A few days after Seraphyne's departure, Rinoa's Avatar of Harmony pulsated with a menacing thrum, shadowy tendrils creeping in like serpents, seeking to entwine her very soul in their encroaching darkness. The air was thick and oppressive, weighed down by a chilling wind that carried the musty scent of damp earth, mingling with a faint, acrid hint of smoke—as if the world itself quaked with a foreboding tension that shattered any semblance of tranquility. Doubt and dread gnawed at her heart, the remnants of light stifled by an unseen malevolence that demanded her resolve to rise against the encircling gloom.
Rinoa stood at the precipice of the chasm of magic, her hair billowing like ethereal ripples, mirroring the fickle winds of fate shaped by divine will. A terrifying rumble reverberated in the distance, reminiscent of thunder heralding the arrival of a tempest, heightening the already unsettling atmosphere. Her body quivered—not solely from the night's chill but from an ominous threat woven into the very fabric of reality—Malakothies, the Hayoth Ha Kodesh, the once-sacred angel of destruction now defiantly refusing to bow to the reverent name he had once embodied. Dim moonlight, veiled by ominous clouds, cast an eerie glow over Rinoa's astonished and confused expression, illuminating the turmoil roiling within her. Behind her, Fitran felt a seething anger surge within, a fierce blaze that could not be quelled. He tightened his fists until his knuckles turned bone-white, struggling against the urge to charge forward and confront the impending tyranny. A bitter smile twisted his lips, a complex blend of compassion and helplessness, as he watched Rinoa ensnared in the horrific, jagged shards of fate.
"Why did you choose me?" Rinoa breathed, her voice as fragile as a thread stretched to its limit amidst the suffocating tension surrounding them. The tremor in her tone stirred a profound empathy within Fitran, an instinctual drive to protect her surging through him, coursing through every pore of his skin, as if the chaotic world around them paused momentarily, holding its breath to listen intently to her heart-rending question.
The world around him was thick with tension; colors warped into deep blues and inky blacks, while time itself seemed to sidestep the chaos that surged forth. Thunder roared, splintering the stillness and unleashing a resonance that struck fear deep within Fitran. Each heartbeat thrummed violently against the storm's tumult, a discordant rhythm that felt as if his very pulse was battling the fury of nature. The air was suffused with the damp, rich aroma of wet earth, mingled with the bittersweet scent of almost-falling rain, creating an almost suffocating heaviness. Inside, he screamed, "Rinoa, don't let him control you! He's turning you into an instrument of destruction!" The wind howled ferociously, ripping apart the remnants of peace, as dark clouds loomed ominously overhead and lightning streaked across the sky, an explosive signal that even nature was swirling with the tempest of anger coursing through Fitran. A voice—ethereal and haunting—whispered from the depths of his being, It's not because you are weak, Rinoa. But because you are almost perfect.
"You will not take it from me!" Fitran shouted, his voice echoing with desperation and loathing, a bold challenge to both heaven and hell. With each word, the ground beneath him responded, cracking and splintering as if it shared in his turmoil. Each heartbeat reverberated with the profound sense of injustice gnawing at his soul, while a dark, malevolent energy seeped into his very being, saturating the air with a suffocating tension that felt almost tangible. The earth began to fracture beneath their feet, the horrific noise reminiscent of a monstrous chasm being birthed, dramatically separating him from the foreboding dark balcony conjured by Malakothies. The crack of the earth echoed like a tormented scream, intensifying the atmosphere as though something sinister was clawing its way up from the abyss below.
As the dark aura enveloped him, Fitran felt it pulse with terrifying strength. His eyes glinted like fiery jewels in the growing darkness, radiating a fierce anger that surged like an unstoppable tempest. The oppressive atmosphere swirled around him like a malevolent wind, tainted by the stale, corrupt scent of the dark realm reaching out to claim him. "Get out of his body, cursed creature! Rinoa is not your place!" he bellowed, his voice shattering the stillness, morphing into a fierce declaration that resonated through the trembling trees, as if they too recognized the injustice unfolding before them.
A surge of intense energy erupted, wild and untamed, as it entwined with flickering bolts of lightning, sending tremors rippling through the air like a forgotten heartbeat. Small creatures, startled and disoriented, bolted from their sanctuaries, as if dared to confront the looming power of Malakothies, their instincts urging them to flee. Rinoa stood frozen in the midst of this chaos, caught in the crossfire of two immense forces, her heart racing with a suffocating tension that tightened its grip around her chest, as the heat of the impending battle cloaked her like an oppressive shroud.
"I will not allow you to harm anyone else," Fitran declared fiercely, his every fiber pulsating with unwavering resolve. He fought with every ounce of his strength, determined to reclaim Rinoa from the sinister grasp of Malakothies. Suddenly, rays of angelic light began to pierce the stifling darkness, descending like celestial spears from a starless sky, dazzling yet blinding, as if the very heavens were tearing apart. But it was not the light that inflicted wounds upon flesh and spirit; instead, it was the aching void that lingered in its aftermath. Sacred symbols wove themselves into the air, swirling in a mystical choreography, only to fracture like fragile glass, embedding deeply within veins and bones, leaving behind a resonating tremor. The gentle rustle of leaves around them seemed to mirror a profound lament, filling the air with a palpable sorrow that reverberated through the very fabric of nature.
Rinoa screamed, not from physical pain, but because a fragment of her soul stirred to life,
"Finally." Instead of taking her body, Malakothies offered her something deeper—a silent pact that resonated through the very fabric of existence itself:
"Be a vessel for the truth that has been shattered. Let you be the last to judge this world with hands full of wounds, and eyes that can no longer weep."
Fitran stood tall, his frame quivering amidst the waves of panic that surged like a relentless tide around him. Every fiber of his being felt ignited with a smoldering rage. The fierce wind howled, carrying the damp, earthy scent of the ruins that loomed ominously nearby, adding an oppressive weight to the tense atmosphere. "How long will I allow Rinoa to be trapped in that form? This is not her—this is all a lie!" raced through his mind as fragments of sweet memories flickered in his thoughts, breaking like glass caught in a blaze. The sharp breeze seemed to fan the fire of anger swelling within his soul. He felt as if his blood were on fire, surging with a furious intensity. Each gust of wind taunted him, mocking his despair drowned in sorrow. The distant storm's roar drew nearer, echoing the chaos that raged inside his heart.
The ground beneath his feet began to crack, echoing the tumultuous emotions that roiled within him. It sounded like splintering wood, each crack resonating with the deepening sorrow that clung to his spirit. In the distance, a lightning bolt struck, illuminating the sky momentarily and unleashing a rumble that seemed to sync perfectly with the anguished cries of his heart, amplifying the dramatic atmosphere around him. "Rinoa!" he shouted, his voice splintering like a thunderclap, "You can't give up like this!" The echo of his desperate cry reverberated through the shadows of the swaying trees, as if the universe itself paused, holding its breath, awaiting a response.
And Rinoa, who had survived on mere fragments of love entwined with betrayal, responded... silence. The heavy encroaching stillness enveloped them like a damp shroud, filling the space between them with an unbearable tension that hung like a blade poised to slice through the air.
As her eyes opened once more, her irises transformed into a mesmerizing display of three layered celestial symbols, casting a mystical and terrifying image—like moonlight piercing through the jagged cracks of dark clouds. Her voice now emerged drenched in arrogance and sadness, reminiscent of a shattered seraph, sketching a scene brimming with ambiguity:
"I am no longer Rinoa.
I am Malakothies: The Wounded Incarni.
And I will destroy those who claim to be holy."
Fitran felt an overwhelming surge of power coursing through him, a dark aura enveloping his being like monstrous waves poised to crash upon the shore. The very earth quivered in trepidation, as though the ground itself recognized the tempest within him. The atmosphere vibrated with pent-up energy, making the air thick and suffocating, pressing heavily against the chests of everyone present. "Do you truly believe you can annihilate everything?!" he shouted, his eyes aflame with fury, embodying a blazing inferno that refused to be contained, convinced that he could obliterate every obstacle in his path. "I will not allow him to fade away like that!"
Above the valley that once thrived as a sanctuary for poets, the sky fractured, releasing a surreal tapestry of light and darkness that mirrored a profound struggle between hope and despair. The earth beneath remained steadfast, but the air congealed with an icy stillness, as if time itself hesitated, caught in a relentless duel with eternity. Every heartbeat accelerated, amplifying the tension that hung thickly in the atmosphere, as if each second was meticulously reinforced, echoing the impending conflict.
Amidst the eerie silence, Fitran stood with a raging tempest of anger in his chest, an unquenchable fire that seemed ready to ignite everything around him. The atmosphere felt oppressive, thick with a cold, gray mist that swirled and mingled with the damp, earthy scent of freshly soaked soil, creating an almost suffocating gloom. His dark gray cloak lashed about him, a wild banner flapping against the chilly wind, which carried the rustling sounds of leaves—like a captive bird desperately struggling against its confines. In his grip, his sword—once a beacon capable of conjuring both light and shadow in perfect harmony—now quivered in the unsettling stillness, mirroring the chaotic storm brewing within his heart. He understood, instinctively, before feeling the chill of the wind whisper across his skin, an unfamiliar sensation that crawled like shadows at dusk. Emerging from the depths of the mist was a figure that bore no resemblance to the Rinoa he once knew. The mist coalesced into a vague, haunting silhouette, an illusion that laughed at reason and defied explanation. Confusion and fury roiled within him, and his fists clenched tightly until his knuckles turned bone white, quaking with an unbearable tension—echoing the same rhythm of uncertainty that pervaded the world around him.
"Rinoa..." he whispered, his voice trembling, ignited by the uncertainty that cloaked each syllable. It felt as though his words were ensnared in the icy grip of the air, leaving each letter stranded in the space between them, amplifying the weight of his unspoken emotions.
But the mist, that enigmatic veil enveloping the valley, offered no solace or answers. Instead, it thickened the silence around him, a heavy silence that pressed down like freshly fallen snow, muffling all sound and drowning him in solitude.
Out of the haze approached a figure he recognized all too well: her steps were light yet confident, and her hair shimmered in the dim light, untouched by the passing tempest. Even the beat of her heart matched so closely with his own. Yet, as he locked eyes with her—oh, those haunting eyes—
they were not the familiar ones he had known. No, those eyes bore the weight of destinies for a thousand worlds, glinting with the echoes of a darkness he could not comprehend. In that moment, Fitran screamed within his mind, "What have you done to her?!" His fury surged like molten lava beneath the earth, cracking the ground and producing a low, menacing rumble that synchronized with the jagged flashes of lightning illuminating the foreboding black sky. The cold night wind whipped across his face, carrying with it the damp, rich scent of freshly rained earth, creating a chilling ambiance amid the pervasive stillness.
"I didn't come to be saved, Fitran," the voice resonated, carrying an eerie resemblance to Rinoa, yet it was infused with an unsettling ferocity, like a storm poised to wreak havoc. The shrill sound was nearly swallowed by the hissing wind that spiraled around him, a relentless reminder that the world was transforming at an alarming pace. Fitran's fists clenched tighter, deep pain radiating from within him, as if his very soul and body were engaged in a fierce struggle against the enveloping darkness. The atmosphere around them began to vibrate with tension; shadows twisted and swirled in the dim light, creating an impression of delicate chaos hanging in the air. "I came... to save you from yourself." His inner scream intensified, echoing with desperation, "You're not Rinoa! You're a monster!" The voice cloaked him in a paralyzing fear, its grip tightening as if it were a tangible entity, compelling him to fight back with every ounce of strength he had left.
The voice, weaving a familiar illusion, resonated like Rinoa, entwining itself around Fitran's consciousness. Yet, beneath that sweet familiarity lay the haunting echo of a thousand angels caught in an eternal struggle between their desires and the cruel hand of fate. In the stillness of the night, enveloped in a ghostly mist, the damp scent of rain clung to him as he fell silent—not from an inability to speak, but because, underneath all his façade of strength, he was cloaked in the fear of loving again. The cold wind whispered through the leaves, creating a haunting melody that mirrored the intense pressure pressing against his chest. His fingers clenched tightly, knuckles whitening and trembling, as if desperately restraining the torrent of chaotic emotions threatening to burst forth. Within the confines of his mind, the voice of his fury reverberated, "Why have you returned? Aren't you aware of the bitterness of your absence?" When Rinoa fell prey to the sinister influence of Malakothies, Fitran's anger exploded like molten lava erupting from a long-dormant volcano, scorching everything in its path. The atmosphere thickened with tension as the dark sky flickered with jagged streaks of lightning, momentarily illuminating his face—a tapestry of deep hatred and engulfing pain. The ground beneath him cracked and groaned, seeming to resonate with his unbridled emotional turmoil, while the scent of wet earth heightened the drama of the moment. Thunder rumbled above, echoing the tumult of his life, swaying precariously between hope and despair.
"You have no right to his body!" she cried, her voice reverberating through the night like a clap of thunder, daring the ominous presence of Malakothies-Rinoa to challenge her amidst the suffocating silence. The night wind howled fiercely, carrying the intoxicating scent of damp earth and fresh dew, yet it could not extinguish the seething anger that blazed within Fitran. "You have taken everything from me, and now you wish to destroy me further?" Fitran's eyes sparked with a fierce intensity, ablaze with the flames of his rage, as if the imprisoned tempest of his soul was clawing its way to the surface. An unsettling aura enveloped him, darkening the space around like an imminent storm, unleashing a bone-chilling wind that cut through his skin. He felt his heartbeat pulsing, resonating as if the very fabric of the universe trembled in time with the fierce rhythm of his smoldering anger, echoing in the vast darkness of the night.
"If you remain silent," Malakothies-Rinoa pressed on, her voice slicing through the oppressive stillness, "I will erase those feelings. The pain. The longing. The loss." Her tone, soft yet imbued with an unyielding strength, resembled a whispering wind carrying haunting messages from beyond an impenetrable fog. "For love is merely a distortion of time within a mortal body." She fixed her gaze upon Fitran, her eyes holding an ocean of emotions that stirred in him a tempest of deep longing. "Allow me... to reignite your heart." Each of her words wove intricate images in the air, creating an overwhelming sense of nostalgia that wrapped around him like a warm yet haunting embrace.
Fitran lowered his gaze, grappling with a tempest of anger raging like a wildfire trapped within his chest. His mind spiraled, inundated by dark thoughts that twisted relentlessly, each one more suffocating than the last. His fingers clenched tighter, summoning the strength of a thousand storms ready to lash out at anyone brave enough to confront him, like an eclipse that obscured the very essence of his light. "I don't need saving," he declared slowly, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion, reverberating like an echo filling the vast emptiness surrounding them. "I need you back... even if you have to kill me to do it," he added, his tone a raw testament to the depths of his suppressed feelings, flowing from the jagged edge of a wounded heart.
For the first time, Malakothies hesitated, his heart racing as if it had been jolted awake by this unexpected reality. Dark shadows began to retreat, revealing an uncharted territory of emotions between them, much like morning dew glistening as it dripped gently from the wet leaves, illuminating their fragile connection.
Within the stillness of the mortal woman's body, a faint heartbeat reverberated softly, a lingering essence of Rinoa that cried out in silence. This gentle rhythm seemed to ripple through the air, generating waves of emotion that enveloped the room in a heavy, melancholic aura. It was as if an unspoken voice emerged, echoing a deep longing that tirelessly yearned to be embraced, caressed, and cherished by the one who had never wavered in his devotion to her, even as the daunting forces of power and uncertainty loomed menacingly before them. Outside the window, the soft caress of the wind danced lightly, whispering through the trees and rustling the leaves—each movement a sigh of lament that joined the quiet atmosphere, steeped in a bittersweet blend of hope and trepidation. As the clock ticked methodically, an intricate tapestry of emptiness and warmth began to weave itself together, sometimes illuminating beautiful memories etched indelibly in Fitran's mind, bringing forth the piercing pain of an inescapable loss.