Becta staggered backward, falling onto his back. The last thing reflected in his pupils was the enormous Shield Crest, that towering, terrifying shadow seeming almost fused with Kira below.
Dark, powerful, profound, terrifying—seething with boundless fury and carrying a suffocating pressure.
In that instant, he realized with unprecedented clarity that he could not win.
No matter how much he abandoned, no matter what he gave up, no matter how stubbornly he persisted in chasing victory, he could not win. The gap in their strength was simply that vast, an insurmountable chasm he could never cross.
Becta had encountered only two beings in his life who were this powerful, who made him feel this hopeless.
No, not Don Thousand. Though he had indeed gone to that forbidden sea in the Barian World and freed Don Thousand, he had never actually seen Don Thousand fight in person. He had no clear idea how strong Don Thousand truly was.
The one he had seen was someone else.
A being perhaps even darker than Don Thousand, perhaps even stronger—a being from some other unknown dimension. It was also that being who had pointed them toward the Fusion Dimension and led them to attack it.
Perhaps only that being could fight the Devil before him.
As for Becta? He no longer even had the strength to be angry.
All Becta could think now was: why did people have to play cards?
Why could everyone not be more primitive, more barbaric, and just throw punches or fire energy blasts? Why did they have to play these damned cards? If that were the case, maybe he would not have been beaten senseless by some brat.
If he had been instantly killed by an energy blast from the other side, at least he would not have to suffer