Pain.
Not the kind that faded. Not the kind that came in waves.
This pain was constant. Heavy. Suffocating. It had seeped into her bones, wrapped around her thoughts, pressed into the space between every heartbeat.
Even breathing felt like something she hadn't earned.
It wasn't just pain.
It was judgment.
Like the universe had crushed her once, slapped her back together without giving a damn, and then crushed her again—just to see if anything useful would fall out.
"Ew."
One word.
Sharp as a blade. Cold as death.
"Ophelia," a woman's voice said, dripping with contempt, "tell me this is a mistake."
The disgust was immediate. Casual. Absolute.
"You didn't seriously summon this thing, did you?"
---
Rinka's fingers twitched weakly against the floor.
Her eyes cracked open.
White light slammed into her skull like a hammer. For a moment, she thought she'd gone blind. Then shapes slowly bled into focus.
She was lying flat on a massive floor of pale stone. Cold. Smooth. Glowing runes carved deep into the surface pulsed rhythmically like a living heartbeat. The symbols shifted as she breathed, reacting to her presence.
No—
Suppressing it.
She tried to move her arm.
Nothing.
She tried to curl her fingers.
Her body refused to respond.
It wasn't paralysis. She could feel everything—the cold stone beneath her, the ache in her bones, the broken places screaming inside her chest.
This was worse.
It was like the world itself had decided she no longer had permission to exist.
---
At the far end of the chamber rose a throne.
Crystal and gold twisted together in impossible geometry, floating slightly above the ground like gravity had been politely asked to fuck off. Every surface reflected light at unnatural angles, making it painful to look at directly.
Upon it sat a woman.
Tall. Voluptuous. Unnaturally perfect.
Every curve was flawless. Every line deliberateas if reality itself had taken its sweet time sculpting her. Long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, glowing faintly like it had absorbed sunlight and refused to give it back.
Power radiated off her in thick, invisible waves.
It pressed down on Rinka's lungs until every breath felt borrowed.
But her face—
Rinka couldn't see it.
A smooth white blur covered her features like a censor bar imposed by reality itself. Every time Rinka tried to focus, her vision slid away. Her thoughts skidded off like they'd touched something forbidden.
Her mind recoiled instinctively.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't look.
---
Floating beside the throne was a smaller figure.
She was... cute.
Petite body. Soft, round face. Big green eyes filled with anxiety. Short brown hair tied into a tiny side ponytail that bobbed as she hovered unsteadily. A pair of fluffy white wings fluttered behind her, glowing faintly at the edges.
She clutched a floating tablet with both hands.
Her knuckles were white.
She was shaking.
"Y-Your Highness," the winged girl stammered, eyes darting between her tablet and Rinka, "I've confirmed the data. I ran multiple scans. This entity matches the baseline conditions for a World Repair Candidate."
The woman laughed.
It wasn't amused.
It was offended.
"A candidate?" she repeated slowly. "That burned scrap on my floor?"
Her gaze dropped.
Rinka felt it crawl over her skin—slow, invasive, clinical. Like a butcher inspecting rotten meat.
"Half-rendered face," the woman continued coolly. "Corrupted emotional structure. Fragmented sanity values leaking into the surface layer."
She tilted her head.
"She looks like a failed asset that should've been auto-deleted."
---
Rinka swallowed.
Her throat burned raw.
"...What is this place?" she whispered. "Who... are you?"
The woman stood.
The moment she rose from the throne, the pressure in the chamber tripled.
Rinka's chest crushed inward like gravity itself had turned hostile. Her vision swam violently. Blood roared in her ears. The air felt thick, resistant—like breathing through mud.
The winged girl—Ophelia—yelped and hurried after her, wings fluttering frantically, terrified of falling behind.
The woman stopped directly in front of Rinka.
She looked down.
"Oh," she said softly. "It speaks."
Her foot lifted.
Time slowed.
Then—
CRACK.
---
The impact shattered Rinka's ribs instantly.
Bone fragments tore through muscle and skin as her body launched across the chamber like garbage. She smashed into the wall hard enough to fracture the glowing stone. Runes flickered and sparked on impact.
She slid down slowly.
Blood poured from her mouth in thick streams, splattering across the pristine floor in dark, ugly stains. She could feel the broken ribs grinding against each other inside her chest. One had punctured her lung. Each breath was agony.
"Don't look at me," the woman snapped, not even turning around. "Your existence is already offensive. Don't add eye contact."
She flicked her foot slightly, like she was shaking off something disgusting.
"Ophelia. Remove this contamination from my chambers. The atmosphere is ruined."
*Contamination.*
The word sank deep.
Rinka's trembling fingers reached up, brushing the burned half of her face. The skin there felt wrong—too tight, too damaged. Like it didn't belong to her anymore.
"...I died," she whispered hoarsely. "That world... it was destroyed."
"Yes," the woman replied instantly. "I deleted it."
---
Rinka froze.
Her heart stuttered.
"That world lost its Main Characters," the woman continued, irritation threading through her calm tone. "The protagonists died prematurely. The narrative collapsed."
She clicked her tongue.
"No tension. No payoff. Just meaningless data spiraling into redundancy."
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"NPCs like you exist to decorate the story. To scream when slaughtered. To die so the heroes can grow."
Her lips curled.
"When the story ends, you're supposed to disappear."
---
Rinka laughed.
At first it was quiet. Almost uncertain.
Then it cracked.
"So that's it..." she murmured, blood dripping from her chin. "We're nothing?"
Her laughter sharpened. Broke.
"Just stepping stones?"
She stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Worthless background trash?"
The woman's posture stiffened.
"Don't elevate yourself," she snapped.
Her foot came down again.
Once.
Rinka's jaw shattered. Teeth scattered across the floor like broken dice.
Twice.
Her collarbone snapped in half. The bone tore through skin, jutting out at a grotesque angle.
Three times.
Her skull cracked against the stone. Blood pooled beneath her head, spreading slowly, staining the glowing runes dark red.
Each strike was mechanical. Precise. Efficient.
There was no rage in it.
Only disgust.
"You're not even scenery," the woman hissed. "You're a defect. A blemish. A stain that slipped past deletion."
---
Ophelia flinched violently.
"Y-Your Highness—!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "P-Please restrain yourself!"
The woman turned sharply.
Ophelia froze midair, wings locking stiff. Her tablet flickered wildly, red warning symbols flashing across the screen.
"I-I'm sorry!" Ophelia blurted out. "I didn't mean to overstep—!"
Rinka's broken laughter faded.
"...Your Highness...?" she whispered weakly through a mouthful of blood.
Ophelia swallowed hard. Her voice shook.
"Y-Your Highness Irene—"
The name landed like a death sentence.
Rinka's heart skipped.
"Irene...?"
The woman straightened slowly.
"Yes," she said coldly. "Irene. Goddess of Creation. Architect of Worlds."
She crouched, bringing her blurred face inches from Rinka's mangled features.
"I design worlds of beauty and purity," Irene continued calmly. "Balanced narratives. Perfect structures."
Her tone sharpened like a knife.
"And then *you* crawl out of deletion. Scarred. Unstable. Ugly."
She leaned closer.
"You disgust me."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"You offend my aesthetic."
---
Ophelia hovered helplessly, fingers clenched so tightly around her tablet they'd gone white.
"B-But, Your Highness," she forced out, voice breaking, "we can't erase her. The number of World Repair Candidates is critically low. Multiple worlds are destabilizing."
"I don't care," Irene said flatly.
"But—even a defective variable—"
"Is still trash."
Silence filled the chamber.
Then—
"...Fine."
---
Golden runes ignited beneath Rinka.
System text burned into the air above her broken body.
[TRANSFER AUTHORIZED]
[INITIAL RANK: F]
[DIVINE BLESSING: NONE]
[STATUS: UNWANTED VARIABLE]
Rinka stared at it through swollen, blood-filled eyes.
Her expression didn't change.
"So even now..." she murmured, voice hollow, "I'm just surplus data."
Irene turned away, already bored.
"Struggle. Die. Crawl," she said indifferently. "Just don't come back."
The floor split open beneath Rinka.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
---
[WORLD TRANSFER: INITIATING]
[DESTINATION: UNKNOWN]
[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 0.3%]
She fell.
And kept falling.
Into a world that didn't world that didn't want her either.