The Hero Returns with his Yandere Wife-Chapter 33 - 32
The remnants of the monstrous being crumbled into dust, a swirling gray cloud settling over the cracked hospital floor—leaving behind only a grotesque half-torso, shriveled and barely human, a twisted mockery of what it once was, yet... still alive.
The lone head and arm twitched feebly, clawing at the tiles with a single, gnarled hand. A weak gasp slipped from cracked lips, the sound rasping and faint, words lost in the wheeze—too quiet to catch, too broken to matter. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖
Mira’s face twisted in irritation, her black eyes narrowing as shadows curled at her fingertips, dark tendrils writhing like eager snakes, itching to finish what Ryn’s fire had started. "Just die, you pest," she muttered—her voice sharp as a blade, cutting through the heavy air with cold precision, her patience worn thin by the thing’s stubborn refusal to fade.
Her shadows surged forward, coiling tight—she raised a hand to crush its skull, to end the twitching nightmare once and for all—but Ryn’s grip snapped around her wrist, firm and sudden. "Mira, wait," he said, his voice low, steady, an edge of something unreadable threading through it.
Her head whipped toward him, irritation flaring, but his amber eyes stayed locked on the dying man’s wrinkled face—something flickered there, not a storm of anger, instead, grief... something desperate churning beneath the surface.
The man’s lips moved again, broken syllables forming in the air—his gaze lifted slightly, trembling, searching toward Elena as if reaching for a lifeline, a ghost of recognition in his fading stare. Then, his chest fell still—eyes dulled, head lolled. Dead.
A heavy silence blanketed the room, thick and suffocating—dust motes hung in the dim light, the crackle of Ryn’s lingering flames fading to nothing. Elena exhaled sharply, her steel-blue eyes narrowing as she kicked a shard of tile aside. "What was that?" she asked, her voice rough, tinged with unease, her breath still ragged from the fight.
Mira scoffed—shadows twitched at her command, restless. "Creepy," she spat, her tone dripping with disdain—and then, without hesitation, she crushed his head anyway. Shadows surged forward like a whip, caving in the brittle skull with a sickening crunch—bone shattered, gray matter splattered across the floor in a dark smear, a final precaution, no risks left to chance.
The eerie silence of the abandoned building wrapped around them—walls groaned faintly, the distant hum of conflict muted beyond the shattered windows. It was time to leave. Ryn adjusted his stance, flames dying out entirely as he glanced at the stairwell—cracked steps descending into shadow. "Let’s go," he said, his voice clipped, already moving.
They descended the ruined staircase, boots crunching over debris—Elena up front, her iron skin dulled to flesh, Ryn behind her, and the Vitalist trailing like a ghost, her steps soft, hesitant. Ryn turned his head slightly, amber eyes catching Mira’s. "Why are you here?" he asked—tone casual, but an edge sharpened it, a question with teeth. "You were supposed to stay back at Catapony’s, watch over the grunts."
Mira sighed dramatically, shadows swirling lazily around her feet—her black gown rustled as she walked. "Tch. I tried," she said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. "But handling that many rats alone? Impossible. Those cunning bastards set up a decoy—tricked me into chasing them while the rest tried to take me from behind." She smirked, a flicker of pride cutting through her irritation. "Too bad for them, I caught on—had to deal with the whole lot before they could run and tell anyone their precious base had fallen."
Ryn frowned, his jaw tightening as he stepped over a charred body sprawled across the stairs—its face unrecognizable, flesh melted to bone. "I shouldn’t have left you alone," he muttered, guilt gnawing at the edges of his voice, his gaze flicking to the shadows at her feet.
Mira tilted her head—then, with a flicker of shadows, shrank into her four-foot form, a blur of black as she leaped onto his back, small hands yanking his cheek hard enough to make him wince. "You’ll have to make up for it," she said with a smirk, her voice teasing but pointed, shadows curling playfully around his shoulders as she settled against him.
Ryn just chuckled, shaking his head—his amber eyes softened for a moment, a rare crack in his guarded front. "Yeah, yeah," he said, adjusting her weight as they kept moving, the stairwell narrowing around them.
Behind them, Elena walked in silence—her exhaustion pressed against her like a weight she couldn’t shake, each step heavier than the last, her steel-blue eyes dulled by the strain. She glanced at the Vitalist, her voice softening despite the roughness. "Hey," she said, slowing her pace. "Thanks... for saving me."
The Vitalist’s eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck—she stumbled over her words, hands fidgeting. "Oh! No need to thank me! I-I was always a fan of yours, Elena," she blurted, her voice rising with nervous energy. "I used to follow your mottos, you know? You were my—"
A sharp voice sliced through her ramble like a guillotine. "You." Mira’s eyes glowed, piercing through the dim stairwell—black and unyielding, pinning the Vitalist where she stood.
The medic froze, her breath hitching—her hands trembled, golden light flickering faintly at her fingertips. Mira leaned forward on Ryn’s back, her voice cold, cutting. "You’re a medic, aren’t you?" she asked, though it wasn’t a question—more a command, her tone cracking like a whip through the tense air. "Then why are you just standing there? Can’t you see my dear Ryn is injured? Heal him."
The Vitalist whimpered, nodding quickly—her boots scuffed the floor as she scurried toward Ryn, pressing her hands against his burned shoulder—light bloomed under her palms, warm and steady, stitching torn flesh and soothing scorched muscle with a faint hum of energy.
Ryn sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as the pain eased—his amber eyes flicked to Mira. "Don’t be so harsh on people," he said, his voice low, a gentle rebuke wrapped in exhaustion.
Mira huffed, crossing her arms over his back—shadows twitched at her fingertips, but she didn’t argue, her gaze drifting to the stairwell ahead. "Whatever," she muttered, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips.
They continued downward, the air growing colder, thicker—the aftermath of their battle sprawled across the floors they passed, a grim tapestry of destruction. Bodies littered the ground—some charred beyond recognition, flesh blackened and peeling, others shredded by shadows, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, blood pooling in dark, sticky stains.
Ryn’s eyes scanned the carnage—recognized the ones he’d taken down on his way in, their weapons melted into slag by his flames. A few more bore the telltale marks of Mira’s work—clean cuts, shadows lingering in the wounds like ink stains.
"We should be careful," Ryn muttered, his voice low as they neared the ground floor—his hand brushed a wall, leaving a faint smear of soot. "Someone’s probably waiting for us outside."
Elena frowned, stepping toward a nearby window—cracked glass framed a view of the empty streets, shadows stretching long and thin under the flickering streetlights. She peered out, scanning the stillness—nothing moved, no glint of steel, no shuffle of boots. "Clear," she announced, her voice flat, but her fingers lingered on the frame, tense.
Ryn moved to another window, amber eyes narrowing as he looked out—rubble lined the pavement, wind stirring dust in lazy swirls, but no figures lurked in the dark. "Same here," he said, his tone steady but guarded. "No one’s waiting."
Elena hesitated—something gnawed at her gut, an instinct honed by too many ambushes—she shifted to a window facing the back of the building, her breath fogging the glass as she leaned closer. Her steel-blue eyes widened, her chest tightening—hidden in the building’s long shadow was a grotesque pile—bodies, chopped and stacked like firewood, left to rot in the alleyway, flies buzzing over the glistening carnage. A massacre, silent and brutal.
Ryn’s voice broke her trance, sharp and close. "What? You see anyone?"
