Chapter Ten: Bonds in Coma's Embrace

Carrying Major General Azzrael through the dense foliage towards my tree house was no easy feat. "You're a heavy one, aren't you?" I grumbled, each step accompanied by a muttered complaint. The burden of his unconscious form weighed on my shoulders, but the urgency of the situation propelled me forward.

Finally reaching the sanctuary of my tree house, I laid him down on a makeshift bed. "You better appreciate this," I quipped, glancing at the injured soldier who remained in a deep coma. The forest, now silent, seemed to echo my sarcastic commentary.

Days turned into nights, and Azzrael's unconscious state persisted. I tended to his wounds, all the while maintaining my grumbling commentary. "You're lucky I'm not the complaining type," I joked, as if the unconscious general could hear me.

As the nights wore on, Azzrael's comatose state became a canvas for his subconscious to paint vivid nightmares. He'd mutter about his girlfriend, lost to the undead, the anguish evident in his sleeping expressions.

"You're dreaming loud enough to wake the undead," I teased, more for my own amusement than for any acknowledgment from the unconscious soldier. The nights became a symphony of Azzrael's nightmares and my acerbic banter.

In his restless slumber, Azzrael spoke of his girlfriend—of love lost to the relentless tide of the undead. His words, mumbled and fragmented, painted a portrait of a life left behind in the wake of chaos.

"You should've been more careful. Zombies don't make for great partners," I remarked, attempting to lighten the somber mood that lingered in the tree house.

Days turned into weeks, and Azzrael's subconscious struggles continued. His sleep-induced confessions unraveled the layers of a man hardened by duty, haunted by the ghosts of a world consumed by the undead.

"You talk too much in your sleep, you know that?" I chided, as if expecting a retort from the unconscious general. The makeshift bed, a stage for his nightmares, bore witness to the unfolding drama of a soldier's past.

As the forest held its breath, Azzrael's unconscious murmurs reached a crescendo, revealing the depths of his trauma. "I'm not your wife, you know," I muttered, playing along with the bizarre theater that unfolded each night.