Groka lay broken on the forest floor. Her massive form was a ruin of green flesh and shattered bone. Each ragged breath she drew sounded wet and heavy.

Her eyes, filled with terrible pain were still open. They stared straight at Azrael, hidden in the bushes nearby. That strange, unsettling smile stayed on her lips. It felt like a silent, chilling promise that went beyond death itself.

'This life slips away… but in the next… I will find you. I will take you away. You will be mine.'

Selyne, however, wasn't finished. The anger still burned hot in her crimson eyes. Seeing the Queen still looking, still breathing, fueled her fury into a white-hot fire.

Her blood armor, which had started to fade, surged back. It formed a brutal gauntlet of red and gold around her small fist. She walked towards the fallen Queen, her steps heavy with threat.

BAM!

Her fist slammed into Groka's already battered face. Bone crunched loudly beneath the hit.

BAM!

Another blow, just as savage, crushed what remained of the Queen's jaw. Groka's head snapped violently to the side. A thick tusk broke off with a sharp crack and flew across the bloody ground.

Selyne wasn't done. The gauntlet dissolved. The blood swirled wildly in the air before hardening into a long, wicked spear, thicker and sharper than before.

With a furious scream that ripped through the quiet clearing, she plunged it down.

Shhlick.

The spear pierced Groka's thick hide. It ground against the dense muscle underneath. But the Queen's flesh was too tough. Her sheer bulk resisted the attack. Only the sharp tip went in, a small puncture, not a killing blow.

It wasn't enough. It didn't calm the roaring fire in Selyne's chest.

She pulled the spear free with a wet tearing sound and stabbed again. And again. Dozens of times. More spears formed around her, a storm of solid blood raining down. They pierced Groka's chest, her stomach, her limbs, turning the Queen's massive body into a gruesome mess.

Groka's sight was fading. The world grew dim around the edges. She was dying. But her gaze never left Azrael. Even through the pain, through the many wounds, her eyes remained locked on him.

He saw it all, frozen in the shadows of the trees. He was just a helpless watcher.

He didn't know what to do. A strange, unwelcome feeling twisted in his gut. Pity? Sympathy? For a brutish monster who had likely ordered the deaths of dozens, maybe hundreds, of innocent villagers in the past few weeks? It made no sense. It felt wrong.

'Go on, save her,' a stupid, suicidal part of his brain whispered.

He crushed the thought instantly. 'Nah. People will call me a traitor for siding with the enemy. They'll probably think I'm under her spell or something. And worse, they might find out…' He pushed away the searing memory of the previous night. The humiliation, the sheer physical impossibility of it, the lingering aches.

'Hide and watch her die. That's the best possibility. The only logical one. And definitely hide the fact that I lost my virginity to her.'

Groka's breathing grew shallow, almost stopping. Each gasp was a wet, rattling sound, a final struggle against the end. Her life was draining away onto the bloody forest floor.

But even as the light finally faded from her eyes, she made one last gesture. A thick green hand, shaking violently, coated in her own blood and mud, reached out. Not towards Selyne, her killer. Towards Azrael. A silent plea, a desperate wish to hold his hand in her final moment.

Selyne watched the Queen's hand fall limp. The last spark of life was gone. The overwhelming rage that had consumed her began to fade. A sudden, crushing wave of exhaustion replaced it.

The blood armor around her vanished. It collapsed to the ground in a pool of dark liquid. Every drop of stolen blood rained down from the air, soaking the already wet ground. The forest floor turned into a morbid, bloody swamp.

She swayed on her feet, the world tilting badly. The immense power she had used, far beyond her normal limits, had taken its toll. Her legs buckled beneath her. She fell heavily to her knees, her strength completely gone.

She looked in the direction Gorka was pointing and then saw him.

Azrael.

The hope came back her exhausted body now had a smile.

She needed the anchor of a familiar face in the sea of bodies. She saw him coming cautiously out of the bushes. She started crawling towards him, her movements were slow.

Azrael saw the exhaustion in her eyes. He saw the vulnerability beneath the fading fury. It was unsettling.

He shifted his gaze, looking past her towards the edge of the clearing. Aelira and Astrid stood there watching, their expressions carefully unreadable, showing nothing.

'They left me to die,' he thought. The bitterness was a cold knot tightening in his stomach. 'They stood back and watched. Probably placed bets on how long I'd last. And now they just walk back like nothing happened?' His fists clenched instinctively. Clench. 'They think they can just get away with it?'

He didn't finish the thought. Seeing Selyne struggle, seeing her utter weakness after watching her terrifying power, it triggered something unexpected.

Not pity, exactly. Not obligation. Something closer, perhaps, to empathy? Or maybe just seeing another person pushed too far.

He ran towards her, pushing through the low-hanging, blood-spattered branches.

He knelt beside her. His own body protested the sudden movement with sharp stabs of pain. "Are you hurt? What happened? Are you okay?" The questions tumbled out, clumsy and weak. They felt foolish even as he asked them.

She looked up at him. Her crimson eyes were clouded with pain and exhaustion, still glowing faintly from the leftover power. "I… I lost control," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, thick with shame and a growing horror at what she had done.

He didn't tell her the truth about the others. About their calculated betrayal. Not yet.

There would be time for that later. A payback he fully planned to collect. But he looked past her.

His gaze locked onto Aelira and Astrid, who were now slowly walking towards them. His eyes were cold, filled with a silent promise that burned hotter than any fire. 'I won't forget this. Payback is coming.'

Selyne saw the look. The sudden shift in his mood, the dangerous glint in his eyes. But she didn't understand it. Her strength finally gave out completely. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She passed out, slumping forward into his arms.

He caught her. He was surprised again by how light she felt now, completely drained of her immense power. He sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion.

Then, with a familiar sense of weary duty, he carefully moved her onto his back. He used the same ungraceful baby carry he had used before. It wasn't heroic, but it worked.

The journey back to Wuhan village was long and suffocatingly silent. Aria and Silas walked beside him. Their earlier hostility seemed forgotten, replaced by a cautious, almost wary curiosity.

"So," Silas finally said, breaking the silence as they neared the dimly lit village gates. He glanced back towards Aelira and Astrid, who were trailing behind. "Aelira told us what happened. Orc ambush. You held them off. Pretty heroic. But mind telling us how you're, you know… alive? They made it sound like you were orc chow."

Azrael adjusted Selyne's dead weight on his back. His muscles screamed in protest. "Turns out orcs have terrible taste," he replied sarcastically, his voice rough. "They took one look at me and decided I wasn't worth the indigestion. Let me go with a warning."

Aria's gaze was sharper, more analytical. "Aelira reported encountering over a dozen orcs. You faced them alone after they left you behind. We heard the fighting stop abruptly. How did you escape?"

"Let's just say I have hidden talents," he said evasively. His eyes flicked pointedly towards Aelira and Astrid walking some distance behind them. He made sure his voice carried just enough. "Talents for dealing with… unexpected deaths. Sometimes, the trash takes itself out."

He saw Aelira stiffen slightly. Her regal posture faltered for just a fraction of a second. Astrid just continued walking, pretending not to hear. But he noticed the slight tightening of her grip on the fresh cigarette she had just lit.

The hint was delivered. They knew he knew. And they knew he wasn't going to let it go.

They rested back in the relative safety of the village inn. Selyne woke up a few hours later.

She found herself tucked into a simple, straw-stuffed bed. Azrael was sitting in a rickety wooden chair nearby. He was staring out the small window at the darkening sky.

She sat up slowly. She winced as her muscles screamed in protest. "Azrael? What… what happened back there? After I…?"

He turned. His expression was unreadable in the dim light. He saw the genuine care in her eyes. The worry for him mixed with her own lingering confusion and fear.

It was a rare thing in this world, that kind of honest, unfiltered concern directed solely at him. Something he had only ever really felt from Celestria, buried deep beneath layers of duty, manipulation, and shared trauma.

"You won," he said simply. "You lost control, went a little crazy, but you saved us."

He stood up and walked over to the bed. He hesitated for a moment, remembering her earlier fury. Then he reached out and gently patted her head. His touch was surprisingly soft, almost comforting.

"Thank you, Selyne," he said. His voice was quiet, lacking its usual sarcastic edge, almost sincere. "For not dying. And maybe… for saving me too, indirectly."

A sudden burst of loud laughter erupted from the doorway. Silas and Aria were standing there, broad grins plastered on their faces.

Even Aelira, leaning against the doorframe, had a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. (Astrid was, predictably, still absent, probably finding somewhere else to smoke in peace).

Selyne's face instantly turned bright red. The vulnerable moment was shattered, stomped into dust by their arrival. She slapped his hand away with surprising force.

"You stupid trash!" she snapped, scrambling back on the bed like a cornered animal. "I'm not a child! Don't pat my head! And you know what you are to me? An embarrassment! You embarrass me every single time!" She punched his arm weakly. The blow had barely any force behind it, more a gesture of frustration than actual aggression.

Silas and Aria laughed harder, finding the whole situation hilarious. Azrael found himself laughing too, a real, genuine laugh that surprised even himself. It felt strange, but not entirely unpleasant.

Selyne, still processing the sudden shift from near-death battle to awkward camaraderie, looked around at the laughing faces. A hesitant smile touched her own lips.

She joined in, her own laughter quiet and unsure at first, then growing a little stronger, mixing with the others in the small, dimly lit room.

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