Revenge

Alright! Here's a rewritten, longer, more immersive v

Congratulations on obtaining your first soulmate, Olivia, Host.

The Host's reward has been saved and stored until the Host completes hidden Main Quest @#$%!?%&. May @!$#%$#@@$ grant you luck.

The system's voice faded into static and symbols Azrael couldn't begin to understand. He blinked, dazed and dizzy, ignoring the garbled words as his body tried to process what had just happened.

Olivia's lips finally pulled back from his neck with a soft, lingering sigh. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly in the cold dark, pupils still dilated with predatory hunger. She licked her lips slowly, savoring the last taste. Her breathing was heavy, almost... satisfied.

Azrael laid back against the stone wall, lightheaded but calm. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, the sensation of her fangs still tingling against his skin.

Then Olivia's expression shifted—confusion crept in first, then horror.

She backed away from him with trembling hands. "Azrael…" she whispered, her voice cracking, "I—I didn't mean to. I couldn't stop... I just—"

He sat up slowly, placing a hand to his neck and then looking at the blood on his fingers. He met her eyes—frightened, ashamed, and wild.

"You were healing," he said softly, trying to ease her panic. "And starving."

She covered her mouth with both hands, shaking her head. "But I lost control. What if I killed you? I'm not... I didn't want to—"

Azrael smiled weakly and reached out to touch her shoulder. "You didn't. I'm alive, and you're not alone." His grin turned sly. "Besides, if it's you, I don't mind sharing a little blood."

Olivia blinked, lips parting in surprise. Then, laughter—reluctant, but real—bubbled out. "Idiot."

They sat together in silence for a time, the warmth between them returning. The bitter cold of the dungeon floor was still there, but less biting.

Then a sound broke the moment—soft thuds, dozens of them, from further down the corridor.

Azrael stood, spear in hand. Olivia rose beside him, her hand drifting to her blade.

From the darkness ahead, strange shapes began to emerge—small at first, then growing in number.

Dozens of rabbit-like creatures hopped into view, but they were wrong. Twisted. Their fur was patchy and scorched, riddled with scars that glowed faintly red. Their eyes burned with unnatural hunger, and two curved, jagged horns grew from each skull like broken antlers. Their teeth were long—too long—and their twitching noses wrinkled in unison as they caught scent of blood.

"What the hell are those?" Olivia whispered, voice tight.

"I don't know," Azrael muttered, lowering his stance. "But they're coming straight for us."

Wyrmhares, he would later name them. Aberrations—rabbit-shaped beasts mutated by dungeon corruption, cursed by mana storms and drenched in death. They were fast, clever, and hungry.

The Wyrmhares charged without hesitation, moving in packs of six to eight, leaping and swarming with horrifying speed.

Azrael stepped forward, shifting the weight of his spear using his gravity affinity—he made the tip denser, heavier, swinging it like a wrecking ball.

A sharp crunch echoed as he shattered the skull of the lead beast. It exploded in a spray of dark ichor.

But the others kept coming.

Olivia unleashed a slash of fire from her sword—crimson flames licking the air as the arc incinerated three in an instant. She danced between attacks, a blur of blood, shadow, and steel.

More Wyrmhares bounded into view—dozens. They emerged from holes in the wall, scuttled down from ceilings, leaped over corpses. One managed to graze Azrael's leg, but he spun and skewered it through the chest, lifting it into the air before hurling it into the pack.

The battle blurred into madness.

At one point, Azrael shouted, "We're eating these damn things after this!"

Olivia grinned savagely, slicing through another beast. "Finally sick of spider meat, huh?"

"Hell yes."

They moved back-to-back, pivoting in perfect unison. Olivia unleashed burning shockwaves while Azrael bent gravity to crush, slam, and impale the Wyrmhares in quick succession.

They fought until breath came in gasps and limbs trembled.

Then finally—silence.

The last Wyrmhare gave a death twitch before collapsing, its red eyes flickering out like dying embers.

They dropped to the ground, blood-spattered and shaking.

"That," Olivia muttered, "was not normal."

"Nope," Azrael agreed, flopping onto his back and catching his breath. "But… I'm starving."

He sat up and raised his palm, drawing on his sun affinity with shaky focus. A few flickers. A soft spark. Then a flame.

It took a few tries, but soon, a small fire crackled in the middle of their makeshift camp. Olivia helped him stack bits of bone and dry silk into a spit.

They skinned the Wyrmhares—carefully—and cooked the leanest meat. It sizzled, giving off a sweet, smoky aroma.

Olivia inhaled deeply, her expression brightening. "Gods, this smells good."

Azrael grinned. "Might be the best thing we've eaten since falling into this hellhole."

They sat shoulder to shoulder, the glow of the fire warming their numb hands as they devoured their meal in silence.

For a moment, there was peace—no system messages, no monsters, no dungeon horrors.

Just warmth, rabbit meat, and the slow return of strength.

The fire crackled in steady rhythm, a small flame barely holding against the cold breath of the dungeon. The scent of roasted Wyrmhare meat lingered in the air, but the hunger that had gripped them earlier had faded—replaced now by the weight of silence and thought.

Azrael leaned back against a stone, legs stretched out, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. Olivia sat across from him, her pale face illuminated by the glow of the fire. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and she stared into the dancing flames like they held answers she'd been searching for all her life.

The quiet stretched, until Azrael finally broke it.

"When we get out of here… what do you want to do?"

Olivia blinked, like the question had yanked her out of some distant memory. She didn't answer at first, and Azrael didn't push.

Eventually, she spoke—voice low and sharp. "I'm going to find my father. And I'm going to kill him."

Azrael didn't flinch. "What'd he do?"

She looked up, eyes glowing softly—blood-red irises shimmering in the firelight. "He was a high elf. A proud one. Highborn, noble bloodline, all that. My mother… was a vampire. He kidnapped her during a border war. Kept her like a pet in his estate. When he got bored, he sold her to a human merchant."

Azrael's jaw tightened.

Olivia's voice grew colder. "I was born in that cage. He didn't even see me as his daughter. Just a reminder of a mistake. A mistake that could be useful one day. He sold me too—said it was a shame my blood was 'tainted,' but someone might pay for it anyway."

There was a bitter pause.

"I didn't even know my mother's name," she whispered.

Azrael sat forward, gaze fixed on her. "You ever find out what happened to her?"

"I heard she died. Or was drained dry. I don't know." She shook her head. "But him? He's alive. Still playing noble in some elven capital, pretending he's clean. But he's not. And when I get strong enough, I'll rip out his spine and set it on fire."

Azrael gave a small nod. "Then I'll help you."

She blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"

"Because people like that deserve worse than death. And because I've got my own demons to chase." He looked into the fire, eyes narrowing. "Me and My brother were taken when I was a kid sold into slavery together until we got separated someone Bought him. All I remember is blood and chains and a man in a mask. I don't even know if he's alive… but I'll search every inch of this cursed world until I find him."

Olivia smiled faintly. It wasn't a nice smile—it was sharp, tired, and broken. But it was real. "Guess we're both messed up."

"Guess so," Azrael agreed, smirking.

A quiet pact formed in the glow of the fire—nothing spoken aloud, but understood.

Revenge. Redemption. Reunion.

Whatever awaited them above the dungeon, they'd face it together.