The world did not end with a thunderous bang. For Dola, the world ended in a suffocating, absolute silence the moment Dayat's solar plexus was pierced by that cold, blinding white shaft of light.
The visual feed before her—the blood-soaked slopes of Lamping Hill, the arrogant Sun-Crown knights, and the silver dust from the shattered Silver Thorn—suddenly began to fracture. These particles of reality fragmented into small, flickering binary squares. The vibrant green of the grass bled into a deep, bruised purple, and the muffled roar of General Haelir's victory cry distorted into a long, jarring static hum.
CRITICAL ERROR.
HEART RATE SENSOR: DECREASING.
USER VITALITY: 12%... 8%... 5%...
"Master...?"
Dola tried to call out, but her own voice sounded like a corrupted recording played in slow motion. She felt her synthetic body losing its weight, its connection to the physical plane slipping away. She was no longer kneeling on the soil of Verdia. She was drifting.
