I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 131: A Body That Refused to Break in the White
The first thing Cherion felt wasnβt the cold. It was the silence. ππβ―π¦ππ¦π£πππππ.πβ΄π
The quiet was... wrong. Not peaceful, not calming, just weirdly aggressive about it. Like the North had muted itself and nobody knew why.
He groaned, and wow, his own voice sounded like something dying in a rusty pipe. His eyes felt glued shut with ice, and when he finally pried them open, the world looked like a glitchy grey-and-white mess.
I should be dead. Yep. That was the first thought that showed up, calm and unhelpful like a bad notification.
He lay there for a heartbeat, waiting for the agony to arrive. He braced for the whole "everything inside me is broken" experience, crunchy ribs, screaming leg, the works. But it didnβt come. There was a dull, thrumming ache radiating from his spine to his skull, a "fell-down-the-stairs" kind of hurt, but he was, miraculously, in one piece.
"How?" he croaked, and wow, his voice was not doing him any favors
He rolled onto his side, his fingers digging into the deep, powdery snow. It felt surreal. He did a quick internal systems check, his Healer instincts booting up like a phone on 1%. Lungs? Working. Spine? Still there. Limbs? Miraculously cooperative. Maybe this body just came with built-in damage control or something. Or maybe the transmigration had granted him a layer of plot armor he hadnβt accounted for. The relief lasted about half a second before it got absolutely wrecked by the sight of something very not-moving a short distance away.
Then it all came back at once, punching him straight in the chest.
The edge. The moment the ground just... disappeared beneath him. And the shadow, not a passive observer, but fully committed to the chase.
"Zarius," he choked out.
The name alone was enough to send him spiraling. He remembered crashing into Zarius, strong arms locking him in place, pulling him tight, that brief, solid warmth before Zarius went ahead and volunteered as the worldβs worst landing cushion.
Zarius hadnβt just jumped. He had played shield.
Cherion tried to stand, but his legs were like wet noodles. He ended up on all fours, basically a panicked raccoon rooting through the snow like it had snacks buried somewhere. "Zarius! Zarius, look at me!"
He was crumpled on the stones, his cloak half-buried in the snow like some dramatic bird that got way too ambitious. He looked too small. A man of his stature, a mountain of a man who commanded the North with a glance, shouldnβt look this fragile.
When Cherion finally reached him, dropping to his knees with a force that sent a jolt of pain through his kneecaps, the sight was worse than the fall.
His face looked like wet concrete, pale and cold, with a thin line of blood frozen from temple to jaw.
"Oh god, no. No, no, no. Not like this. You donβt get to do the hero jump and then bail on me," Cherion mumbled, his hands shaking so violently he could barely find the fastenings of Zariusβs collar.
He pressed his fingers to the Alphaβs throat. For three agonizing seconds, there was nothing but the sound of the wind beginning to pick up above them. Then, a pulse. It was weak and uneven like a stone over water, but it was there.
"Okay. Okay, youβre alive. Stay that way. Thatβs an order!" Cherion sobbed, a single hot tear escaping and freezing instantly on his cheek.
He checked the breathing next. It was shallow, dangerously so, and messy. Zariusβs body was losing heat at a rate that made Cherionβs stomach twist.
Cherion stood up, shielding his eyes as he scanned the ravine. The wreckage of the carriage was a splintered skeleton further down the slope, useless. The horses were... he didnβt want to look. He looked up, squinting at the impossible height of the cliff they had just descended.
"HELP!" he screamed, the word tearing at his throat. "ELIOS! REINER! ANYONE!"
The gorge swallowed his voice. There was no echo. No answering shout. Just the indifferent shift of snow from the peaks above. They were at the bottom of a grave, and the snow was busy wrapping everything like a bad gift.
"Right. Fine. Guess itβs just us," Cherion snapped, his fear curdling into a sharp, defensive anger.
He couldnβt leave Zarius here. If they stayed in the open, the "Great Duke of the North" would be a frozen statue before the knights even found a way down. He had to move him.
He looked at Zarius, all six-foot-plus of dense muscle, heavy fur, and reinforced armor, and then looked at his own trembling, healer-soft hands.
"Okay, Cherion, you got this. Totally got this. How hard can it be?"
He moved behind Zarius, hooking his arms under the Dukeβs armpits. He hauled upward, his face turning purple with the effort. Zarius didnβt budge. He felt like he was trying to move a fallen oak tree.
"Ugh... I really, really shouldβve lifted more than just the grocery bags!"
With a guttural scream, Cherion managed to drag the manβs upper body up against his chest, nearly losing his balance under the sheer weight. Step by agonizing step, he began to pull him backward. It was clumsy. Awkward. His boots slipped on hidden ice, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts that burned his lungs.
Every yard felt like a mile. Every time Zariusβs boots snagged on a rock, Cherion felt his own spirit waver. He slipped once, falling hard on his backside, and for a second, he just sat there in the snow, staring at the grey sky, wondering if this was where the story ended.
No. I didnβt come to this world to watch him die.
He stood up, his muscles screaming in a language he didnβt know they spoke. He looked around and found it: a suspiciously dark gap in the rock. Cave? Or at least a "better than dying out here" option.
"Almost there, Zarius. Just... donβt die yet. I havenβt even told you how much of a moron you are for jumping," he panted..
The final ten feet were a blur of pain and adrenaline. By the time he dragged Zarius into the cave, the sun, assuming it even still existed, had already clocked out, leaving everything in this weird, purple "end of the world" lighting.
Cherion collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his chest heaving. His arms felt like lead, and his fingers were numb, but he couldnβt stop. Not yet.
The cave wasnβt much, shallow, damp, and smelled like it hadnβt seen sunlight in a century, but at least it was dry. He crawled over to Zarius, who was still terrifyingly still.
"Healing. Right. Iβm a healer," Cherion whispered.
He sat up, crossing his legs, and reached out to press his palms against Zariusβs chest. He closed his eyes, searching for that spark, that warm, golden hum of energy that lived in the center of his being.
It was faint. The fall had drained him more than he realized. But as he focused on the image of Zarius jumping, of those red eyes refusing to let him go, the spark caught.
A soft, pale light began to glow from beneath his fingers, seeping through the Dukeβs heavy layers of clothing. Cherion poured everything he had into it.
"Come back," he whispered into the dark. "Please, Zarius. Come back to me."
