Blood

Azrael knelt beside Olivia, his breath ragged, heart thundering in his chest. The dim, icy cavern felt silent after the chaos of battle. The spider boss's shriek still echoed faintly in his ears, as if the dungeon itself hadn't realized the threat was dead.

His hands trembled as he gently brushed the blood-matted hair from Olivia's pale face. Her skin was cold to the touch, and her breathing was faint but steady. Already, her wounds were beginning to knit together—slowly, but surely. Her body was fighting, healing. Alive.

He exhaled, chest rising and falling with the force of the relief crashing through him.

"She's healing," he muttered, half to himself. "Good… good."

His gaze drifted toward the fallen monster, the boss's corpse slumped across the cavern like a grotesque statue. Its eight legs were splayed out in the snow, twitching slightly as death finished its slow crawl through the body. Even in death, it radiated menace.

Azrael stood, each step toward the corpse heavy with fatigue. Every muscle ached. His clothes—what rags remained of them—clung to his damp skin. His feet were numb, toes curled against the frost-covered ground, but he moved with grim purpose.

"This better be worth it…"

With a grunt, he sank his spear into one of the spider's thick legs, wrenching it free with effort. It snapped with a sickening crack. He dragged it over to the firepit, then returned for another—and another—until all the legs had been neatly severed and stacked in a crude pile.

He kept one slung over his shoulder. A meal. Maybe more than one.

Then, his gaze shifted to the monstrous head. Its bulbous eyes were dull now, empty. He raised his spear and plunged it down through the skull, carving through the dense exoskeleton with practiced movements. The skull cracked, and he scooped out the soft tissue inside, gagging slightly at the stench.

Eventually, he hollowed it out, turning it into a crude bowl. He filled it with blood that still steamed in the cold, thick and dark like molten metal.

"She's going to need this…" he whispered, looking toward Olivia again. "All that healing—she'll wake up starving."

He didn't like the idea. Feeding her monster blood. Feeding her anything that wasn't normal. But he had no choice. Not here. Not now.

With food prepared and the makeshift bowl filled, Azrael took a moment to rest, planting his spear in the frozen ground and letting himself breathe.

Then something caught his eye—something glinting on the ground a few feet away, half-buried in frost.

He approached warily, brushing away the ice with numb fingers.

A single item.

Instead of two like the previous floors, this time the dungeon gave them only one.

But what a prize it was.

White armor—light as snowflake, radiant with a soft, pink tint that shimmered in the firelight. It looked impossibly light, crafted not from metal but something more refined, more ethereal. Silk and steel woven together by some forgotten magic. When he touched it, it was warm—almost alive.

Azrael ran a hand down the chestplate, admiration in his eyes.

"This… this will fit her perfectly."

He gathered the armor, set it carefully beside Olivia, then turned back to the fire.

Time to eat.

Inside the stone chamber, the chill was less biting. The walls glowed faintly with blue crystals, and the fire pit in the center crackled with warmth as Azrael rekindled it using the last of the dry spider silk they had scavenged.

He set the spider legs over the flames, skewered on sharpened bones, and sat close to the warmth, rubbing his hands together.

As the meat roasted, the scent filled the air—rich, gamey, unfamiliar. A mix between venison and something more earthy. Not exactly pleasant, but far better than starvation. His mouth watered.

He tore off a strip and bit into it, eyes fluttering closed as the warmth spread through his chest. His stomach groaned with relief.

"For once," he muttered, "something that doesn't taste like dirt and despair."

As he chewed, his thoughts drifted—to Leo.

His brother's laugh echoed in his mind, a memory so vivid it made his chest ache. He saw them, two boys darting through the frozen alleys of Jotunheim, barefoot in the snow, stealing bread from a careless merchant. Leo always smiled, even when they were starving. Always acted like the cold never bothered him.

And then the slavers came. And the world broke.

"I'll find you," Azrael whispered to the fire. "No matter what. I'll find you."

A low growl shattered the silence.

Azrael looked up.

Olivia stirred—slowly, then suddenly. Her body arched, her chest heaving as her hands gripped the ground. Her eyes snapped open.

They weren't golden.

They were red—deep, luminous crimson, glowing faintly in the blue light of the crystals.

Azrael rose slowly, careful not to startle her. "Olivia?"

Her gaze didn't meet his. Instead, her eyes locked on the bowl beside her—the blood. The scent must have reached her, because her breath hitched and her lips parted in a trembling gasp.

Then she moved.

Faster than he expected. Faster than she had any right to move in that condition.

She pounced, knocking over the bowl in her desperation. Blood splattered across the stone, but she didn't care. She dropped to her knees, hands shaking as she lapped at it with ragged, guttural hunger.

Azrael froze.

This wasn't healing.

This was instinct.

Animalistic. Feral.

"Olivia…?"

She stopped drinking.

And turned to him.

Her lips were stained red, her fangs fully extended. Her eyes locked onto him, and for a heartbeat, he felt the predator behind those crimson irises.

She lunged.

Azrael didn't move.

He couldn't.

One moment Olivia was on the ground, trembling from exhaustion—now she was a blur of motion, faster than anything he'd seen outside of a battle. Her limbs moved like shadows, impossibly fluid, her nails blackening into claw-like tips as she sprinted across the chamber.

Her snarl echoed off the cavern walls, primal and cold.

Azrael reacted on instinct. He didn't want to hurt her—but he had to survive.

His gravity magic surged, invisible pressure folding into the air around her like a sudden storm. With a thought, he doubled the gravity around her shoulders and knees, trying to weigh her down without causing harm.

She stumbled mid-step. Just barely.

It slowed her—but only for a breath.

She crashed into him.

Azrael grunted as her body hit his, both of them slamming into the wall behind. Dust and snow fell from above. His arms pinned beneath her weight, he tried to reason with her, his voice low and steady despite the panic flooding his chest.

"Olivia. It's me. Azrael. You're not—you're not a monster."

But her eyes weren't listening. Those blood-red irises gleamed with hunger, not thought. Not recognition.

And then her fangs sank into his neck.

There was no pain.

Azrael tensed, expecting a sharp stab of agony—but instead, he felt something else.

Heat.

Warmth bloomed from the bite, spreading across his chest like a wave of molten gold. His breath hitched, muscles going slack as something deep inside him surrendered.

His heartbeat slowed.

The cold faded.

His body pulsed with each draw of blood, each tug of her lips at his throat. It was intimate—unnaturally so. It wasn't just blood she was taking. It was something deeper. Something older.

His thoughts scattered. His hands—once clenched into fists—fell open. His eyes fluttered closed.

He should've been afraid.

But all he felt was… peace.

He let out a quiet breath, like a sigh after a long night of pain.

Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, claws piercing just beneath the skin, holding him in place—but even that didn't hurt. It was grounding. Anchoring.

Azrael's consciousness drifted, hovering somewhere between pleasure and oblivion.

And in that moment, he felt her.

Not physically—spiritually.

A connection forming, thread by invisible thread, binding something ancient between them. As if the blood she drank wasn't just healing her—it was bonding her.

Claiming him.

His heart beat once.

And a flickering screen opened before his eyes, translucent against the cavern walls:

[Congratulations, Host. You have formed your first Soulmate: Olivia.]

[Warning: High Blood Resonance Detected]

His breath caught.

"Soulmate…?"

The words meant nothing and everything.

Azrael's vision dimmed at the edges, black creeping in as the last of his strength drained into her.

And still, she drank.