Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 439 The Girl from the Nine Belly Hell

Their bodies did not fall, but the world around them slipped away, as if gravity ignored their existence. Layer by layer, meaning peeled away, taking them to a zone that could not be understood by geometry, color, or emotion, as if placing them beyond the boundaries of known reality.

In the silence echoing from all directions, Fitran and Beelzebub stood on a plain made of open jaws—each jaw filled with eyes, and each eye radiating questions that would never be answered. Each eye had a different color—some shimmered with deep sorrow, while others emitted burning anger, as if ready to draw in any soul brave enough to approach.

"Welcome to the third layer," Beelzebub said slowly, her voice heavier than before. "This is the place where meaning tries to consume its creator." The voice rose, vibrating through the dense air, piercing the silence with repressed pain, like the scream of a soul waiting to be released.

Fitran did not speak. He began to feel the structure of his will tear apart. In this place, even the will to love could be seen as a form of aggression. Waves of tension crashed against his soul, wondering whether love was truly a strength, or a burden that ensnared him in darkness.

And the creatures here... sensed it.

They emerged like mist, but not air. They were Nullask—entities that only appeared when someone tried to give meaning to emptiness. Tracing their forms, they looked like shadows of smoke, flowing in unconventional shapes, as if they were searching for a reason to exist.

These creatures had no faces, only floating frameworks of logic: statements that failed to be proven. They surrounded Fitran with hollow gazes, challenging him to immerse himself in the suffocating arguments that were futile, as if every breath carried the weight of an endless discussion.

"If love exists, why has it left you?"

"If you are Fitran, why is no one calling your name anymore?"

"If will is power, why is Rinoa still imprisoned?"

Each question cut deep. Not physically, but existentially. Fitran began to lose vision in one eye. Not due to injury—but because his definition was erased by paradox. He felt as if he were in a cracked mirror, where each shard reflected uncertainty and unspoken sorrow.

And at the moment when Fitran was about to collapse, an explosion of sound erupted—not from fire, but from a will that refused to crumble. In that instant, all shadows of the past surged into his mind, demanding answers about love and sacrifice, and behind the sound of the explosion, whispered the cry of his trapped soul, "I am still here!"

Beelzebub raised her hand. The chains on her arms fell away. Her gown billowed like a tongue of fire in a storm. Her tangled golden hair flew free, transforming like embers swirling, creating a spiral pattern of magic that even the Void dared not approach. Every movement displayed unexpected power, while the shadows around her seemed to shy away, afraid of the fragility that accompanied her.

"I am not a protector," she said, her voice like hot iron melting the silence. "But if you wish to swallow the one who loves, then allow me to show you... what once swallowed me." As she spoke, the fire in her eyes blazed with determination, creating the illusion that she herself was a falling star that would bring despair to those who dared to approach.

The Belly of Unfulfilled Desire released a sigh of repressed longing, reminding of promises unfulfilled, gnawing at the soul mercilessly, like a wound that would not heal.

The Belly of Faith Mocked trembled like the sound of bitter laughter, hinting at a shattered belief in the tremors of an unfriendly reality.

The Belly of Betrayed Pact overflowed with sorrow as if becoming a reminder of how fragile the agreements deemed eternal were.

The Belly of the Mother Never Remembered emitted a silent moan, the hollow sound of a loss never acknowledged.

The Belly of the Abandoned Lover contained a spirit struggling against time, echoing with unreciprocated longing.

The Belly of the Child Lost in Promise shook the depths of the heart, leaving a pain that burned even if unseen.

The Belly of the Name Erased invited silent questions, reminding of lost identity, and all that was lived without meaning. Among these bellies, a conflict surged uncontrollably, each layer demanding its right to be remembered, to be loved, to not be neglected.

The Belly of the Dead Concept: An empty space that once brimmed with ideas and hopes, now only leaving silence, where writhing ideas are trapped in uncharted darkness, waiting for a surrender that never comes, like abandoned hope in the corners of the mind.

The Belly of Itself: A cracked mirror of the soul reflecting the hidden sides filled with pain and longing. This is a confined space, where identity struggles to break free from the shackles of the past, determined to seek light in the absence.

And from each of those bellies emerged a power that was neither magic nor emptiness—but a rejection of proof itself.

Amidst the echoing cracks, a thick shadow could be seen protecting the creatures from the winds of uncertainty. They stood like statues made of dark material, contemplating the mystery surrounding them. The distance between the bellies and emptiness seemed to shrink, forming delicate webs that bound their existence in tension.

Nullask attacked with confusing paradoxical logic, but Beelzebub responded with the magic of incongruity that challenged reality. Each time they uttered:

"If true love exists, why does it not return?"

As that voice was spoken, a faint light from the valley was shrouded in unease. Beelzebub answered with the magic of the fifth layer:

"You speak within a narrow system. I answer from wounds, from a history filled with betrayal and shattered hopes—a conflict of the heart that is unavoidable." freeweɓnovel.cøm

The creatures were torn apart by arguments that could not be counted. The veins in the surrounding area throbbed, creating waves of pressure that enveloped the atmosphere in tension. Existential cracks burned their structure of meaning.

One Nullask attempted to attack Fitran directly, embedding a glyph:

However, Fitran's gaze, a rain of turbulent feelings, seemed to reflect all the repressed anxieties. Oxygen felt sticky, the earth trembled, warning of the potential conflict lurking. Apathy and desire merged into one, gathering strength in a single heartbeat.

"¬(Love ∧ Destiny): A statement that invites questions about this nature that moves within uncertainty and conflict."

But Beelzebub spread the seventh layer of her belly: behind the growling flesh, flickered dark sparks like stars trapped in emptiness.

"A name erased... cannot be attacked."

The glyph burned before touching Fitran's skin, leaving a trail of smoke that floated, as if hinting at a story hidden behind the lost name.

As the dust from the creatures faded, Fitran stood still, like a statue made of fragments of time that had stopped. He gazed at Beelzebub, not with gratitude... but with a question, a confusion swirling within his heart, ensnaring his thoughts with the ironic chains of hope and uncertainty.

"Why do you protect me when this world is full of uncertainty and danger?"

Beelzebub sighed, her voice echoing loudly in the silence, piercing the layers of reality surrounding them. Her green eyes gazed into a place unreachable by Fitran, like two pools of eternity holding both darkness and light.

"Because I once loved someone who tried to prove that I deserved to exist." "And when she failed to prove it... she died." "Since then, I have never allowed anyone to try to prove their love again."

Fitran bowed his head, sorrow enveloping the fragile soul, trapped in a labyrinth of memories that bit at every corner of his heart.

"But I do not want to prove it. I just want... to save her," Fitran's voice trembled, like the whisper of wind that dared not touch the calm surface of a lake.

Beelzebub smiled bitterly, the internal struggle clearly etched on her face—a confession of repressed worries and endless fears, reflecting how difficult it was to love amidst emptiness.

"That is why I am still waiting for you to live."

The layers of hell began to collapse, not only because they were destroyed, but because there were no more paradoxes to be thrown at them, creating a terrifying void.

A door appeared—not from structure, but from a denial of logic. Above it was written in broken language: words that shook the soul like a gong breaking the silence of the night.

"Enter only if love does not need to be declared. Only if a name cannot be restored."

Behind that door, the shadows of love and loss merged in a dark dance, creating tension that hung in the air, waiting for an answer from the soul brave enough to step forward.

And without hesitation, Fitran stepped forward, clutching hope between fear and despair, each step like a dance on the edge of a precipice. Beelzebub followed, tracing the same path, feeling the pain and courage in a single breath. In silence. In embers. In chains that were now unraveled.

In a world that devours meaning, Beelzebub, who was once swallowed by love, in her heart, trapped in doubt and certainty, wondered whether unspoken love would be enough to overcome this doubt, or whether she would be engulfed by the shadows of endless regret—a dilemma that bore an emotional burden.

A heart that surged, wanting to speak, yet choosing silence. Alienation enveloped, like a fog that would not dissipate. With each heartbeat, questions filled the empty space: could conscience overcome such profound uncertainty?