In an instant, she had been killed countless times.
It had clearly been no more than a probing strike. To draw a comparison, it was the portion of water that overflowed a cup, running along its sides under surface tension.
But Rita Rozay-en was certain.
That was infinity.
There was no need for adjectives such as magnificent, noble, or sacred.
It was, quite literally, infinite light and infinite heat.
Before the power released by that self-proclaimed Demon God, rather than pain or regret, the only emotion that lingered readily in her heart was an irretrievable despair.
If the despair brought by the earlier Divine Strike had been like that of a tightly bound beast watching a hunter approach, knife in hand...
Then what Rita felt this time was like being a player stuck with a doomed save.
Though their condition was flawless and they had countless chances to try again, whatever they did in the story that followed, they gained nothing except the despair of always being one step too late, of every effort coming to nothing.
That was not a gap effort and willpower could bridge, because what you faced was not even the world, but the person who controlled and rewrote it.
Rita slumped on the ground with her legs splayed to either side. Over her tender, snowy thighs, her ornate skirt had been reduced to tatters, making her look like a heavily damaged shipgirl.
For Rita Rozay-en, who reconstructed herself from a phantom in her memories whenever she revived, this was undoubtedly proof that her mind had begun to crumble.
Clearly, until she escaped the psychological shadow cast by this mire of endless deaths, the girl would probably be unable to remember what she looked like intact.
The pride on that devilishly beautiful face had shattered, leaving