After a few minutes passed, the discomfort left behind by the ritual began to fade. Slowly, Jim and Anya regained full control over their bodies, although they were quite weakened by it.
Naturally, the first thing they checked was their chests.
Were the wounds still there?
Was there still blood?
Why was...
"…There's no pain…" Anya muttered.
Her fingers traced the spots where tendrils had pierced into her only minutes ago. She looked down and froze.
There was nothing.
Not a single drop of blood. No wound. No scab. There wasn't even a scar.
Jim, who had endured the worst of the ritual, ran his hands across his chest and found the same thing.
Nothing.
No blood. No wound. No scab, no scar. Not a single trace of the damage that was inflicted on him was left behind. It was as though none of it had ever happened in the first place.
But he noticed something else—something different. Not just in himself, but in Anya as well.
"I feel younger," he murmured.
