The air above the Western Front tore apart like wet parchment.

  A shockwave of searing wind swept across the battlefield, hurling ash, shredded banners, wyvern scales, and broken weapons in every direction. The sky had lost its blue color, replaced by a swirling mass of black spirals intertwined with ember-gold patterns, all converging on the two figures caught in the chaos.

  Malakar Wyvernhelm floated on wings made of fossilized bone and molten metal—constructed from the remains of wyverns, advanced Gamma technology, and the stolen essence of an Auditor. His body had changed into something hideous: his ribcage had transformed into armored plating, horns twisted in elaborate spirals, tendons glowing a fierce red, and his spine was adorned with rotating glyph-engines, fueled by Zaahir’s influence.

  His voice ripped through the sky, a booming proclamation.

  “Voidwright… I will not submit to you again.”

  Fitran Fate hovered across from him—silent and unreadable, glimmering with the resurgence of Corpus Memoratum. The tips of his silver hair shone white, standing out against the encroaching darkness. His eyes carried the burden of countless memories—lives he once valued, worlds now forsaken, and realms consumed by the Void.

  Black-silver runes twisted on his skin, seemingly drawing strength from their own history. The Void beside him throbbed ominously, warning of the impending clash.

  Fitran's voice was like shards of ice breaking in a still lake.

  “You’re already dead, Malakar. You just haven’t shattered yet.”

  With a furious roar, Malakar unfurled his wings, unleashing a storm of bones and engine-fire.

  “THEN COME BREAK ME.”

  In that moment, the sky erupted.

  Malakar beat his wings, a forceful thrust that rattled the air around him.

  The world jolted as if it had been caught in a chaotic storm.

  Gusts of fiery wind twisted and turned, forming sharp chains of bone and molten steel—each marked with fragments of Auditor law. They surged toward Fitran like fierce comets, hissing with an ominous authority.

  Fitran whispered a spell softly, his concentration unwavering.

  “Voidbinding — Ash Disjunction.”

  The air twisted and distorted. Colors bled from the world like a painting exposed to the elements. The chains disintegrated into dust mid-flight, scattering harmlessly.

  Malakar snarled, diving down with lethal intent.

  “Your void tricks won’t save you!” he roared, the challenge echoing in his tone.

  He struck where Fitran had been—with brutal force, his wyvern-fossil talons aimed to crush.

  —But he found only empty air.

  Fitran appeared behind him, hand raised, a foreboding look in his eyes.

  “Memoratum Surge.”

  A blast of silver-black memory detonated at point-blank range, engulfing the space between them. Malakar’s shoulder shattered—bone fragments flying like blazing meteors across the battlefield. The wyvern-king screamed in pain, spinning around, caught between awe and madness.

  “You wield the dead like weapons now, Voidwright! Good! Give me more!”

  Malakar opened the panels along his spine, revealing engines filled with dark energy.

  A deafening chorus of countless wyvern voices erupted from the engines—echoes of the creatures he had devoured, their wills entwined through Auditor script. Their united roar fractured the clouds, shattering the stillness of the air.

  Malakar’s wings folded inward with precision—then shot outward in a violent display.

  “HELIX REQUIEM!”

  Spiral spears of black-green energy hurtled toward Fitran, warping the space around them, consuming every sound, every breath, every heartbeat into their chaotic vortex.

  With grim resolve, Fitran clenched his fist.

  The Void responded.

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  “Voidbinding — Hollow Parallax.”

  Reality split into two distinct halves.

  The assault surged through both Fitran and his afterimage, spiraling into the gaping void behind him.

  Malakar’s eyes widened in shock.

  “You’re bending locus… WITHOUT a seal?! You shouldn’t be able to—”

  In an instant, Fitran disappeared. He materialized in Malakar’s blind spot. Then he struck with unrestrained rage.

  “Memoratum Pulse — Fragment Shear!”

  A blade of solidified memory—regret shaped as a weapon, loss harnessed as power—sliced cruelly across Malakar’s ribs.

  The wyvern-king staggered back, spewing molten magma.

  Yet, he erupted into wild laughter.

  “Hahahaha! BEAUTIFUL! Finally, you fight like a true monster!”

  He took a deep breath—and flames, energized by raw Auditor authority, danced dangerously between his teeth.

  Malakar traced a circle in the air with his talon.

  Flames ignited along its edge.

  Auditor-glyphs glowed vividly against his bones, shifting into a perfect fractal pattern—the Coronation Pattern, a gift from Zaahir.

  His voice morphed, deepening into an unnatural resonance.

  “Fitran… kneel.”

  With a surge of power, the circle exploded.

  A crown of black-red glyphfire enveloped him, blending molten wyvern essence with the Auditor's aura. His wings expanded to three times their original size. His horns twisted and curled, resembling spires that emerged from the remains of a dying world.

  His shadow consumed the Western Front.

  Soldiers below screamed in terror, their dread stemming from a primal instinct they could not grasp.

  Malakar raised both claws high.

  “Auditor Brand: CREMATION OF THE FALSE.”

  Flames that could erase identity spiraled down toward Fitran.

  Fitran stood still, unmoving.

  The void around him trembled, aware of the impending doom.

  He lifted two fingers, calmly invoking a counter.

  “Corpus Memoratum— Lethe Invocation.”

  When the flames struck him, they simply vanished. Not extinguished—forgotten completely. Malakar staggered back, stunned.

  “You… erased the memory of my attack?!”

  Fitran’s voice was soft, yet unwavering.

  “Fire cannot burn if it no longer remembers itself.”

  Malakar growled, a mixture of hatred and awe swirling within him.

  “Then I’ll carve new memories into your bones.”

  Malakar lunged forward, moving with a speed that defied the laws of nature.

  His claw fell like a hammer— Fitran braced himself, crossing his forearms.

  The impact cracked the sky above.

  Shockwaves spread through the Western Front. Trees were uprooted effortlessly. Mountains groaned under the immense pressure. Tents, barricades, and siege towers shattered, spreading debris everywhere.

  Malakar’s strength was nothing short of legendary—

  —Auditor glyphs enhanced every strike he made

  —Gamma machinery augmented his power

  —wyvern fossil essence fueled his raw brutality.

  Fitran slid through the air, his boots sparking against the ground as he fought to keep his balance. Malakar pressed in even harder, his voice a furious roar: “WHY… WON’T… YOU… BREAK?!”

  Fitran’s eyes glimmered with a white-silver glow. “I don’t break. I eliminate,” he stated steadily.

  Then, he unleashed the void within him. “Voidbinding — Null Step.”

  In an instant, space itself seemed to collapse. Malakar’s arm vanished from the shoulder down—completely erased by the act of subtraction.

  The wyvern-king howled in pain, stumbling backward, spewing molten blood and fragments of his own bone. But Auditor glyphs began to crawl across his stump, rebuilding what had been lost.

  He bellowed: “YOUR VOID… IS NOTHING! I AM THE SKY THAT DEVOURS NOTHING!”

  Fitran shook his head, a glimmer of pity in his eyes. “No. You are the sky that’s already dying.”

  In an instant, the world dimmed.

  Every shadow seemed to point toward Fitran.

  Every sound was muted.

  Every speck of ash froze in place.

  Something ancient within him awakened.

  The third memory—one that should never have been stirred.

  Around him, a circle of silver runes spun like a halo from a shattered realm.

  His aura surged—black flames mixed with white echoes, like the final breath of a god reduced to light.

  Malakar sensed it and halted mid-flight.

  “No… No, no, NO— Zaahir warned me about this— YOU SHOULD NOT OPEN THAT DOOR!”

  Fitran stepped forward; each step reshaped the air around him.

  “Your power is merely borrowed. Meanwhile… my power… is remembered.”

  The halo behind him spun faster.

  Fitran extended his hand.

  “Memoratum: Absolute Requiem.”

  Malakar felt reality tighten around him.

  “No—STOP—”

  Fitran closed his hand.

  Everything around him disappeared.

  No light remained. Only the burden of memory.

  Malakar felt himself lost within Fitran’s mind—traveling through the echoes of forgotten realms, buried under the suffering of obliterated civilizations consumed by the abyss.

  He saw cities consumed by black suns.

  He observed oceans contort into screams of agony.

  He witnessed mountains crumble into clouds of ash.

  In each memory, he noticed Fitran—standing firm, untouched by sorrow.

  “No… this can’t be real… these aren’t your worlds… they’re—”

  Fitran appeared before him, his eyes empty, his expression a mask of apathy.

  “You sought your final memory, Malakar. And here it is.”

  He pressed a finger against Malakar’s chest.

  The Auditor glyphs ignited erratically.

  The Gamma machinery stumbled.

  The wyvern fossils shook and disintegrated.

  Malakar's scream reverberated.

  His bones turned to dust.

  His flames spiraled inward.

  His glyphs shattered and fell.

  His voice faded into silence.

  His body crumbled into swirling ash— the last remnant of a once-great rider of wyverns.

  Fitran stepped away from the disintegrating illusion as the remnants of Malakar Wyvernhelm scattered across the battlefield like a whispering snowstorm.

  “Dust to dust,” he muttered softly.

  “And nothing to the void.”

  The Western Front lay in heavy silence, a stillness that swallowed every sound.

  Fitran slowly lowered his hand, the burden of what had transpired weighing heavily on him.

  The light of the Corpus Memoratum halo faded—

  —but it would not fully extinguish.

  He stared into the wind, an uneasy tremor coursing through his bones.

  This was not a victory.

  This marked a deepening chaos.

  Zaahir would feel the emptiness left by Malakar's end.

  And the world would soon prepare for Zaahir’s vengeance.

  Fitran’s eyes moved toward the remnants of ash—

  —the vestiges of the sky-king, the twisted creation of the Auditor.

  “Your master will be next.”

  He shifted his gaze to the menacing Citadel of Chaos, determination hardening within him.

  The void pulsed ominously behind him as if urging him forward.