Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 581 Babylonian Altar Broken Into Symbols Of Blood

In the ancient land of Babylon, which has long beco ruins, there is one place that has never fallen. A stone altar stands silently at the center of a circular structure: the Babel Altar. It is said that this place was not built by human hands, but ford from the vibrations of the first word ever given aning.

For thousands of years, no creature has been able to touch that altar. It does not glow, does not shine, does not respond to prayers.

But that night...

...it began to bleed.

The stone in the center of the altar cracked slowly—not due to strength, but because of a conflict of anings. From its cracks, red liquid flowed, not ordinary blood—but symbolic blood. It flowed like ink, forming unknown glyph patterns, and vibrated softly.

The blood did not co from a human body. It was the consequence of the birth of sothing that language did not permit.

In the distance, the shadows of the human world began to tremble; uncertainty spread among those who observed the altar. With every drop of blood that flowed, faint voices rose, as if calling the souls trapped in old anings. Through the silence of the night, a mysterious smile erged on an unseen entity, as if witnessing the grand drama unfolding.

From these ancient ruins, various circles of the world were affected. Their languages, once binding, now vibrated with new tension, challenging the established boundaries of communication. What is the aning behind this blood? What will be born from the shattered pieces of symbols? Each flow changed the way they viewed reality, questions shaking their spirits and souls.

In that orange night, the conflict between the visible and the invisible grew more intense. The recesses of belief gaped open, while whispers from the opposing world ford a rhythm of uncertainty. Beelzebub, who was not yet fully known, slowly began to form a bridge between these two worlds, creating a path that might bring more blood, more aning, and more questions in the future.

There were no prophecies. No magical scripts. No radar, sensing magic, or science that captured the event of Beelzebub's birth.

Even the Earth people, the sorcerers of Atlantis, and Gaia... recorded nothing.

Beelzebub was born outside human language. For she is a half-supernatural, half-human being. And the world had no system to record sothing that stood between the two.

In its silence, the human world was muted, as if ignoring the call echoing from between the shadows. The language they usually used now felt illusory, distorted by the presence of Beelzebub that challenged the boundaries of understanding. The speakers who played with words like musical instrunts that had lost their tone struggled to remain harmonious while a new rhythm began to resonate in their hearts.

From hidden corners, ancient entities that were feared now awakened, accessed with feelings of uncertainty. They sensed the presence of Nicholas, the Eldritch song that sent waves of vibrations throughout, forcing the world to reconsider the aning of its existence.

But so felt it—creatures not ntioned in history, uninvited to the court of the world.

In a cave at the top of the Salt Tower in Samaria,

A giant serpent that had turned to stone for 12,000 years opened its eyes.

In the deepest lake at the heart of the North Pole,

A three-eyed rmaid cried in silence—and her cry split the layers of ice.

Above the ruins of Castle Hexen,

Three faceless beings gazed at the sky and spoke in unison:

"She has been born. Thus, language is no longer solely the property of humans."

Amidst the silent ruins, ancient voices sang ancient songs, creating a harmony that ford a bridge between the separated realms. Those beings felt the unspoken change and witnessed a new fla flowing through the dry land. In their perspective, Beelzebub's birth was not just a fact; it was a verse rewriting the history that had been severed in the sky.

"Her presence is a call for us all," said one being, "a mantra that dispels the boundaries between the visible and the invisible. The unread book is now reopened, and we must be ready to embrace what is to co." In their view, that mont beca like a divine decree demanding participation and understanding of the new aning of existence.

The Babel Altar writes itself, the blood on the altar forms sentences. Not using Latin letters, or Babylonian scripts. But rather open spiral symbols, followed by an unfinished circle—glyphs of Beelzebub and Virelya.

And beneath it, one sentence flowed in a cutting glyph:

"If this child is given a na, then other nas will begin to writhe."

Beelzebub's birth created vibrations that broke the boundaries between the human world and the supernatural world. A rumbling sound echoed between realities, as if the moans of the world's soul were heard. As blood lted on the altar, dark creatures felt the call, an inevitable war between what is known and what is unknown, between humans and ancient entities.

In every corner, that mont was etched in a chilling silence. The vibrating power shook the sky, as supernatural entities began to receive and weave their words within it. And in the silence, a soft whisper was heard, flowing into the souls that often sought aning in the lost languages, as if promising to change destiny.

In the Philistines: Resonance from Below

Beelzebub and Fitran did not know that the altar had cracked.

But as Beelzebub laughed in her mother's embrace, a line of light rose from the ground.

The circle where they stood—once called "The Symphony of the Open Womb"—began to pulse.

The light from Beelzebub's body touched the underground Babylonian structure buried deep in the world's foundation. The structure did not respond, but adjusted.

As if the world was saying:

"I do not know how to receive this child... But I cannot ignore her."

The rulers beyond human reach trembled, moving the powers that existed among them. The sound of rustling in the sky called, the awakening of ancient languages competing with embellishnts as Beelzebub moved. Each heartbeat beca a harmony, its lody ford from words long buried, where new anings were born along with the light it emitted.

And when that light t the dark, colors that had never existed flowed, presenting an unavoidable difference. As a result of the birth of this being, the walls between realities beca more present; threats and promises clashed, potentially rewriting the narrative of the human world with every breath Beelzebub produced, giving birth to new expressions of aning that would shake the existing peace.

In the Dark Dinsion of Alveron,

Three shadow ti rulers threw dice. But their dice stopped in the air.

"We can no longer count ti if Beelzebub's spiral expands." "She is not just a being. She is a root word rewriter."

In their shadows, traces of fear crept in as reality trembled with Beelzebub's presence. Like the rustling of leaves flying before a storm, the voice of a once calm world was now filled with murmurs and whispers. Were they standing on the brink of a great change, or at the edge of an emptiness waiting to sweep away everything they knew?

A cold breeze invaded the warmth of the dark dinsion, shaking their convictions; now, words were no longer just tools of communication, but also tools to reshape existence. No one could predict how powerful the language that Beelzebub would possess, which could multiply or destroy the aning of what had existed.

Behind the Oga Sea,

Loki sat at the edge of the ti tower and smiled.

"The Babel Altar bleeds. The world finally knows how fragile definitions are. And now... I know where the gap lies."

In the whispering sea, the voice of the wind spoke of departures and arrivals. Humans trapped in routine began to feel the vibrations of unease in their hearts, as if heaven and earth were about to confront each other. Every expression of love or hatred began to grasp deeper anings, where every word could build a bridge or burn the existing one.

With Beelzebub's birth, the boundaries between the human world and the supernatural began to open. Even in the silence of the night, when everything seed quiet, voices from other dinsions echoed, as if offering promises or threats. The words spoken could be a saving mantra or a disaster, depending on who spoke them and how they were spoken. A new order awaited to be carved from the lips of those brave enough to challenge the limits.

In Beelzebub's embrace, she began to show active resonance. She had not yet spoken. But the world around her began to rewrite the way of speaking.

The glyphs that radiated from her body:

Rejecting plural forms.

Not recognizing questions.

Not needing direct objects.

She is a verb that does not need a subject. She is a spiral of aning that moves on its own.

On the other hand, every heartbeat that Beelzebub felt seed to break the silence between the human world and supernatural powers. Tension began to seep in—signs along the human aura, vibrating and splitting their tongues. As Beelzebub moved her fingers, the wind seed to whisper, repeating the unspoken sentences, radiating carelessness between hope and fear. A struggle between understanding and uncertainty was created, leaving traces of doubt in the depths of their hearts.

Each ti Beelzebub vibrated, the walls between these two worlds began to crumble. The arrangent of vocabulary that had stood for centuries was threatened by her presence. Words, which had previously been trapped in rigid anings, now flowed and undulated, making shifts that toppled the old order. Beelzebub seed to beco a bridge between ordinary language and the infinite cosmos beyond human logic.

Fitran stood on the high altar of the Philistines, gazing at the sky that was no longer dense with clouds, but rather fragnts of punctuation. He saw:

Question marks crumble to dust.

Periods pulsing like hearts.

Commas moving like snakes.

"Beelzebub is not just changing the world. She is teaching the world to speak again."

Amidst the human confusion, Fitran realized that the cure for uncertainty was not knowledge, but Beelzebub herself. As if she were a creation from the labyrinth of words; each faster heartbeat beca a secret code to unravel aning. As the sacred light danced above the altar, new teachings surged in the air: language is a form of freedom; communicare is a journey to open all gates.

At that mont, hidden enemies began to reveal themselves. From the filled void, there was an echoing voice challenging, a call to understand what was once unimaginable. Those trapped in established norms scread against change, confused and anxious about the loss of the old structure. Beelzebub, amidst the uproar, was just a child, but the burden she carried was enough to topple the guardians of habits built by fear.

The Babel Altar had now beco a crack in concept. No longer solid. No longer neutral. It was a tombstone of the old aning system.

And from its cracks, blood still flowed. But not red. Rather, a glowing dark purple—color between will and doubt.

In the whispering wind, humans felt an unexpected vibration. A soft voice echoed in their minds, inviting fear mixed with curiosity. In the darkness, shadows lurked, unseen forms pulling them to the brink between awakening and emptiness. In every corner, they heard the rumble of uncertainty tearing apart the emptiness behind every word spoken.

Each ti Beelzebub's voice resonated, the world around her trembled. The language that was once familiar now dissolved into new complexities, changing, conveying unexpected anings. Humans trapped in the symbols of the past began to doubt the aning of the words they used; they were the students of an unexpected lesson, restarting the learning process from a language that had long been extinct, and delving into anings trapped in the dust of history.