Zelia scread as she tore the blade from her side and ramd it into the beastman’s throat.
Blood sprayed across her face, hot and steaming.
The creature’s claws slashed her arm open before collapsing.
She didn’t have ti to breathe.
Three more charged from the smoke.
She blocked the first, stabbed the second, and was tackled by the third.
Its fangs sank into her neck.
Her scream was cut short.
She woke up kneeling in a swamp.
No ti to recover. No one nearby.
Only the heat of battle in the distance.
Her hands were still trembling from the last fight.
She stood.
Ran.
Arrows rained from the cliff above.
One struck her shoulder. Another pierced her thigh.
She kept running.
She reached the base of the cliff.
Climbed through blood.
Her body failed halfway up.
She fell.
She woke up again.
Her armor cracked. Her vision blurred.
A soldier scread for help nearby.
She grabbed a spear and answered instead.
She fought beside him for three minutes.
Then he was gone.
Sniped through the eye.
She took his weapon and moved on.
She was ambushed at night by a pack of berserkers.
She fought for sixteen seconds before one cracked her ribs and crushed her throat.
She revived in a burning village.
Children crying. Beastn tearing civilians apart.
Zelia didn’t think.
She rushed in.
She killed six before the seventh caved her skull in with a hamr.
She was dropped into a siege.
Siege towers. Artillery. Fire.
She beca a shadow, moving between barricades, killing where she could, falling when she couldn’t.
Respawned the next day on the other side of the wall.
She was buried alive once.
A cave collapsed during a tunnel ambush. She clawed at the dirt until her nails ripped off.
She suffocated alone in the dark.
Revived two minutes later in an enemy camp.
No weapons.
She strangled the first guard with a rope and took his blade.
There were monts she cried.
Monts she scread into the soil, begging for silence.
But there were more monts where she rose again.
Faster.
Colder.
Sharper.
By the end of the month—
Zelia didn’t wait to be attacked.
She hunted.
She didn’t look for allies.
She fought alone.
She didn’t flinch at wounds.
She used them as bait.
She had died hundreds of tis.
Burned. Stabbed. Dismbered. Shot. Torn apart. Swallowed whole.
Each ti, she ca back.
Each ti, she learned.
And finally—
On the last day—
Zelia stood atop a mountain of corpses.
Her eyes were hollow.
Her body soaked in blood—hers and theirs.
Her armor broken.
Her arms trembling.
But she was still standing.
Her knife slipped from her hand.
And she smiled.
Because the world around her began to crack.
The battlefield shattered like glass.
Zelia collapsed onto soft carpet, not scorched stone.
She looked up, eyes still wild.
She was back in the living room.
Sa low table.
Sa quiet glow.
And standing there—
Zain.
Casual. Calm.
Smiling as if she hadn’t just crawled through thirty days of unending hell.
"Congratulations, Sister."
"You’ve finished the long virtual war."
Zelia stared at him, eyes narrowed.
Her voice rasped. Dry. Rough. But sharp.
"Didn’t you say... that last ti was our final eting?"
Zain nodded.
"Yeah. Last eting before the battlefield."
He paused.
"And this one? Last eting before you return to the real world."
Zelia exhaled hard and fell onto the couch behind her, slumping deep into it.
"...Damn you."
Zain grinned. "Miss that much?"
She didn’t answer.
Just closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the couch.
"...I died. I don’t even know how many tis."
"You stopped counting after four hundred," Zain said helpfully.
"And for the record—your average kill-to-death ratio was 17:1."
She opened one eye and glared.
"Don’t talk like this is a ga."
Zain’s illusion shrugged.
"It’s not. It was war. And you lived it."
Zelia looked down at her scarred hands.
Her nails had grown back differently.
Her fingers were stronger. Her knuckles worn.
She flexed them. They didn’t tremble anymore.
"...I don’t feel like anymore."
Zain stepped forward.
"Good. You’re not the sa."
He knelt in front of her.
"You were scared. Gentle. You couldn’t kill."
He smiled faintly.
"But now you’re a weapon."
Zelia didn’t smile. She didn’t cry.
She just whispered:
"...Then let be used right."
Zain rose.
"You will."
He raised a hand.
The room began to dim.
"It’s ti to wake up, Zelia Luxoria."
She looked up at him one last ti.
"...Will I rember you?"
His smirk returned.
The sa one that always told her he knew more than he said.
"Only the parts that matter."
The room faded into black.
---
Zain’s eyes opened to soft light. His back ached.
The bed slled like skin, sweat, and heat.
He then heard footsteps.
The sheets shifted beside him.
He looked over.
Savra stood at the edge of the bed, hair damp, a towel loose around her body.
She rubbed the back of her neck, flexed one leg, then rotated her shoulder like she was testing for pain.
Zain pushed himself up, jaw tight. "You’re walking."
She didn’t answer.
He scanned her.
No limp, no bruising, no soreness.
Her thighs were marked, but she didn’t seem to care.
She moved like she’d just woken from a nap.
Zain narrowed his eyes.
"You’re not supposed to be walking."
Savra turned. The towel dropped.
She bent down, picked up her shorts, and pulled them on without flinching.
Zain sat up fully.
"How the hell are you even standing after last night?"
She picked up her shirt and tossed it onto the bed.
"Did you expect to be crying?"
"I expected you to need crutches."
She smirked. "Heh. I got tricks."
Zain frowned. "What kind of tricks?"
She walked over, climbed onto the bed, and straddled him.
He didn’t stop her.
She grabbed his wrist and pressed it to her lower back. "See that?"
He felt it. A pulse.
Sothing just under the skin.
"Regeneration node," she said.
"Kicks in after high-impact physical trauma. It’s not cheap, but it works."
Zain looked up. "You installed tech in your body for sex?"
Savra pressed closer. "No. I installed it for survival. Last night? That was both."
Zain stared at her face. "You liked it?"
Her hands gripped his arms. "I couldn’t stop shaking for half an hour."
"Then why the hell are you still on your feet?"
She grinned. "Because I’m not done yet."
Zain tilted his head. "Savra—"
She leaned in.
"You don’t get it. That was the first ti in a long ti I actually felt outmatched."
"You held down. You tore through . You didn’t stop even when I scread."
"You scread a lot."
"And I’d scream again."
Zain smirked. "I’m not apologizing."
"I don’t want you to."
He pushed her back gently, but she stayed on top of him.
"You really want to go again?" he asked.
She nodded. "Just say the word."
Zain looked her over, eyes cold, curious. "You’re serious?"
"You’re not running from now, are you?"
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down. "I don’t run."
She brushed her lips against his. "Good."
Zain grinned. "Of course I’m the demon."
Savra’s fingers tightened on his shoulders.
"Keep that up and you’ll be the only one I ever ride."
"Savra—"
"No more gas. No more sharing. You’re mine now."
Zain’s eyes locked on hers. "That a threat?"
She kissed him. "That’s a warning."
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