Vortex of thirty-one-colored flames

A flash of coldness crossed the woman's eyes as she glanced at the shallow wound on her palm. Yet, almost immediately, her aloofness returned as if she refused to allow the young man to stir any genuine emotion in her heart.

"Pathetic," she declared, letting a wave of repulsive force emanate from her open hand.

The energy hammered into Cain's chest like a falling meteor, sending him crashing into the scorching ground below. He felt his internal organs quiver from the impact, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. To make matters worse, he watched in dismay as the small cut he had inflicted—costing him will, soul force, and life force—instantly healed, restoring the woman's palm to its flawless state as if nothing had ever happened.

And in her mind, it never happened. After killing Cain, she would shatter space-time and prevent any record of her injury from ever existing.