She didn't get far.
She had barely taken three steps when the forest behind her shifted — a soft crunch of leaves, a breath of movement, something fast.
Before she could turn, an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back.
Hard.
She gasped, stumbling into a solid chest. A familiar one.
Mandle.
His grip tightened instinctively, holding her against him as if the world might swallow her if he let go. She opened her mouth, ready to shout at him, to demand he release her—
But his hand covered her mouth firmly.
"Don't," he breathed, voice low and urgent against her ear. "Not a sound."
Her heart jumped.
Not from fear. Not from anger. But from the sudden closeness — the heat of him, the strength in his arms, the way his breath brushed her skin when he spoke.
She froze.
Mandle's voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.
"We're surrounded."
Her eyes widened, and her face flushed a deep crimson, the warmth of his breath on her skin igniting a heavy blush that spread across her cheeks.
He felt her tense, and his hold shifted, steadying her, keeping her close but controlled. His hand stayed over her mouth, not harsh, but unyielding — a warning, not a restraint.
"Listen," he murmured.
Only then did she hear it.
The faint rustle of leaves. The soft scrape of something moving between trees. Multiple somethings.
Her pulse hammered.
Mandle slowly removed his hand from her mouth, but his arm stayed around her waist, keeping her close enough that she could feel the tension coiled in him.
"You were walking straight into them," he said quietly, his breath brushing her cheek. "I couldn't let you."
She swallowed, heat rising unbidden to her face. She hated that he could still affect her like this — after everything he'd said, after how cold he'd been.
But right now, with danger pressing in from every direction, his closeness felt… different.
Necessary.
He leaned in just a fraction more, voice barely audible.
"Stay with me."
Her breath caught.
Suddenly, a shadow dropped from a branch.
Another stepped out from behind a tree.
Masks. Blades. Silent footsteps.
Her breath caught.
Assassins.
Her father's assassins.
Sent to "check the situation."
Sent to kill anyone on sight.
The assassins didn't hesitate.
The moment they realized they'd been spotted, they attacked with blinding speed. Steel flashed through the air, forcing Mandle to release her and meet the first strike head-on.
He blocked with his forearm, the impact echoing like a crack of thunder. Another assassin lunged from the side. Mandle twisted, countering with raw strength, but he was still weakened — drained from the lightning strike, from being revived, from everything she had done to bring him back.
The wolf charged forward, slamming into two assassins at once. His claws tore through their defenses, his movements precise and deadly. But even he staggered once, still injured from earlier.
The assassins noticed.
They pressed harder.
Hoj and her father stood behind her, both defenseless. Her father clutched his side, pale and barely standing. Hoj held a broken branch like it was a sword, trembling.
She tried to summon her power — anything — but her body felt hollow. Drained. Empty from resurrecting Mandle.
Then one assassin spotted them.
His eyes locked on Mandle's father.
He drew back his arm and hurled his katana with deadly precision.
"No!" she screamed.
She threw herself in front of Hoj, shielding him with her own body, closing her eyes as she prepared for the end.
The blade never hit.
She opened her eyes to see Mandle's hand gripping the steel blade, the tip trembling just two inches from her heart. His silhouette was shaking with a rage so intense it felt like the air was vibrating. But the strain was too much; Mandle suddenly collapsed forward, falling face-first into the dirt.
The assassin let out a mocking laugh.
"Pathetic," he hissed, stepping forward to deliver the finishing blow to the fallen warrior.
But as the assassin swung his sword, his arm froze in mid-air.
He looked down, and the blood drained from his face.
Mandle hadn't passed out — he was awakening to his other side.
A low, manic chuckle bubbled up from the ground. Mandle looked up, but the man they knew was gone. His eyes were void of humanity, radiating a suffocating evil aura that felt like it crawled straight out of hell.
With a movement too fast for the human eye to follow, Mandle surged upward.
He grabbed the assassin's arm, snapping the bone like a dry twig.
Before the man could even scream, Mandle seized him by the head and wrenched it clean off his shoulders.
Blood splattered across Mandle's face in a crimson mask. Standing amidst the carnage, he let out a menacing, guttural laugh. He slowly reached up, licking the warm blood off his hand and face, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying, newfound hunger.
The remaining assassins, once cold-blooded killers, were now paralyzed by primal, soul-crushing terror.
The air grew heavy and cold as Mandle stood amongst the corpses, the evil aura radiating from him like a physical weight.
The nearest assassin tried to flee, but Mandle moved like a flickering shadow.
He appeared behind the man, his fingers digging into the assassin's throat like iron talons.
With a sickening wet sound, he tore the throat out and stood there as the blood sprayed over him.
He didn't wipe it away; he tilted his head back, licking the blood as it ran down his cheeks, a manic, jagged grin splitting his face.
The others charged in a desperate, unified strike.
Mandle didn't even use his weapons. He met their steel with his bare hands, snapping katanas with his palms and driving his fists through their chests.
He was a whirlwind of gore, systematically dismantling them. With every kill, he became more depraved, pausing for a split second to savor the copper taste of their lifeblood off his fingers, his eyes glowing with a demonic hunger.
Within minutes, the clearing was silent, save for the sound of blood dripping from leaves and the low, guttural chuckling of the monster that used to be Mandle.
As the last body fell, the suffocating aura began to recede.
The manic light in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by a hollow, glazed expression. The demonic strength that had sustained him vanished instantly.
His legs gave out.
Mandle slumped to his knees, his body once again remembering the shattering injuries he had sustained during his attack.
The blood of his enemies coated him from head to toe, mixing with his own.
With a faint, pained groan, he toppled forward, losing consciousness before he even hit the dirt.
He lay still—a broken man covered in the stains of a slaughter, leaving Hoj and her father horrified at the sight of too much blood.