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"Get your hands off me, you little parasite!" Soren snarled, his voice a jagged wreck. He tried to shove me away, but his arm gave out halfway, collapsing against my shoulder with a heavy thud.
"Shut up and let me work or we both end up as fertilizer for this damp hole!" I snapped back, pinning him against the jagged stone wall.
I didn't have time to be polite. The system timer was screaming in my peripheral vision: *24:12*. Twenty-four minutes until the soul-bond collapsed and turned us both into a smudge on the floor.
Soren’s chest was heaving, his breath coming in shallow, wet rattles. Underneath his shredded black tunic, a rune was glowing a violent, sickly purple. It wasn't just light; it was heat. I could feel the radiation coming off him, singing the air between us.
"It's a mana hemorrhage," I muttered, my fingers trembling as I reached for the glow. "Your channels are shredded. If I don't freeze this leak, you're going to detonate like a cheap firework."
"I don't... need... a medic," he gasped. He tried to grab my wrist, his grip desperate and bruising. His eyes were bloodshot, the iris flickering between gold and a void-like black. "Especially not one who's a traitor to the Crown."
"Traitor? I was on the block ten minutes ago!" I shoved his hand aside and leaned in, my face inches from his. I could smell ozone, blood, and that sharp, cold scent of winter that always clung to him. "Right now, I'm the only thing keeping your heart beating. So either you hold still, or you can die with your dignity intact and your lungs full of blood. Your choice, High Inquisitor."
He glared at me, a look of pure, concentrated hatred that would have made any other person flee. But I had already died once today. Fear was a luxury I couldn't afford.
I slammed my bare palm directly onto the burning rune.
*Sizzle.*
"Gah!" Soren arched his back, a guttural scream ripping from his throat.
It felt like touching a stovetop. The heat surged up my arm, searing my skin, but the system chimed in my head: *Skill Activated: Mana Stabilization (Level 1)*.
I didn't just feel the heat; I felt his power. It was a torrential river of jagged, angry energy, crashing against the walls of his veins. It was too much. He was a god-tier killer in a body that was currently a broken vessel.
"Hold it... just hold it!" I gritted my teeth, leaning my entire weight into him. My chest pressed against his, and for a second, the violence of the moment shifted. I could feel his heart hammering—not just from the injury, but from the proximity.
His breath hitched. His eyes locked onto mine, and the hatred flickered, replaced by a raw, confused tension. He was so close I could see the gold flecks in his pupils. The air between us felt thick, charged with something that wasn't just mana.
"You're... shaking," he whispered, his voice suddenly low, almost a growl.
"Because you're a nightmare to treat," I hissed, though I didn't pull away. I pushed harder, forcing my own meager energy to act as a dam. "Now stop analyzing my tremors and let the magic set!"
*Ding! Level Up: 1 -> 2.*
A surge of cool, silver light erupted from my palm. The purple glow of the rune dimmed, the violent vibration in his chest settling into a low hum. The searing pain in my hand vanished, replaced by a tingling numbness.
Soren slumped against me, his head falling back against the stone. He was breathing again—real breaths.
"You... you actually did it," he muttered, his eyes half-closed.
"Don't get used to it," I said, stepping back and wiping my sweaty palms on my trousers. "And don't think this makes us friends. I still want to punch you in the throat for half the things you've done to this city."
He let out a dry, rattling chuckle that sounded like glass breaking. "Fair enough. I'd still execute you if I could stand up without feeling like I've been trampled by a herd of krakens."
I rolled my eyes, but as I turned to check the corridor, the system alert flared red.
*WARNING: Enemy Proximity. High-Threat Signature detected within 50 meters.*
"Great. Just great," I whispered. "Soren, can you move?"
He groaned, pushing himself up. He was unsteady, leaning heavily on his sword, but the murderous intent was back in his gaze. "Who is it?"
"Doesn't matter who it is if we're trapped in a dead-end tunnel," I said, looking at the crumbling ceiling. "We need to move. Now."
"This way," he commanded, his voice regaining its authority. He didn't ask; he just grabbed my arm and hauled me forward. His grip was tight, possessive, and it left a lingering heat on my skin.
We scrambled through the dark, the sound of heavy boots echoing from the tunnel behind us. Every time I stumbled, he practically yanked me back on my feet, his movements brusque but efficient.
"Slower, you idiot," he muttered, though he was the one barely keeping his balance.
"I'm not an idiot, I'm a medic with no shoes!" I snapped.
We reached the end of the passage, where the ground simply vanished into a yawning abyss. Below us, a massive underground river roared, its black waters churning with white foam.
"Jump," Soren said.
I looked down. It was at least forty feet. "Jump? Are you insane?"
"The alternative is a slow death by inquisitor blade," he replied. He didn't wait for my agreement. He wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side.
I gasped, my heart leaping into my throat. The feeling of his solid chest against my shoulder, the strength in his arm—it was overwhelming. For a split second, I forgot we were fugitives.
"Hold your breath," he whispered in my ear.
Then he leaped.
We hit the water like a concrete slab. The cold was instantaneous, a violent shock that knocked the air out of my lungs. We sank deep into the blackness, the current dragging us like ragdolls. I struggled, my limbs flailing, until Soren’s hand found mine under the water.
He squeezed hard. He wasn't letting go.
We broke the surface, gasping and coughing, clinging to a jagged rock ledge in the middle of the subterranean stream. I dragged myself up, shivering violently, my clothes plastered to my skin.
Soren hauled himself up beside me, his wet hair clinging to his forehead. He looked like a drowned crow, but his eyes were scanning the darkness of the cavern.
"Where are we?" I asked, my voice trembling from the cold.
"The Lower Reach," he said, his voice grim. "The forgotten sewers of the Old Empire. This is a dungeon, Vesp. And we just fell right into the belly of it."
As if on cue, a heavy, metallic *clank* echoed through the cavern.
I looked back toward the tunnel we'd jumped from. A massive iron gate was slamming shut, sealing the exit with a finality that made my stomach drop.
Then, from the darkness of the riverbanks, they appeared.
One pair of red eyes. Then ten. Then hundreds.
Small, guttural hisses filled the air, a chorus of hungry things waking up in the deep.
"Soren," I whispered, leaning closer to him. "What are those?"
He didn't answer. He just drew his blade, the steel singing in the gloom.
"Run," he said, "or fight. Because they're not waiting for us to dry off."