Scene 1 – The Predator's Words

The void trembled with golden sparks as chains clashed again and again. Each strike between Jemil's bindings and the predator's blade shook the darkness into shreds of light, constellations scattering across the endless sky.

The predator stood unyielding, its body half-man, half-beast, shrouded in golden fire. When it spoke, the voice carried weight, dragging through the marrow of Jemil's bones.

"You bear her mark."

The words cracked like thunder. Jemil's breath hitched, the curse searing his chest in immediate response. His golden bindings rippled violently, almost recoiling as if they recognized the truth before he could.

"The curse that no vow can break. The Mistress's gift."

The battlefield went still for an instant. Even the chains that had filled the void with noise seemed to pause, coiled in silence.

Jemil's fingers flexed against his glowing bindings. Her… mark?

The pain in his chest intensified, the brand he had carried since that night with the Mistress blazing like molten iron. He stumbled, knees threatening to give.

Kaelina's eyes widened—steel strength giving way to naked concern. "What does it mean? Jemil—tell me you didn't know."

Her voice shook on the last word.

"I…" Jemil's throat tightened. The curse thrummed violently, silencing him with its fire. He couldn't force the truth out—because the mark itself wouldn't let him.

The predator tilted its head, chains coiling lazily around its weapon, as though savoring the moment. "He didn't. He thought it was strength. He thought it was his. How deliciously blind."

Its smile was cruel, jagged, mocking. And it was right—Jemil had never once questioned the burning mark beyond its pain and its sudden surges of power.

Now, under its name, it no longer felt like power. It felt like shackles.

Scene 2 – Doubt Among Vows

The wives' reactions were not in unison this time. Doubt seeped between them, cracking their unity like glass struck at the center.

Lyra's flames sputtered for the first time in the battle. She clenched her fists, forcing the inferno higher until her hair burned like wildfire. "Doesn't matter where it came from! He's mine—ours—and no chain can take him away!"

Her voice was fierce, but her eyes betrayed her. Fear swam beneath the fire, a dread she refused to name aloud.

Nyssa leaned forward with a shadowy grin, though the strain in her illusions betrayed her unease. "So that's it. The Mistress herself left her little brand on him." She dragged her tongue across her lip, sharp with cruelty. "Tell me, Jemil… do you even know who you belong to?"

Her words were half-mocking, half-accusation. The wives knew Nyssa's way of needling—but this time, the question sank deeper.

Elira trembled openly, her staff's light flickering weakly in her grip. Her voice was soft, cracked, almost pleading. "This curse… it was never a blessing. All this time, it's been binding you, hasn't it?" She pressed her palm against her chest as though she could feel his pain through the bond. "Please… let it not be true."

Kaelina roared above them all, her sword raised high, her aura blazing with defiance. "It doesn't matter what mark he carries! Jemil isn't hers—he's ours! His vows are his choice, and no Mistress can take that away!"

But her body betrayed her. Her shoulders were rigid, her jaw locked tight. And when her eyes locked with Jemil's, she wasn't demanding his strength—she was begging for his answer.

And Jemil had none.

Scene 3 – Jemil's Struggle

Jemil's golden bindings writhed violently, not at his command but as though alive, lashing out at the predator's chains in chaotic fury. Every clash scattered molten sparks, setting brief stars alight in the void.

But each strike hurt. The chains weren't extensions of his will anymore—they felt like another creature inside him, dragging power through his veins, burning his body as fuel.

He gasped, clutching his chest as the mark seared hotter, brighter, carving pain through him. The sound of his heartbeat wasn't his alone anymore—another rhythm throbbed in perfect sync, darker, deeper, as if something inside him was pulsing along with the Mistress's will.

Is this me? Or am I just her chain dragging itself through my body?

He tried to force words out, to cut through the pain. His voice was ragged but loud enough for them all to hear.

"It doesn't matter where this power came from… I'll use it to protect them!"

His wives should have been reassured. Instead, silence fell across them. Even Lyra, who always believed in his fire, hesitated. The conviction in his words was there—but beneath it, there was something else. A crack.

And the predator knew it.

Scene 4 – Predator's Strike

The predator moved with inhuman speed, chains snapping taut, its greatsword blazing with molten gold as it raised it overhead.

"You speak of vows, summoner. But vows are nothing against the truth of chains."

The blade came down like a hammer from the heavens. The impact of its strike shook the battlefield itself, sending tremors that rippled through the void. Jemil's bindings surged upward to meet the blow, golden links shattering on impact.

The explosion of force scattered everything. Nyssa's illusions cracked like glass and faded. Lyra's inferno was torn apart, sparks flying into the abyss. Elira stumbled backward, light guttering in her hands.

Jemil held his ground barely, feet digging into the invisible plane beneath them. The predator leaned in close, its monstrous face inches from his, golden fire dancing in its eyes.

"Do you feel it? Every pulse, every burn? That is not your strength—it is hers. You are already bound."

The words crawled into Jemil's chest, wrapping around his lungs like chains, dragging the breath from him. The curse surged hotter, his mark glowing so bright it burned through his clothes.

For the first time since this battle began, Jemil couldn't tell if the strength in his arms was his—or hers.

Next Chapter Preview – Chapter 78: Shackled Hearts

The battlefield is no longer just chains and steel—it's Jemil's very soul laid bare. The golden mark burns brighter than ever, carving its presence into every strike, every breath.

Lyra's fire rages, but fear flickers in her eyes as she wonders if her flames are clinging to Jemil… or to a shadow of the Mistress. Nyssa's whispers twist sharper, needling at the bond they share, daring the others to admit their doubt. Elira's prayers tremble on her lips, desperate for Jemil to prove he's still himself. And Kaelina, blade raised, refuses to yield—but her heart pounds with a question she's too afraid to ask.

The predator pushes harder, its chains no longer trying to crush them, but to divide them. Every clash forces Jemil's wives to look not at their enemy, but at him.

Can love hold steady when even the heart's oath is put into question?

Or will the Mistress's brand prove that no vow is unbreakable?

The next battle is not against the predator alone—

…it's against the fear that Jemil may already belong to someone else.

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