun's rays. However, the Reminder responds with waves of emotions flowing fiercely, restoring pieces of the lost past as if trying to weave together the fragmented threads of memory.
In between the cracks of time, the world seems to sway, as if trapped in a dance full of anxiety. Each breath of wind carries the echo of a baby's cries whimpering in the dark corners—a voice born from uncertainty, a hope that never fades in the darkness. Remnants of memory whisper softly among the ruins, struggling against the forces that seek to sweep everything away without a trace.
Fitran gazes up at the fractured sky, as if trying to measure the strength he possesses, striving to penetrate the boundaries of the lurking threat:
"I am the creator of destruction, yet in every destruction, there is room for the eternal."
The whisper of a reminder filled the air, its voice carrying a profound longing, like the wind sharing secrets with the trees:
"I am the remnants of the forgotten; I am every laugh, every tear, every story ever etched. I refuse to succumb to nothingness."
In an instant, the universe trembled, as if sensing the clash between two forces. The echo of battle between destructive power and restorative strength birthed an unexpected aurora—a shimmering dark light that tore through the sky, forming an abstract painting of suffering and eternal existence.
"Has that creature vanished?" Beelzebub asked, his voice resonating within the silence surrounding them.
"It seems so," Fitran replied, his gaze sweeping the sky still quaking with the remnants of conflict.
"Perhaps this is the system the world has created to maintain balance," Fitran continued, contemplating the complexities.
Fitran had now inherited all the power and memories of Elbert, a legacy filled with wonder and greatness. He felt a powerful flow of energy within him, as if electric currents were coursing through his veins, awakening his fighting spirit. With this ability, he held the potential to replace Elbert, following in his footsteps and embarking on a journey brimming with challenges and possibilities.
This magic is akin to that used when absorbing the essence of his friend from George; now, he is regarded as George's companion since all memories and experiences have been fully consumed by Fitran. This process binds him to the beautiful memories that seem to flow in his mind, recalling the laughter and stories that once existed, forming an inseparable bond between him and the figure he has absorbed.