Inside the circle of ritual, the air was dense with mana, and within its center, Rie knelt alone, surrounded by silence.
With—her core shattered.
Her circle crumbled.
And in that moment, all hell was unleashed.
Raw, untamed mana exploded into her body like a storm with no center.
She coughed violently, a thick mouthful of blood splashing onto the ground.
Her eyes began to bleed, followed by her nose, ears—every orifice leaked crimson as blood gushed out of her like a cracked vessel.
But as if that was not enough.
Her left hand almost blasts out—torn apart as blood sprayed like a fountain.
She collapsed to the ground, trembling, her body spasming as she tried in vain to control the surging mana that rampaged inside her.
But it was too much.
Her heart—already damaged—began to tear apart.
Tiny fractures of broken circle split across its surface, growing wider with each agonizing second.
She couldn't even breathe.
Gasping, she clawed at her own throat with her remaining hand, trying to pull air into lungs that refused to obey.
She lay on the floor, her blood pooling around her.
The hole in her heart widened.
And then, her breath stopped.
Her lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, blank and glassy.
Not a single word escaped her lips.
Not a scream.
Not a plea. Nothing.
Despite the pain—agony that would've made anyone beg for death—her face didn't change.
She stared at the ceiling with an expressionless face.
But in truth, she wasn't looking at the ceiling.
She was looking past it.
Beyond this room. Beyond these crumbling walls.
She was gazing at the vast, endless sky.
In her previous life, she had lived over six hundred years.
She had climbed to heights unimaginable—become powerful enough to shake nations—
And yet… beneath that infinite sky, she was still so small.
Smaller than an insect.
But that wasn't unique to her.
That was true for everyone.
The heavens—boundless, merciless, eternal—treat all the same.
In this world, people worship talent.
They bow to the strong, cling to power like leeches.
They flatter and follow, crawling before those they once envied.
And in the same breath, they mock the weak, exploit the helpless.
Crushing others just to stand a little taller.
As if that would make them matter more beneath the sky.
But is that truly all there is?
Rie had always been told she wasn't special.
She'd been reminded of it, again and again—by teachers, by nobles, by fate itself.
Everyone made sure she never forgot her place.
But is that the truth?
Is her brother special?
Is the Demon King special?
What about the hero destined to be born six hundred years from now?
No. None of them were.
If they were truly special, then why did they all fall—
Why did they all die by her hand?
And if she was so powerful…
Why did she die at the hands of that same hero?
It was because no one is truly special—and at the same time, everyone is.
The one who seizes the moment, who refuses to let go, who walks through hell barefoot—
They become special.
Not because of fate. Not because of blood.
But because they choose to be.
If someone is ahead of me… that doesn't mean they'll always be.\
And if someone is behind me… that doesn't mean they're meant to stay there.
Rie looked skyward once more.
Be it demon, elf, vampire, human—
Animal or insect, worm or king—
They were all the same.
All were born.
All would die.
There is no difference between the insect crushed underfoot…
And the Demon King who sits upon a throne of bones.
They both return to the dust.
Many Demon Kings had risen.
And just as many had fallen.