Kaelen didn't ride through the city; he was a storm that broke upon it. He burst into the Cathedral, his presence so overwhelming that the younger priests fell to their knees in involuntary prayer. He reached Elara's chambers and threw the doors open with a crash that cracked the oak frames.
"Elara!"
He saw her on the bed, looking frail and flushed. His warrior's heart broke. He rushed to her, his massive, armored hands reaching out to cradle her face.
"I'm here. The Abyss is gone. You're safe."
But the moment his fingers brushed her cheek, Elara screamed. It wasn't a cry of relief; it was a shriek of absolute agony. Her skin, sensitized by the Arousal Mist and the Blood Link, reacted to his holy aura as if it were a branding iron.
"Don't! Get away from me!" she sobbed, scrambling to the corner of the bed, her robes torn and tangled.
Kaelen recoiled, his hands shaking. He looked at the deep red marks on her inner thighs—marks I had physically manifested through the link while he was fighting for his life.
"Who did this?" his voice dropped an octave, a low, tectonic growl that made the windows vibrate. "Elara, tell me who touched you!"
"He... he's inside me, Kaelen," she gasped, her eyes dilated with a shameful, forced lust. "Every time I breathe, I taste him. Every time I pray, I see him."
He didn't just hurt me, Kaelen," she whispered, her eyes wide with a haunted luster. "He... he marked me. I can still feel his shadow coiled around my heart. If he isn't stopped, I'll... I'll never be yours again."
Kaelen's face went from pale to a dark, murderous red. The air in the room began to ionize, sparks of golden mana jumping from his armor. He didn't say another word. He turned on his heel and walked out, his steps cracking the marble floor. He didn't need a map; he gathered his twelve Silver-Wing Paladins—the men who had bled with him in the Abyss—and rode back to the forest under the cover of a moonless night..