Rosa flared Gravium.
Glass screamed.
The bulkhead crumpled like paper. She surged through.
She could feel it. Her core stuttered, her mind a blur. The mist, like a charming mistress called her, her fangs wanting only one thing.
Echo licked her lips, "Smells like blood," the fragment purred.
A hunger—not her own—rose.
A tail-clenching fire licked through her veins.
Her fangs itched, her lips parted.
She could taste it.
Red. Hot. Thrashing.
Lucien's breath brushed her skin, and her body begged.
Hell. How has she resisted until now, the thirst, the waterfall of red flowing down her throat, the scent of defiled flesh ripe and thrashing her tail?
"Ro—sa," Lucien said, catching up.
The moment he pressed his hand to her shoulder, her hunger stabilised, but a different urge rose. She chewed her lip and swung her sight to him, a lust in her eye. Her breath mixed with his. She grabbed him with all the conviction of a girl wanting candy. Heat, want… and him—all right on the thread.
Lucien met her gaze, his grip steady, grounding.
Her fangs ached.
Her breath tangled with his.
Her tail curled.
"Now," she whispered.
Lucien exhaled—a slow pulse of Solelite crackled through his skin.
The tension snapped. Faded.
His fingers squeezed, voice smooth as silk.
"Tempting, darling… but maybe after we survive?"
She stared at him, her lips curling, "but, but," she wanted to say. But feeling a more substantial flood, the surge scratched up her. With it, like gears, her mind spun and slotted back into place. Echo's muffled voice on the edge of her sight. The thump of her overexcited heart slowed, calmed and soothed.
"Back to your senses now?" Lucien asked, "Or did you want to take this elsewhere."
Rosa frowned and analysed the multifaceted smile he wore. His scent, his arm curling around her waist, her tail wanting to stay.
He gave a cheesy, completely slappable grin. He hadn't a serious bone in his fluttering wings. Meanwhile, every sense screamed at her, demanding her to act, to snap back to reality. She didn't have time for this—for him. Not now, not ever. So why couldn't she let go?
"Urm, Rosa?" he said, pointing to her fingers oozing to reach his skin.
She hadn't realised.
Or maybe she had.
Maybe she didn't care.
Closer.
Closer.
Her fingers curled into his chest, claiming space that wasn't hers.
Had she ever claimed his lips?
Her fangs ached—so close, so painfully close.
Just one touch.
One tiny—
"Rosa?" Lucien's voice snapped the thread.
Her heart staggered.
"Don't misunderstand," she barked, "I can't—" she spun, "control it." She mumbled. But could she blame Voidium for that? It's not like Echo was doing this. Oh, it would be much better if it was. She cursed her stupid heart, a useless organ.
She shook her head and allowed room for the man at her side, his frustrating figure filling it the moment she gave it.
Annoyed by fairies or Aviar's heritage, she couldn't help but feel jealous. He didn't share Desire-Driven Awakening like most Valkar. Worse, his was all about playing till you dropped, a thrill of dance, music and death. It was better than wanting to screw anything that moved and a craving for the idealist love that was incompatible with her. Why had she been born a Valkar? These feelings, this deep yearning, were a distraction, a method to cloud her judgment.
He touched her as if confronting all she had to say, her voice cramping to explain herself, to let it all out, but…
"I know you're still recovering," his voice went deep low, "but we're too late." Said Lucien.
Right. He had a point. Stop being emotional, Rosa. Focus. She couldn't tell him. She would stuff it down like everything else. Embrace the cold, be like a General.
Rosa inhaled, her rattling fangs less, accepting of the idea. But with a swivel, she turned to face the problem head-on—the way she needed to face it. However, like a cloud to her lashes, her tail swirling in soot, the ground darkened, the sight reflecting a rich glass and oozing liquid—mud, shells and blood.
Rosa blinked.
Again.
Again.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Too late.
The battlefield bled through.
Voidium licked up her vision—twisting, curling.
Fake. She knew it was fake.
But that didn't matter.
Because she could feel it.
The taste of iron.
The screams, the pleas.
The blisters on her fingers.
The blood that never stopped flowing.
Fingers drenched in blisters, her skin stained with the blood of others, the cries, the pleas for more pain dullers. But she had run out long ago. The body count was too high. And she was only one woman, a damsel in a horde.
She shook her head, the flutter of her loose hair catching the stench of rot, the scent of her duty. Looking back to Lucien, she flinched when a younger man held his place—winged like she remembered him but softer, wider-eyed. He would have been in early adulthood, about two hundred range, a half-innocent face that still had much to see.
"Rosa," the young Lucien asked. "What's happening?"
She had a handful of theories but no solid proof. Not that she had time to research. She looked at the bodies. She was a doctor; she was trained to save lives, yet… she had killed a few just to spare another bed, one for the many—a life for a life. A doctor—
She shook the vision, but it didn't fade. No, she was nothing of the sort. Not anymore.
"Voidium levels are too high." Rosa said, "Long-term exposure isn't very documented."
"Well, aren't you lucky to have me," Lucien said.
He smirked, fanning his wings and the warp of his face aged slightly. The sight of the bulkhead reemerging again. But it wasn't enough as the dust, like some hungry liquid, filled every spot it could. Including her throat, apparently, the foul glass, eager to paint her insides.
"It's useless; the Voidium particles are smaller than atoms. You can't just blow it away." Said Rosa.
But she knew he wouldn't listen as he began to huff and puff. But among that, she got a glimpse of something rare. His youthful glow contrasted with those all-knowing eyes: youth, wisdom and vigour. The flicker of her younger heart pounded in her chest, her yearning like a young succubus in heat. Oh hell, she didn't miss that part of her youth—an instant pang to muddle all her thoughts.
Of all times for the Voidium to pick, it had to pull her back to such a scrambled mind. Her thoughts were one chain after another. Pulled out of study and tossed in a war. A scrambling researcher, a weakling who still held lofty ideals. Someone who still believed in love.
She reached up and, with a held breath, slapped her own face.
"What are you doing?" Lucien squeaked.
She let the feeling linger, let it fuel her. She was better than this; she wasn't a foolish dreamer anymore. She had a mission. Stop the second coming, stop another slaughter, and save demons before they are wiped out. She was the only one, the only villain, that had to do it.
"If I start slipping, hit me," Rosa said.
Lucien stopped flapping his wings, "Hit you? Why would?"
"Shut up!" Rosa snapped. "Just do it! I need you to do it. No one else."
Her tail tangled.
Her throat locked.
She refused to break.
She was over this. She had to be.
But her fingers shook, nails biting into Lucien's wrist like a Gravium tether.
Her voice cracked.
"I need you."
She swallowed—forced herself to look at him.
"Please."
Her lip quivered.
"I need you."
The young man creased his face, every fibre against the idea, every will telling him no. He never liked to commit; she didn't either, but— she can't go back to how she was.
They gaze at one another for a silent moment, the creaking metal mimicking the pulse between them, a slow build-up, a burning response, hammering her mind. Until—
"If that's what you want." He said, "Show me the way."