Thinking of that man made Flay's stomach churn with instinctive nausea. That man, the leader of Blue Cosmos, the man who had given her strength and the chance to take revenge, was fundamentally revolting. He sat in that broad leather chair, idly turning a wineglass in his hand, without even the slightest respect for human life in his eyes. To him, Flay Allster was not a person, not even a soldier—merely an expensive tool that could be discarded at any time.
The Goddess of Liberation was not allowed to lose.
Though he took dozens of minutes to say it, that was all it amounted to. Djibril repeated it again and again in that arrogant, cloying voice of his. He was not concerned for Flay's safety; he was concerned about the return on his "investment." Every word implied the same thing: if she could not bring victory, if she could not prove her worth, then she was nothing. The wording varied, but it all meant the same thing. Simply put, he was saying this: if you break, I can replace you whenever I want.
What kind of goddess is that? If you're going to call me a goddess, you might as well worship me like a believer.
Flay sneered coldly to herself. Those people had given her the grandiose title of "Goddess of Liberation" and named her Gundam after it, yet they kept her caged like a dog and used her as they pleased. What kind of goddess was that? She was nothing more than a beautifully wrapped sacrifice.
The male crewmen aboard this ship were the same, but Djibril's lecherous gaze put even greater pressure on Flay's mind.
The gazes of those crewmen mixed desire, fear, and contempt. They knew she was an Extended, a monster, yet still coveted the