Scar stared at him as if he'd spoken the most outlandish possible pair of words in the universe.

For half a heartbeat, her mind refused to accept the words.

"Hit… you?" she repeated, voice thin.

Quinlan nodded once. "Hit me."

Her ghostly blue skin somehow went paler. She shook her head immediately, sharp and frantic. "I can't."

"You can," he said, encouraging.

Scar's eyes narrowed with irritation bleeding through the shock. "You mess with me too much today, Master!" she snapped. "I am your Elite Soul, your army general, not your wife. Ask Ayame or Iris."

Quinlan spread his arms wide in the form of an open invitation.

Before Scar could protest again, Synchra reacted. The helmet plates slid apart down the center with a clean hiss, opening just enough to reveal half of Quinlan's face while the rest remained armored.

His eye met hers.

He was smiling.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," he said lightly. "You'd probably become the first necromantic summon to hurt their master. Definitely the first to do it with permission."

Scar did not look impressed.

"I would rather not make history like that…" she muttered. "Master… you're a weirdo."

"So I've been told," Quinlan replied with a small shrug.

Then his tone shifted.

"Tell me something, Scar." He lowered his arms but did not step back. "Do you feel anything like animosity toward me?"

Her body stiffened.

"I am your master," he continued evenly. "Your killer. The one who plunged a blade into you and claimed your soul, your eternal servitude."

Scar froze completely.

"Stop," she said. The word came tight.

"I didn't even kill you alone," Quinlan went on, relentless. "I needed Black Fang's help. I just pounced at the end. Like an opportunistic cat."

"Please," she whispered.

Her gaze dropped to the stone at her feet. Her hands clenched, daggers trembling faintly.

But Quinlan did not stop.

"I tore you away from mortality," he said. "I turned you into an eternal weapon bound to my will. I ended your life. I ended your friendship with the women you fought beside for centuries."

Scar's shoulders began to shake violently.

"For all intents and purposes, you should despise me," Quinlan said quietly as he stepped closer and declared,

"I am the usurper of your existence. The architect of your ruination."

At that, Scar looked up.

Blue tears streamed freely down her ethereal skin, slipping down the edge of her mouth mask. Her eyes were wide, raw, unguarded.

Then she moved.

She crossed the distance in an instant.

Her palm struck his face with blinding speed.

The impact snapped Quinlan's head to the side. The mana flow inside him jolted, flaring painfully before extinguishing.

"Are you happy now?!" Scar shouted.

Her voice broke on the last word. Tears kept falling, streaking her cheeks as her hands curled into fists at her sides. "Is this what you wanted?! Now we know you can't regenerate mana while struck! Hurray!"

Quinlan stepped forward instead of responding.

He wrapped the trembling girl in a firm embrace, pulling her against his chest. One hand came up to the back of her head, fingers pressing gently into her hair, the other settling between her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said with a voice that was low and sincere. "I went too far. It was inconsiderate of me."

Scar stiffened, then sagged against him, her strength giving way all at once.

"You didn't deserve that," Quinlan continued. "I can be a cruel bastard sometimes, even to my own, it seems…"

Her hands hovered uselessly for a moment before gripping the front of his armor. She shook silently, tears soaking into metal that did not judge or recoil.

Scar shook in his arms for a few seconds longer, then she spoke while weakly shaking her head.

"You do not need to apologize for anything. You are my eternal master; you can do whatever you wish with me. That is your right as the One True Necromancer, as the Primordial Villain." Her fingers tightened against his armor. "If you wish to study the behavior of your minions, then I am at your-"

His arms tightened.

Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop her from saying more.

"No. You are forbidden from calling yourself my minion."

The word cut the air cleanly.

Scar paused once again.

No protest followed. No retort. Just silence, heavy and complete, pressed between them.

Her breathing slowed. She sniffled once. Then again. The tremor in her shoulders eased, piece by piece, until it vanished entirely.

A moment passed.

Then she nodded into his armor.

"I understand."

Quinlan loosened his hold and stepped back. He looked down at her face, at the tear streaks cutting pale lines through her ghostly skin, at the way her eyes still glimmered despite everything.

"Well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "Congra-fucking-lations, Quinlan. You are officially the first man in the universe to make such an awesome soul girl cry."

For half a heartbeat, Scar just stared at him.

Then a soft sound slipped out of her.

A giggle.

She lifted one hand, wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm, and drew herself straighter. When she looked up again, there was something sharp and playful glinting behind her mask.

"You were right, by the way, my one and only glorious, almighty master. That slap did feel surprisingly satisfying."

Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Maybe I can help you practice in the future. You do not have to ask Ayame or Iris."

Quinlan barked out a laugh in response, loud and unrestrained.

Then he looked at her properly, right into those ethereal eyes of hers.

There was no edge there. No simmering hostility, no hidden intent. What met his gaze was light, unguarded, and bright in a way that had nothing to do with obedience.

Playfulness sat there openly, threaded with something simpler and rarer on a battlefield like this. Enjoyment. Relief. A quiet, irreverent joy at having said something outrageous and getting a rise out of him.

Of being able to interact this way with him.

Yes, she was messing with him.

The realization settled cleanly.

Quinlan held her gaze for a second longer, then shook his head with a small breath that might have been a chuckle.

Scar tilted her head a fraction, eyes still narrowed in that teasing way.

He found himself… pleased.

Not because she had struck him. Not because she had crossed a line he thought his soul soldiers would never have the agency to cross.

The reason he was pleased stemmed from what it all meant. The humor. The timing. The confidence to poke at him when moments ago she had been shaking in his arms.

That was not the behavior of a hollow thing or a bound tool parroting words it thought he wanted to hear.

And with that came another thought, uninvited and persistent.

She had regained more of her persona than he expected. Perhaps all of it.

The loyalty was there. The bond was there. But so was the person. The instincts. The reactions. The ability to laugh, to tease, to push back without meaning harm. If he were honest, this did not feel like a fragment clinging to shape but a real person. Whole enough to recognize herself again.

Too whole.

Quinlan's gaze drifted past her for a moment as an idea formed.

What would happen if the Scarlet Lilies stood before her again? How would they react if they could interact with her in a peaceful environment?

He hummed quietly. "Hmm."

Scar's eyes flicked to him, curious, but before she could ask, a new sound rolled across the ruined city.

The distant thunder of boots reached them in force.

The Elvardians were close now.

Quinlan glanced toward the sound, then back at Scar. Without warning, he grabbed her around the waist and hurled her upward.

She yelped in surprise, spinning once before instinct took over. Her body twisted midair, limbs spreading as she stabilized with the smooth precision of a hunting cat, ready to land with perfect feline grace.

Quinlan launched after her in a burst of compressed wind, catching her cleanly onto his back.

"Come," he said, already accelerating. "Enough battlefield drama for now. The midgets and leaf munchers are about to steal my kills."

Scar blinked, then laughed, her earlier heaviness nowhere to be found.

"Did you just insult the race of two of your lovers, Master?" she asked, clinging to him easily as the city blurred beneath them.

He did not slow.

"It stays between the two of us. A tightly guarded secret."

She leaned closer, lips near his ear, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I do not know… It seems I might be in my rebellious 'soul girl' phase, Master.'"

The woman was having the time of her life - at his expense - even quoting how he referred to her.

Quinlan felt sweat bead under his armor.

He wondered whether he had awakened something he should not have.

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