Chapter 522 Fitran Disguised as a Machine
In the suffocating silence, the atmosphere of the city felt like a heart that had stopped beating. The collapsed bridges and ruined buildings stood as remnants of a world that had forgotten the meaning of hope. Amidst the rubble, Fitran's steps felt hollow, as if each step was merely an echo in the empty corridors. The entire city was a silent witness to profound neglect.
After the destruction of the three Pillars of Command and the silence of Deus, the world did not become bright. It did not become dark. It became open.
And in the remnants of Narthrador, which no longer had a center, Fitran walked—without magic, without command, and without a definite form. He absorbed the aura of the abandoned city, knowing that every corner held stories that could only be understood by a soul that felt them.
Yet in his chest, a meaningless heartbeat still flowed. He saw the buildings piled in sorrow, as if no longer hiding life within them. A gentle breeze carried whispers of the past: the laughter of children, the footsteps of students, and the songs of the market that had now completely vanished. He carried no power. But he carried the record of wounds.
And he knew: If meaning could not be saved by the system, then meaning must be found—piece by piece, in places that no longer believed in meaning. In a corner of the street, he found fragments of memories that reminded him of who he truly was, Unit 011-R, born in darkness, yet now eager to find light even among shadows.
So he disguised himself.
Transmutation: Forma Null – The Face of a Functionless Machine
Fitran used the remnants of Deus—mechanical logic circuits, scraps of automaton skin, and glyph residues from the collapsed system—to create a total disguise.
He did not appear human, but he was not entirely a machine either. He was something unrecognizable. Harmless. Unimportant. Just as he wanted.
Fitran's body was now composed of gray metal panels without reflection. His eyes were vertical black holes. On his back was a ticking clock—but its hands did not point to time, but rather to the frequency of will. His voice did not come from his mouth, but from vibrations in the air.
As he stepped into the first city he witnessed, it felt as if time paused for a moment. The overcast sky hung low, as if channeling the sorrow of thousands of souls who once inhabited this place. The cracked stone streets, surrounded by old buildings standing still, revealed the cruelty of time that allowed them to be neglected. In a corner of the city, there was the sound of the wind sighing, calling forth memories that no longer existed. Fitran absorbed the atmosphere, feeling the traces of human footsteps that once filled the place with laughter and tears.