A young woman with golden-blonde hair, messy yet orderly, creates the illusion that each strand glows softly in the heavenly light emanating from behind her. Her sharp eyes exude an aura that is hard to articulate—blending the wrath of the gods with the humanity left behind by the passage of time, generating a tension that seeps into the soul of anyone who beholds her.
She wears a long gown that is the perfect fusion of aristocratic elegance and military strength. The deep black color dominates her appearance, adding a mysterious ambiance, while bright blue folds dance gracefully at the edges of the fabric, creating an image of divine will that remains unpredictable. A chain belt adorns her waist, as if binding something beyond the flesh—perhaps a magical power or a curse she carries, giving the impression that she is the guardian between two contrasting worlds.
The bright orange cloak fluttered with fervor, resembling a flickering flame, creating a striking contrast against the surrounding inky blackness. It was as if he were a blazing inferno in the midst of a realm of light, inviting both fear and admiration. Behind him, atop the grand staircase leading to the heavens, the silhouette of a massive magic circle glowed with pride—a symbol hinting at layers of meaning: redemption, punishment, or the throne of power he had seized from the depths of the sky.
His steps were light yet terrifying, as though this figure had come not to negotiate—but to determine fate. His golden eyes sparkled sharply, as if able to pierce directly into Fitran's soul, reading every anxiety and secret buried deep within the darkness of his heart.
"I am bored with my former self," she said, his voice smooth yet vibrating, each word cutting sharply like a blade that left an ache in the mind. "Hunger is no longer enough. Now I am the decision. I have not come to consume you, Fitran. I have come to decree what deserves to live... and what should be forgotten."
"So, you're now conforming to my criteria," Fitran retorted with a mocking tone, his eyes gleaming with provocation as if relishing every word that slipped from his lips. His voice sliced through the air, sharp as a dagger, heightening the already boiling tension between them.
Beelzebub fell silent, his gaze empty like the starless dark of night, as if trapped in an endless maze of confusion. She couldn't grasp the subtle, teasing undertone conveyed by the human before him.
Silence enveloped the hall, but it was not a soothing silence—instead, it vibrated with a rumble in the head. Like thousands of voices speaking in unison, it created a thrilling chaos, as if anticipating a storm, before suddenly falling into a simultaneous hush. The voice belonged to Beelzebub, yet it did not come from his lips. It spoke directly into Fitran, penetrating the darkness that confined his thoughts, as if peeling away the walls of misunderstanding that limited him.
"What keeps you here, Fitran? After everything I've stripped from your memory. After names, places, feelings, and even your mother's voice, which I've torn apart and chewed like paper dust. What remains of you?"
Fitran didn't respond with words. He answered with a stubborn silence, as hard as a gravestone refusing to be dug up, resisting surrender to the questions that shook his soul with waves of doubt. Yet Beelzebub smiled gently, as if witnessing a tragic dance of resistance upon the vibrating stage of life.
"Ah... so this isn't about who you are. It's about what remains, refusing to be annihilated from you."
She drew closer, his steps seemingly penetrating the silence, undetected by the reality that refused to acknowledge his existence. His figure was not a part of this world; She was a world eraser, a shadow gliding through the darkness with a terrifying grace.
"You still harbor a small spark of light. A grain... of hatred? Hope? Or perhaps—"
"Rinoa."
The word emerged from the depths of Fitran, like a ghost rising from the darkness, not from his mouth. A quiet whisper in the empty space, akin to a breath in the endless winter, flowed gently and heavily, penetrating the deeply rooted silence. That name reverberated between them, as if it were the heartbeat in the thick quiet, creating a wave of resonance that could not be ignored.
Beelzebub fell silent, his expression flat, betraying neither anger nor the usual pity. Yet, there was something different in the glint of his eyes, a profound change—as if she recognized a hidden flaw. A weak point that was more than just a vulnerability, but a shackle that bound them, a delicate thread stretching between them, and it was an enemy to him, an entity ruling over immortality and darkness.
"That name... You have held onto one name from the billions I have devoured. Why?"
"Because it reminds me that I am not yours."
The floor beneath Fitran groaned and cracked with a trembling sound, as if the earth was struggling to free itself from the burden of darkness. Yet, he stood firm, as if bound by an unshakeable belief. The black and white light surrounding him transformed, not merely an illusion of magic, but a refusal to disappear; a force that could not be crushed, like a mountain that would not collapse under a storm.
Beelzebub stepped back, not out of the fear that haunted him, but because for the first time she felt a strange tension: he did not understand what was happening, as if the darkness he had always controlled was now dancing beyond his grasp.
"I am Beelzebub. The devourer of existence. The closing chapter of life. But you... cannot be ended by me."
"Not because I am stronger." Fitran lifted his face, his eyes shining brightly and unblinking, filled with a burning conviction. "But because I am the question that even Fate has yet to answer."
In the tense silence, they stood as two opposing poles: Beelzebub, the unsympathetic Judge, faced off against Fitran, the Question, an existence that could not be ignored within the uncertainty surrounding him.
Beelzebub was frozen, caught in an unexpected web of confusion; his gaze vacant, as if the walls of his arrogance were beginning to crack.
"Not by limitless strength. Not by wondrous magic. Rather, by a heavy misunderstanding, etched upon their faces, filling the space between them. Throughout his entire eternity, it devoured memories, tearing apart meanings, even obliterating the concept of 'who I am'. It became the perfect destroyer, leaving no fragments to grow and bloom again. Yet now, before him stood someone unfinished, a mystery floating in a broken journey, filled with certainty."
Fitran, who seemed to be nobody, was precisely what made him dangerous; his presence was like a storm threatening the long-established order, giving voice to the uncertainty that echoed in the night sky.
Beelzebub spoke again, his voice this time deeper and more resonant, as if it did not arise from outside but from the innermost depths of himself, echoing in the stillness of the atmosphere:
"If I fail to destroy you... am I still Beelzebub?"
Suddenly, the air around them shifted; the atmosphere grew tense and filled with uncertainty. The grand pillars supporting the space began to quiver, not due to an external threat, but because reality started to question the existence of its owner. They trembled like a body resisting its soul, as if struggling against the doubts that gnawed at them in the silence of the binding time.
Fitran gazed at him, not with a haughty glare of victory, but with the profound silence that resonates deeply, realizing that doubt is the most silent suffering, echoing within a soul never expressed, as if that inner voice was trapped in the labyrinth of his mind.
"Perhaps you were never Beelzebub. Perhaps you are merely... a role played by emptiness."
Beelzebub fell silent, his heart churning in the stinging quiet, as if every heartbeat bore witness to the void threatening to consume him.
His hands—once strong and firm—began to tremble slightly, not from weakness, but from a wave of new emotions she could not define: the fear of losing his form. She lifted that hand and touched his chest, and in an instant, his eyes appeared empty, as if he were diving into the depths of an unfathomable void.
"What happens... if the eraser begins to question the meaning of erasing? Who will obliterate me if I no longer believe I deserve to exist?"
And for the first time in his existence, she took a step back.
A small step that seems trivial, yet in the realm of ideas, this step creates an open chasm of existence, a profound separation between the past and the future.
The sky above them cracked again, not due to the force of wind or thunder, but because the laws of existence began to collapse from within, pressured by the intimidating void. The light behind Beelzebub, once radiating arrogance and darkness, now dimmed, transforming into a shaky framework of concepts, like a shadow trying to leap from the suffocating darkness.
"I... am not absolute."
Fitran did not respond with insults or attacks. Instead, he stepped closer, creating an unexpected distance between them, then whispered in a gentle and meaningful tone:
"Welcome, Beelzebub... to my fragile side. You are no longer a Demon. You are... Human like me."
And with that, Beelzebub felt something she had never understood before:
Tears.
She cried, but not out of sadness—rather because she no longer knew who she was. With each drop that fell, it was an admission that for the first time, she felt a desire to know, to understand his true identity.
"Alright, Beelzebub," said Fitran, his voice calm yet filled with hope, as if bringing a breath of fresh air amidst the storm of uncertainty.
"You will comply. Perhaps your true self will return, and I will gift you my memories," he added, with a deep gaze that penetrated the soul of Beelzebub, now filled with doubt and hope.
Beelzebub stood on the threshold that separated his former existence from the present, as if trapped between two worlds. His magnificent form still shone in shadow and flicker, yet that light now flickered—like a candle flame aware that its presence was no longer dependent on the brightness it emitted.
His deep gaze fixated on his perfect hands—bare of veins, free of blemishes; hands that should embody glory now felt like a heavy burden compressing his soul. For the first time, a feeling of hatred seeped into the dark recesses of his heart, awakening emotions long asleep.
"I want to bleed..."
The voice was soft, almost empty, floating gently in the air as if no one could hear it. However, Fitran caught it, resonating with the depths of a soul that had long slept nameless, as if the voice was a call from the void yearning to be acknowledged.
"I want to feel hunger... not because of a curse, but because I am alive. I want to shiver when the rain falls, feeling each drop touch my skin with its refreshing coldness. I want to call out names and be called back, to feel the bond between us. I want to be loved... even if just once... and then be left behind. Because only the living can truly lose."
With a calm stride, she approached Fitran, as if penetrating the space that separated them. No more threats in his movements, no more desire to erase the past. What remained was something deeply human:
The longing to understand emotion.
"Teach me to be human, Fitran."
Fitran gazed at Beelzebub—an entity that had once sought to obliterate the very foundation of his being. Yet now, before him stood not a terrifying enemy, but a new being born from utter emptiness: Beelzebub, The Void, now known as Beelzebub, The Seeker of Meaning.
"Being human means losing. You will become vulnerable. You will experience fear. You will love something that may ultimately destroy you."
"Beelzebub nodded slowly, and a newfound determination shone in his face. 'Then I will learn... from the first wound, on this journey.'"
At that moment, Fitran raised his hand and touched Beelzebub's forehead—not with the intention to attack, but to give. It was not a dazzling magic, but rather a simple memory: the refreshing scent of wet earth after the first rain, the cheerful laughter of a child that was not one-sided, and the stinging pain when his small hand was hurt.
Gently, Beelzebub's body began to change. The once magnificent and terrifying light dimmered into warmth, enveloping him in an unexpected embrace. His eyes—once sparkling like dead stars in the night sky—now radiated a soft glow, as if he had discovered something lost: meaning, like someone who finally understands what it means to dream in the dark.
Beelzebub descended the staircase of light, not as the feared queen of darkness, but as a newcomer in a world still feeling foreign. With each step, the emanating light trembled, signaling a transformation; she had liberated himself from the chains of eternity, experiencing the breath of time he had never known, in order to feel one extraordinary thing:
To be real.
Fitran watched Beelzebub's departure with eyes full of curiosity and uncertainty, like a painter puzzled by newly blended colors, whispering softly to himself:
"No Demon is more frightening... than a Demon who wishes to be loved."
Yet, amidst the sea of flames reborn in this new world, she realized that even demons have the right to dream and reach for hope, just like any other beings.
Slowly, night descended over the ruins of the world they had left behind. No stars shone in the sky; only the soft silhouette of the wind blew through the open window, carrying the fragrance of nostalgia and hope. In a nameless space made of time that had stopped, they stood together—not as enemies, nor as beings from opposing poles—but as two soul who had shed everything.
Beelzebub, now in human form, appeared more fragile than anyone Fitran had ever known. Gone was the aura of destruction, gone were the heavenly splendors that once cloaked her. She was just a woman who didn't know what it meant to be touched with warmth, not to be conquered... but to be understood.
"Are you sure?" Fitran whispered, his hand hovering in the air, almost touching her cheek, as if afraid that a firm touch would shatter this moment.
Beelzebub gazed at him, her golden eyes now dimmed, needing honesty to penetrate their dark depths.
"I don't want to be owned... I just want to know what it feels like to belong to someone, even if it's just for one night," she said, her voice soft yet filled with hope, like the night breeze whispering through the leaves.
Then Fitran touched her gently, as if caressing something precious, something that could vanish if touched too roughly, treating this moment like an invaluable treasure.
They leaned closer to each other, not out of desire, but because the outside world had stripped away everything except one: the longing to truly feel. Between them, there was a sincerity that surpassed all else.
Their clothes fell away like old skin, devoid of meaning. Their breaths merged, not like embers burning with fiery passion, but like two small lights that finally met in the midst of darkness, creating warmth in the silence of the night. Beelzebub shivered, not because of the cold, but because this new body held a million feelings he had never possessed before. Each new vibration felt like electrical currents, awakening his dormant sensations.
Fitran first kissed her forehead, tender like morning dew.
Then her temple, conveying serenity with every touch.
Then her trembling lips, full of hope and buried longing.
And as their bodies united, it was not the peak of lust. It was a prayer, a sacred act filled with meaning. It was a silent plea from an entity that once consumed the world, now asking: "teach me to be real." In that union, they wove a bond deeper than physical flesh, a soul connection that merged within the stillness of the night.
Amid the whispers and stirring breaths, Fitran embraced her tightly, savoring the moments that felt like eternity. In that embrace, Beelzebub absorbed a new understanding of the highest fragility of humanity: the desire to not be alone.
Time seemed to stop, and the world fell silent in stillness. For one night that might never be repeated, Beelzebub no longer felt like a Demon. She was a woman, revealing the gentle side of herself that lay hidden behind layers of emptiness that haunted her.
With rare courage, Fitran, a figure that had long been a question mark to the world, provided an answer to a small, unspoken question:
"Can you make me happy, even though my heart has been corroded by the desire to erase you from this world?" Beelzebub asked gently, her voice flowing with honesty as if revealing a secret in the shadowy depths of the night. In the silence that enveloped them, that feeling flowed like a forbidden melody, painting every corner of the soul as if trapped in a dark labyrinth.
"I've already done it... even before you had a chance to ask," Fitran replied calmly, exuding confidence as if every step he took had been meticulously planned long before those words slipped from his lips.
"But I still can't compete with her...
"That woman...