Cassel — POV
A gentle warmth seed to awake in a slow caress across my neck, so gentle like a whisper, but sharp enough to send a shiver down my spine.
The feeling ca over so fast and so unexpectedly that my breath hitched in my throat, and a small shiver escaped .
I involuntarily look down at the point where the heat, softness, and almost burning fla touch my skin.
And there held securely within my arms was the girl.
From my vantage point, I was unable to see any portion of her face, only the crown of her head, as a curtain of silky hair covered everything.
Her light, warm scent drifted upward, incredibly distracting.
My pupils did not contract and darken because of any of that.
It was the sight of Rosalia’s lips.
Those soft fever-red lips pressed sensuously against my neck.
She seed like a furious little cat heading furiously into a corner, striking out hard with her claws at the person holding it.
Her small fra shook slightly with a feeling more akin to anger than fright.
And those lips... they pressed right over my Adam’s apple.
There was a faint pressure—a bite, sharp but not painful.
More a teasing nip than anything vicious.
A tickle disguised as a threat.
That spot.
That exact vulnerable place she had chosen—right over my pulse, where the skin was thinnest, where every breath made my throat move under her mouth.
The place where Rosalia was biting with all her pent-up anger.
I could feel everything: the light scrape of her teeth, the delicate pressure of her mouth, the almost unbearably soft brush of her tongue.
Such a small, ridiculous action—yet it unraveled completely.
All the dark, violent thoughts that had been clawing at my mind monts ago evaporated the mont she touched like that.
Rosalia always did this—pulled back from whatever edge I was walking on, even without realizing it.
Her actions were maddening.
Infuriating.
And yet, the fire they woke inside shot upward like a teor streaking across a night sky.
"Rosa...lia."
Her na rasped out of my throat, raw and low, as my Adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably beneath her mouth.
"Rosalia. Stop."
God alone knew the amount of strength I had to gather just to restrain myself—to pull her away instead of giving in to the instinct screaming at to grab her, trap her, claim her, keep her.
Every breath tasted like smoke and desire.
When I finally forced myself to lift her away, Rosalia looked up at .
Her eyes were wet—shining like glass—and her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink.
She looked furious.
A little furious.
Or maybe overwhelmingly furious.
Then her expression twisted, and she exploded the mont she realized I was actually looking at her.
"What were you spacing out about like that?! Don’t you see everyone is in danger?!"
Her voice cracked slightly, like she was shouting through emotion she didn’t want to show.
Then she mumbled under her breath, so quietly it should’ve been impossible to hear—but I heard every syllable.
"You hurt so much... My whole body is probably covered in bruises because of you."
Those words struck like a lightning bolt on a thundery, rainy night.
And with one tiny, pitiful complaint, the fragile self-control I had pieced together nearly shattered into dust—because the mont she said that, I pictured it.
Her pale, milky skin was marked in red.
Bruises trailing along her sides.
Her body was trembling under my hands.
Not because of danger.
But because of .
I clenched my jaw so tightly it ached.
"Do sothing already!" she shouted at , completely unaware of what was happening inside . "That zombie is about to make everyone kill each other at this rate!"
She was right.
I didn’t want to admit it, but she was right.
The others were hesitating—unable to bring themselves to strike their own friends. Because of that hesitation, Frederick, Liz, and the others under mind control had gained the upper hand.
They were pushing my n to the brink, their attacks relentless and rciless.
I forced myself to take a deep breath—slow and sharp—ignoring every wild image that tried to form in my mind.
Ignoring the warmth of Rosalia’s breath still lingering on my neck.
Ignoring the phantom sensation of her teeth.
I stood up at last, gently placing her in the one spot that remained safe and empty.
"Wait for a mont," I said quietly, brushing my fingers lightly across her eyes, just once. "I’ll be with you in a minute."
And when I said "a mont," I ant it literally.
This zombie—this clever, dangerous, mind-controlling thing—might’ve been extrely strong compared to the others.
Especially considering the apocalypse had only been going on for barely two months.
But none of that mattered to .
If this were back in the earliest days of my first life, maybe I would’ve had trouble with it.
Maybe.
But now?
My power had risen back to almost the peak I had achieved years after the apocalypse.
I wasn’t the sa man I had been at the start.
A threat of this level wasn’t even worth calling a warm-up.
"Get out of the way," I said, my voice cold and direct.
My n—exhausted, staggering, dripping with sweat and blood—looked at like they were seeing the sun after a storm.
"Boss!" Robin gasped.
"You finally decided to join us. I thought I was going to die."
At my command, Robin imdiately sank to the ground, sitting far away, relief flooding his face.
The others hesitated, unsure, unused to my presence or authority.
They remained tense, weapons raised, unable to lower their guard against the zombie or their still-attacking, mind-controlled comrades.
Robin made an impatient gesture at them.
"What are you doing? Move and sit down. The boss will handle the rest. No need to fight anymore."
Reluctance spread across their expressions.
Fear, too.
Fear of lowering their defenses.
Fear of trusting .
I didn’t care.
I was in a hurry, and they would learn.
n who ignored my orders were of little use to .
I lifted my hand—and everyone froze.
Instantly.
They couldn’t move.
Not even to activate their powers.
Their bodies were trapped mid-action, suspended in stillness.
Naturally, the two n who refused to listen froze as well.
Who told them not to obey?
Let them stay like that.
When silence fell across the entire battlefield—when every fighter was locked in place—I slowly turned my gaze toward the zombie.
It was smarter than the others.
Because at that very instant, it was desperately trying to crawl away.
Dragging its broken body across the ground, seeking any direction except the one where I stood.
My voice dropped, heavy and cold as iron.
"It’s too late to regret or run now."
I raised my hand.
Blue sparks crackled at my fingertips—sharp, violent, alive—before a narrow bolt shot forward, slicing through the air.
It pierced the zombie’s skull in a single, clean strike.
And then its entire body ignited in a burst of searing blue light, charring from the inside out.
In the span of a heartbeat, it turned into nothing but ash.
That bolt carried enough electricity to power a city for a month.
Nothing touches what belongs to ...
And walks away without punishnt.
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