The Hero Returns with his Yandere Wife-Chapter 25 - 24

For just a moment, she was too stunned to speak, her silver-gray eyes wide and unblinking, locked on him as the world tilted around her.

Not from the pain, though her wrists burned where the molten metal had grazed her skin.

But from him—from this man who had shattered her chains as easily as breathing, who carried a dying hero instead of a villain, who looked at her not with greed but with something she couldn't name.

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The blood covering his body—it didn't smell right, a detail that gnawed at her senses, pulling her from her daze.

Blood always had a scent, fresh, metallic, sharp, a stench she'd grown too familiar with in this prison, the tang of it clinging to every villain she'd healed.

And yet, the stains on his clothes, his hands, his arms—none of it carried the scent of his own wounds, no hint of his own life spilling out.

It smelled like a battlefield, a chaotic symphony of dozens—no, dozens of different people, a tapestry of death woven from the blood of others, thick and overwhelming, a testament to a slaughter she couldn't fathom.

Her stomach twisted, a cold knot of awe and dread tightening within her.

Whose blood was it, this crimson cloak he wore so casually, as if it were armor rather than a shroud?

Had he even bled, or was he beyond such frailty, a force untouched by the violence he'd wrought?

Who was this man, this figure of fire and shadow who stood before her, unshaken by the carnage that painted him?

Her lips parted slightly, a question trembling on the edge of her tongue, but no words came, her voice lost to the storm of her thoughts.

Then, the weight of Elena's presence beside her pulled her back into focus, grounding her in the urgency of the moment.

She shook the thoughts away, forcing them into the recesses of her mind—none of it mattered now, not his blood, not his power, only Elena, only this chance to do something good.

She pressed her hands onto Elena's battered body, fingers trembling as they began to glow with a golden light, a warmth that spread from her fingertips like a sunrise breaking through the darkest night, weaving through every broken part of Elena's form—bones mending with faint cracks, torn flesh stitching back together with a soft whisper of skin, burned patches restoring to their former strength.

But Elena was far worse than she had expected, her injuries a map of near-fatal ruin—shattered ribs piercing organs, a stomach wound oozing venom, burns that had seared through muscle to bone—hovering mere seconds from death's grasp.

If he had been even a minute late, if he'd faltered for just a heartbeat longer, Elena would have slipped beyond her reach, lost to the void that claimed so many.

"How long?" he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through her concentration, sharp and insistent.

The Vitalist gasped at the interruption, barely realizing he was still there, her focus so consumed by the healing that the world had faded around her.

Sweat glistened on her forehead, dripping into her eyes, her breath coming in short, labored huffs as she strained to keep the golden energy flowing, her hands shaking under the intensity of the effort.

"A few minutes," she managed, her voice a fragile thread, nearly lost to the pounding of her own heart as the glow intensified, pulsing brighter with each second.

The man didn't hesitate, his response immediate and resolute.

"I can manage that—no matter what happens, don't stop," he said, his words a command wrapped in a promise, unwavering and fierce.

Then, without waiting for her response, he rose to his feet with a fluid grace and walked toward the door, his presence shifting the air itself as he moved.

Heat rolled off him in waves, distorting the dim light around him, a shimmering haze that spoke of power barely contained, a force that seemed to bend reality to his will.

The floor beneath his feet melted, sinking under his weight into molten pools that smoked and hissed, the stone yielding to him as if it feared his touch.

Flames curled around him, coiling like a serpent ready to strike, flickering tongues of fire that danced along his arms, his shoulders, a living armor of fury and light.

He stood at the threshold, his broad frame filling the doorway, waiting—silent, unyielding, a sentinel carved from the chaos he'd brought with him.

For what, the Vitalist didn't know, her mind too tangled in Elena's fading pulse to guess.

But as the golden glow from her hands pulsed brighter, illuminating the room in a radiant halo, the walls trembled with the distant sound of footsteps—heavy, rapid, growing closer with every heartbeat.

And then she realized, a jolt of understanding cutting through her exhaustion like a blade.

He wasn't just waiting, standing there as if the world could bend around him.

He was standing guard, his body a wall of fire and resolve between them and whatever approached.

For Elena.

For her.

For the first time in so long, someone wasn't just using her, wasn't dragging her gift through the mud of their cruelty to serve their ends—someone was protecting her, shielding her with a strength she hadn't known since her capture.

Her heart pounded, a wild, erratic rhythm that matched the tremor of the walls, her silver-gray gaze locking onto his unyielding form, a silhouette of blood and flame standing between them and the outside world.

And in that moment, she knew—knew it with a certainty that burned through the fog of her fear and despair.

Whoever this man was, with his dark eyes and battlefield blood, he wasn't like the others who'd come before, wasn't here to chain her or break her.

He was here to burn down anyone who tried, to carve a path through the darkness with fire and fury, a protector where she'd known only predators.

And so, despite the lingering fear that clawed at her chest, despite the ache in her hands and the strain in her soul, she did as he asked.

She kept healing, pouring every ounce of her power into Elena, the golden light flaring brighter, stronger, a lifeline she refused to let slip.

She wouldn't stop—not until Elena was saved, not until this one act of good could stand against the tide of evil she'd been forced to serve.