After defeating He Who Reflects Logic and releasing the First Shadow of Beelzebub, the world seemed silent. However, deep within Narthrador, a wheel older than will began to turn.
In the silence that enveloped the world, the resonance of those ancient wheels echoed, carrying a message that could only be understood by those willing to listen. A soft voice, like the whisper of wind between the cracks of time, seeped into the souls of the brave. In the haunting darkness of Narthrador, there were lessons to be studied and secrets waiting to be uncovered.
An entity that did not like Fitran's victory. Not out of hatred. But because she did not believe that meaning could endure without a body.
In a distant corner, microscopic shadows examined every word spoken, waiting for the moment to express dissatisfaction with an existence that lacked foundation. She was a manifestation of the desire to uphold order: everything must have its place in an unbroken system. Here, Fitran's presence became problematic, stirring questions that had long been buried in emptiness.
Her name: Gear Faith.
One of the seven wheels of absolute belief—designed to dismantle anything that lacks functional basis.
Like a reminder of the brilliance and bitterness of civilization, Gear Faith stood as a committee at the intersection of existence and helplessness. She was a reminder that without a foundation, even the strongest would easily collapse. With each rotation, she created laws capable of piercing the veil of reality, revealing the illusions placed by careless hands.
Location: The Deepest Floor of Deus
There was no light, only the echoes of tens of thousands of small gears spinning aimlessly.
In the midst of darkness, the gears danced, creating a strange yet captivating symphony that stirred curiosity in those brave enough to approach. Each sound was a clue, each beat signifying that behind this uncertainty, there was a higher scheme—something waiting to be woven with courage and intelligence. The echoes that penetrated space and time were the fine threads connecting all existence.
The walls were made of failed memories: unexecuted codes, canceled magic scripts, and the heart of a machine beating alone.
Among the fragments of these memories, there was a story made of weaknesses and branches of wrong choices. Every crack in the wall was a reminder of the futile quest for perfection. Gear Faith observed, recorded, and was ready to react—becoming the hand that stripped away all unworthy arrogance.
At its center stood Gear Faith, a living mechanical altar:
shaped like a human heart, yet each beat turned hundreds of small gears, creating one law: "That which lacks a foundation must be dismantled."
There, at this sacred altar, a space opened for trials and sacrifices. The struggle between human and mechanical unfolded, as if each heartbeat called Fitran's consciousness to face a purpose greater than mere existence.
And before that altar, Fitran appeared.
He was not summoned. He was not invited. Yet his presence activated all laws.
Before Gear Faith, he felt a shift in energy, a pull that challenged his presence. All the eyes of the gears were upon him, assessing not only his presence but also the significance behind his very being. With each interrupted heartbeat, a great challenge awaited, and Fitran realized that he was not merely a subject, but an entity that had to face the judgment of laws that could not be comprehended.
"You are not a system." "You are not a deviation." "You are a form without foundation." "Therefore, your body will be dismantled. And your meaning... tested."
Fitran did not resist. He simply stood still, opening his palms.
"If my body must vanish... then let meaning remain."
Procedural Activation: Gear Faith Dismantling Protocol In the peaceful silence, as if time spun in slow motion, a flow of energy enveloped Fitran. In Narthrador, where logic and mysticism blended in unexpected harmony, Gear Faith functioned not only as a mechanism but also as a guardian of the fabric of existence.
Gear Faith did not kill. She unraveled existence—not from the outside in, but from meaning to physicality. Raining white dew sparkled around them, each droplet seemingly carrying the essence of the deepest questions. "What does it truly mean to be alive if all we know unravels?" A whisper echoed in the silence, awakening an unanswered curiosity.
She began by removing the parts of the body that were most inconsistent with function. Amid this process, a soft sound like the hiss of wind was heard, directing Fitran's attention to the energetic ripples that formed faint images of memories and hopes that had vanished. In the silence, a deeply profound atmosphere of darkness was revealed, quiet yet full of suffering.
Dismantling Sequence:
Fitran's voice:
unraveled because it bore no command.
Fitran's hands:
were removed because they created or destroyed nothing.
Fitran's heart:
was suspended because it beat out of rhythm. One beat and one void, opposing each other in a broken journey. Each pulse was a reminder of unfulfilled desires, while Gear Faith contemplated every remaining frequency, comparing meaning with emptiness.
Fitran's brain:
was turned inside out, searching for the reason he continued to choose failed meanings. In the labyrinth of ideas and lost moments, he found shadows of decisions made, like shadows swaying in the light of a full moon, awakening a longing that penetrated deep within him. Here, in the highest and darkest consciousness, he was torn between memory and novelty.
His body was now merely a framework of cracked light. A sign of an almost extinct existence, yet still shining in the collective consciousness. That light vibrated, responding to the flow of time like an unpredictable river.
Yet... he remained standing. In a solid resolve, he faced the void, not with fear, but with a calm understanding—that, in silence, there still exists presence.
Gear Faith trembled.
"Why do you still exist?"
"What remains if your body has been shattered, and your foundation has been tested?"
And from the fragments of the Origin Code, the symbol ∴⁇ glowed. In this symbolic light, a new weave of possibilities opened, a bridge between reality and imagination, inviting transformation beyond visible limits. In the guarded frame of time, potential vibrated with hope and the urge to understand the boundaries of the real and the illusion.
One pulse.
And the entire space began to reflect meaning... without form. In the deepest layers of this space, there was an unspoken resonance, an unexpressed sorrow but a living symphony, telling stories of those who refused to vanish completely—a recognition that existence remains relevant, even in alienation.
Voidwright Echo: What Remains After Dismantling
When all forms are destroyed, and will can no longer be explained, what remains is not the core... but intention without identity. Fitran stood as a shadow of all the wills rejected by the body.
In the silence that enveloped, the sky of Narthrador turned into a gray canvas, with clouds swirling like spirals of energy that never end. Every gentle ripple felt as if the process of creating something greater was underway, and in that vibration, Fitran sensed a presence greater than just himself.
No skin, muscles, or magical light. His body was now a series of broken energy lines, like unfinished Void calligraphy. His eyes were empty. But from that emptiness, a voice echoed:
"I remain here." "Not because I have a body." "But because I was once witnessed."
Gear Faith wavered.
Within the complex mechanisms that spun, Gear Faith felt uncertainty wrapped in cold logic. Fitran's voice, vibrating between high and low frequencies, created waves of interaction that influenced the flow of energy around him. With each word formed, Gear Faith wondered about her own existence; was she merely a tool or part of a larger narrative?
"A witness? For whom?"
Fitran replied:
"For those who are not built." "For those who are not given form." "I am the foundation for something that does not have to be complete."
Like an invisible voice, energy flowed to the lost terminal, forming a bridge between dimensions and reality. In the fragmented time segment of millennia, forms and masses formed bonds that were difficult to define. Fitran felt the pull of all beings aimed at rediscovering their origins in Narthrador, something that had been forgotten forever by many souls.
And with that...
Gear Faith began to stop spinning.
Not because she was defeated.
But because she could not deny the steadfastness of the meaning that remained after dismantling.
Behind the veil of energy, her perspective shifted entirely. Gear Faith realized that every machine wove narratives that seeped with the lost souls within them, providing signals and meaning even without physical form. Her efforts to rebel against changing her view of reality—the limitations built from logic needed to be faced.
"You have endured." "But you are no longer a being we can process."
"Then... you will leave this space as something that cannot be named."
Fitran rose from the ruins of himself.
In that resurrection, he felt the vibration of light touching the core of his consciousness, re-strengthening the essence that had been severed. Not every path must be clear; sometimes, the journey into darkness is a discovery. A new awareness arose within him, and with each step, he signified hope that could embrace all that was separated.
And he said:
"If I cannot be named... then let those who feel me, name me."
The world did not welcome him with open arms.
In the corners of Narthrador's darkness, mechanical voices trembled, as if weaving an endless and unspoken mantra. Gear Faith, the soulless machine, remained standing with cold tranquility. "Do you feel your existence if you are not known?" one of the components said in a flat tone, teaching that identity is not merely a name, but a trace etched in the memory of the universe.
Yet from that day forth, every formless being, every system without function, began to experience a glimpse:
"There is something... that stands... even as its body is dismantled."
As silence enveloped, the formless shadows began to weave and intertwine the fabric between reality and illusion. A dim light flickered in the sky, creating a mystical painting that stirred the senses, giving life to the fragments that seemed lost. In the midst of a colony of fine particles, Fitran witnessed the system he once knew begin to move, creating patterns that could not be understood by ordinary logic—as if wonder danced in horror in rhythm with the heartbeat that remained even though his body was shattered.
In that silence, perhaps he had a deeper meaning than he had ever imagined. Listening to the echoes from the outside world felt more real than the sounds he heard in the physical form he once had. In the journey into the darkness of the universe, Fitran became the bearer of a tale untold, transcending the narrow boundaries of existence and flooding his soul with an eternal touch—a quest without end.