Remilya opened her eyes.
The first thing she felt was the softness of Testarosa's silk garment and the warmth of his presence.
With a voice still tinged with the drowsiness of newfound power, she asked Raphael:
"What happened? Why did I lose consciousness again?"
Raphael responded immediately:
"Report: Your body was adapting to the nature of the Origin of Null.
The synchronization process is now fully complete.
You are no longer merely a powerful being; you are now the Zero Point itself."
Staring at her hands, Remilya whispered:
"How exactly does this power work?"
"Explanation: Null represents the return of everything to absolute zero.
Every matter, energy, concept, or even law in the universe can be reduced to nothingness by you.
Conversely, you have the ability to create anything from nothing.
You are the ruler between everything and nothing.
Your existence now transcends causality itself."
Remilya blinked in astonishment:
"But I used it even before adapting… without knowing what it was."
Raphael's tone was calm, almost stating an undeniable truth:
"It is an instinct of your species. A bird does not need to learn physics to fly;
just as you require no instruction to destroy or create.
This power… is you."
Rising from Testarosa's lap, Remilya felt his approving gaze upon her.
Testarosa bowed briefly, his smile radiant with absolute satisfaction.
But when Remilya looked back, she encountered a strange sight.
Diablo, usually brimming with confidence, knelt in a corner, staring at the ground.
Carrera and Ultima appeared drained of life—pale, broken, as if their very essence had been sucked dry.
Confused, Remilya asked:
"What happened? Why do they look like this?"
Testarosa's voice was sweet, almost innocent:
"Oh, my Lady… do not worry. They were merely engaged in bitter memories and discouraging thoughts.
You see… even devils sometimes drown in their own darkness."
Remilya, unaware of the truth, nodded:
"I see… very well."
But the reality was far darker.
During Remilya's slumber, with each breath she took, Testarosa had been driving a dagger of words into the hearts of the three.
While gently caressing her head, he whispered relentlessly to them:
"Look… the warmth of Master's breath is on my skin.
You are merely spectators, burning in longing for a glance she will never give.
I am the Favored of Master, and you… you are nothing but disposable tools, never tasting this closeness."
Testarosa's humiliation was so precise and ruthless that even Carrera, the embodiment of violence, dared not respond—fearing that if Remilya awoke, she might blame him.