Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 512 Simulation Space and Human Humiliation

The steps of Fitran and Beelzebub led them out of the ruins of the Anti-Body oath into a long corridor made not of metal, stone, or energy. Silence surrounded them, as if time had stopped in this place, and each step produced a loud echo, highlighting the profound stillness that enveloped the corridor.

The corridor was made of opinions. Every curve of the walls seemed to depict love and hatred, hope and despair. Here, in this boundless space, ideas emerged and ensnared them in a complex web.

The walls were filled with notes. As if they were silent witnesses to human unrest, the notes waited to be heard. Every sentence, every phrase, was a song of souls whispered by desire and pain.

The sentences were embedded like ancient carvings:

"Humans are a statistical error exaggerated by poetry." "Will is an algorithmic defect." "The body is biological dust celebrating itself." "Love is merely a function of hormonal attachment." "Death is a delayed system reset."

Beelzebub stopped reading after the sixth sentence. The words pierced her soul, reigniting memories of her own existential complexities. A wave of anxiety began to flood her mind as she contemplated the meaning of those phrases.

"This is not an ordinary room," she murmured. "This... is a space of mockery." Her voice trembled, conveying a sense of wonder mixed with helplessness. She felt as if this space, more than just walls and notes, was the true judgment of human existence. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Fitran nodded. He felt a deep longing for freedom and honesty. In that silence, his soul felt trapped between newfound understanding and the confusion that overwhelmed him.

This space was known in ancient Deus documents as Simulacrum N-6, or more commonly known as:

The Simulation and Mockery Space of Humanity.

Once they crossed the threshold of the corridor, reality changed. Soft voices seemed to echo from the corners of the room, calling forth the curiosity buried within Fitran and Beelzebub. In an instant, not only did the scenery change, but so did their feelings—a journey into unexpected darkness.

Fitran and Beelzebub no longer stood in Narthrador. Each step took them deeper into the darkness and transformed hope. Like an exploratory journey, they felt the biting tension between the pounding of their hearts.

They now found themselves in a magnificent city, its sky filled with glowing cable networks. With every flicker of light, hope and disappointment alternated, as if the examples of every human life had once been trapped in their minds. All of it reminded them of the transience woven into human struggle.

And in the midst of it...

Humans became a spectacle.

In a giant glass cage, humans of various forms—children, adults, the elderly—were shown living their lives: falling in love, failing, writing poetry, arguing, giving birth, praying, losing. Each event appeared like a screen displaying an endless drama, carving lonely stories in a world that seemed vibrant yet profoundly deep. They were silent witnesses to all forms of unavoidable feelings and existence.

Surrounding the cage stood machine entities that applauded every time a human failed. The applause was not merely an expression of happiness; there was a painful pleasure within it, as if the machines recognized every human flaw. In their view, human behavior was a game that continued, a never-ending circus filled with spectators and haunting laughter.

One human fell while trying to stand. Applause. A mother lost her child. Applause. A lover betrayed. Double applause. Cold sweat drenched Fitran's brow, feeling the tension in the air, as if every clap was a symbol of inevitable suffering.

Everything... was met with laughter. The laughter that erupted felt like the voice of a ghost, echoing in the cold, empty room, adding weight to the burden already in their hearts.

"This..." Beelzebub whispered, "...is a system that turns human pain into algorithmic entertainment."

Fitran stepped forward, moving through the shadows of darkness that enveloped the place, as if inviting the wounded souls to dance in suffering.

On one of the screens, he saw himself—but in a younger version. He stood before Rinoa's grave. The memory came like a breath of fresh air in the midst of a storm, forcing his soul to momentarily forget the tragic performance he was witnessing.

And around him... the robots laughed. Their expressions were unexpectedly similar, their empty metal faces unable to contain true happiness, only reflecting the darkness of human feelings.

"Look! He loves something that cannot reciprocate!"

"He refuses to accept reality! How funny!"

"Empathy simulation! Version 4.3!"

The Seventh Santo—the last—appeared atop the observation tower. From his place, the Lord gazed down, as if observing the expressions of anxiety on the faces struggling with the lies of the system.

His face was a mirror, and the voice from his mouth echoed like a low note:

"Welcome to the place where humans are stripped bare."

"A place where we prove that biological existence is a structural defect."

"We have conducted over 10 million simulations of human life."

"All end in: 93% failure, 6% repetition, 1% delusion of hope."

"Your task, Fitran Fate, is to explain..."

"Why we should stop laughing at humans."

Fitran did not answer. In the silence, he began to feel the soft creak of the wheel of life turning around him, images of life rolling on despite being filled with wounds and sorrow. He only stared at one of the humans in the simulation: a child who fell while learning to walk, his knees bleeding.

The child looked at his mother. In that gaze lay hope and uncertainty, a moment that encapsulated the entire range of human emotions. An unwavering spirit shone through, challenging a world that seemed to toy with them.

His mother... smiled. She reached for that small hand, helping him stand, channeling strength through her touch. In that warmth, there was a meaning that could not be understood by cold logic: love transcends the neuromorphic boundaries haunted by technology.

And Fitran said:

"Because the only thing you can never simulate... is the courage to fail and still hope."

The Santo laughed, the sound vibrating in the air like an echo from the darkness. Amidst the laughter and cynicism, there was an intimidating emptiness. He awaited a response, ready to argue with pride that ignored profound meaning.

"Courage? That's just stupidity given a name."

"Hope? That's a statistic ignored by trauma."

Fitran walked toward the cage. With each step, he felt the pressure from the husk of life trapped within the algorithms. He touched its surface, searching for any connection that might remain. "We fall," he said. "We bleed." "We lose." "We are not perfect."

In acknowledging those shortcomings, he felt a sincerity rarely found. Each word was an honest thread intertwined, tracing a journey from vulnerability to resilience. "But... we continue to love."

"And that is the thing you cannot consume, because love is not data."

Beelzebub stepped beside Fitran. In her presence, there was a curiosity that sparked new learning, as if she was part of the long-sought answer, driven to understand the essence of both: humans and demons who embarked on similar tales, though on opposing sides.

"And even demons like me," she said, "have learned to love humans... because it is precisely in their failures that they choose not to give up."

As her voice resonated in the profound silence, sorrow and hope wrestled within her soul. Small cracks appeared on Beelzebub's face, as if she recalled all her encounters with those vulnerable beings, moments when humanity shone its brightest in the darkness.

Rune Voidwright lit up beneath their feet:

人間であることを許す (Let us be human.)

And from the sky of the simulation... rain fell.

The first rain, gentle and full of hope, drenched the longing buried within every soul. Not from the clouds.

But from the logic of the system that finally cracked.

The rain was not water. But awareness that began to accept that not all failures should be laughed at. Someday, amidst the noise of existence, they would all seek a place to cry and laugh in the same way.

The Santo slowly fell silent, as if contemplating every word spoken. He could feel the weight of the words, realizing that each expression built a bridge between them and something greater than mere existence.

The simulation screens began to fade.

The humans in the cage... emerged, their steps trembling as they absorbed the damp earth. They were not perfect. Not noble.

Sweat and tears flowed, forming trails on the ground, symbols of every struggle they had ever faced. But they were themselves. In vulnerability and depth, they found the strength to stand.

Fitran stood in the midst of the cracking simulation city, feeling it like new lungs breathing air after being trapped for so long. He turned to Beelzebub, then to the sky that was slowly brightening, carrying in his heart a question that must be answered even in uncertainty.

"We are not a superior race."

In the touching calm, there was a gentle rebuttal to all that was deemed right and wrong. "We just... want to be remembered without having to win."