I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”Watch the tail! Even dead, the nerves can twitch. I’m not losing a finger to a corpse!”

”Give me a hand with this crate!”

”Water! We need more water over here!”

Turns out, the aftermath of a Velkyn raid was a lot less ”epic history moment” and a lot more... mess. There were no sweeping orchestral swells, no flattering lighting, and certainly no slow-motion shots of heroes looking stoically into the sunset while their capes fluttered heroically. Instead, there was a lot of creative swearing, the rhythmic thud-thud-slosh of boots in blood-streaked snow, and a smell Cherion was pretty sure was going to live in his head rent-free for the rest of his life.

Cherion moved through the wreckage with a hollow, vibrating sort of focus. His brain felt like it was still buffering, stuck in a loading screen between the terrifying ”about to be eaten” part of his evening and the ”intensely expensive-smelling hug” part. The North, however, didn’t care about his emotional confusion. The North only cared about who was still breathing and who was currently leaking on the floor.

”Lord Cherion! Quick! Get over here! He’s graying out!”

Cherion didn’t think. He turned fast, boots slipping through a gross mix of slush and ash that looked like something no one should ever step in. A young scout was slumped against a broken water barrel, his thigh torn open and bleeding way too much. The kid looked white, like, really white. Not ”pale,” more like ”about to pass out at any second.”.

Cherion sank to his knees in the muck, ignoring the way the freezing moisture seeped through his trousers. For the next three hours, he wasn’t a person, he was a machine fueled by adrenaline and a rapidly depleting well of mana.

Close. Seal. Move.

He stabilized a knight whose shoulder had been crushed into a mess of splintered bone and steel. He drew the rot out, and it immediately began hissing and bubbling like it had beef with his light. He worked until his fingers were cramping and his own head began to swim with the tell-tale chill of mana depletion, that weird, hollow sensation where your brain feels like it’s made of cotton candy. By the time the most urgent screams had faded into low, exhausted groans, Cherion’s tunic was a map of other people’s trauma, and his knees were soaked through with freezing slush.

”Please go to rest, Lord Cherion,” Reiner said, slumping against a tent pole and wiping a smear of blood off his forehead with the back of a shaking hand. ”You look like you’re about to tip over.”

Cherion didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped out into the biting Northern night. He took a slow breath, letting the smoke replace the smell he really didn’t want to think about.

He started to wander, his boots crunching on the frozen earth. He needed to see the damage for himself, to understand how the perimeter had failed so spectacularly. But mostly, he just needed to walk off the lingering vibration of Zarius’s arms around him. It was a distraction he couldn’t afford, yet it was the only thing keeping him upright.

His eyes instinctively sought out the center of the camp, where the command fire was roaring.

There he was.

Zarius stood near the maps, his silhouette tall and imposing against the flickering orange light. He was surrounded by high-ranking officers and couriers, his posture stiff. He was currently pointing a gloved finger at a tactical layout, his mouth moving in what Cherion assumed were sharp, decisive orders. There was no trace of the man who had trembled while holding him in the alley. No hint of the ”Please stay like this” vulnerability.

Right, Cherion thought, turning away from there. Back to reality.

As he moved, he noticed the camp was busier than he’d ever seen it. Knights with dirt all over their faces were hauling debris, while others sat nearby, aggressively sharpening blades that had definitely seen better days.. There was no rest for the weary when the monsters were still out there in the dark.

He hadn’t even made it twenty steps before someone just... appeared from the shadows near a wagon, moving like they had no intention of being heard. Cherion’s heart did not like that.

”Still on your feet, Healer? I’m impressed. Most Southorn boys would have folded into a puddle by now.”

Cherion jumped slightly, his hand instinctively flying to the sapphire necklace hidden beneath his shirt. It was Ezek. The knight was leaning against a crate, his armor smeared with soot and oil, wiping the blade of his longsword. He looked exhausted, but those sharp, pale eyes were as observant as ever, like he was looking right through Cherion’s skin.

Cherion slowed his pace, trying to look more composed. ”I could say the same for you, Ezek. You were right in the thick of it. How... How are you holding up? Any injuries I should know about? I still have a bit of light left if you’re bleeding somewhere.”

Ezek paused, his gaze dropping to his own hands for a second before returning to Cherion. He let out a short, dry huff. ”A few bruises. Nothing that needs your ’magic touch,’ kid. I’m fine.”

He straightened up, sheathing his sword with a clean, metallic clack that echoed in the quiet of the alley. He went quiet for a moment, the sound of the crackling burn piles filling the space between them.

”Thank you,” Ezek said suddenly, his voice losing some of its usual gravelly edge. ”For the... well, for not letting us get shredded back there.”

Cherion just stared at him. His mouth actually hung open for a second before he caught himself. Wait, what? The shock was so physical it almost overrode his exhaustion.

”You’re... you’re welcome?” Cherion managed, the words coming out as a confused question. He searched Ezek’s face for a smirk, a sign of sarcasm, or maybe a hidden head injury. Nothing. ”We were lucky. The necklace from His Grace... it did most of the work.”

”Right. Of course,” Ezek repeated. The knight’s eyes lingered on Cherion’s collarbone for a second too long.

Cherion shifted his weight, suddenly feeling very exposed in the flickering firelight.

”Anyway,” Cherion said, offering a small nod. ”I’m glad you’re okay. I just... I wanted to look around. See what else was hit. Get a sense of the damage before the sun comes up.”

Cherion started to walk past him, his eyes already fixed on the rear supply depot. He’d only taken a few steps when he heard the heavy clink of armor behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to know Ezek was following him.

”You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” Ezek’s voice drifted through the cold air, sounding closer than before.

”I’m a healer,” Cherion replied over his shoulder, trying to keep his voice steady. ”I like to know how things break so I can figure out how to fix them.”

”Is that what you’re doing? Fixing things?”

Cherion drifted deeper, but Ezek’s boots kept crunching behind him, steady and annoyingly persistent. He stopped, hesitated for half a second, then turned back.

”Excuse me?” Cherion said, a little louder. ”You can stop following me now. Seriously. Feel free to go back to your life.”

He waited for the sarcasm to bite, for Ezek to roll his eyes and walk away. But the knight just stood there. He eventually stepped up beside him, his face half-hidden in the gloom. He looked around, then back at Cherion.

A low whistle of wind slipped through the ripped canvas around. Cherion felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather. Great.

He turned to Ezek, ready to give him a firm ”goodnight,” but the words died in his throat when he saw the expression on the knight’s face.

”What?” Cherion said.

Ezek didn’t move. He adjusted the belt of his sword, his leather gloves creaking in the silence.

”Can I come with you?”