It was well past midnight when Lulu's body finally threw in the towel. The tough little act, the bullshit about the burns just being "fancy new scars" and the pain being a "ticklish sunburn," crumbled like a cheap wall in a hero's collateral damage festival.
She went limp in his arms, a dead weight of pained little sister, her breath evening out into the shallow, rhythmic wheezes of someone who'd fallen asleep fighting.
In the weak, sickly moonlight filtering through the busted window, the scorched half of her face and body still looked like a fresh horror show—raw, weeping, a landscape of peeling skin that made Pryce's stomach try to crawl out of his throat.
He just sat there, heavy silence pressing down on him heavier than any sack of dungeon loot, cradling her against his bare chest.
For one stolen minute, he let himself have it. Not loud, not dramatic. Just hot, silent tears of pure, molten rage sliding down his cheeks, tracking clean paths through the city grime on his face as he stared at the blackened, mangled ruin that used to be half of Lulu.
That thunder bastard Sylas had done a fucking number on her, a goddamn masterpiece of pain, while the actual hero, the big-shot target of the day, probably walked away without a scratch.
The angel's mercy had fixed him completely. Not a scar, not a blister. Just smooth skin and a body that felt stronger than before.
The angel's grand, holy mercy had hit him with the full package. Not a mark, not a scar, not even a fucking blister. Just smooth, unblemished skin and a body that hummed with a strength he'd never dreamed of, like he'd been rebuilt from god-tier materials.
He was a goddamn testament to celestial favor. And Lulu, his Lulu, was still suffering, a living monument to everything the heroes left behind.
'The universe has a sick fucking sense of humor.'
He gently tucked her into a cavy hole formed by collapsed house walls—a cramped but relatively safe pocket big enough for her to lie on her unburned side.
If she rolled over in her sleep, the pressure on the burns would wake her screaming.
He made sure she was as comfortable as possible, brushing soot from her good cheek.
"They promised," he whispered into the dark. "Heal her. Give her powers. But I hope the healing comes first... as long as I finish whatever bullshit first mission that angel has waiting."
The problem was he had no idea what the mission even was. He didn't even feel any new powers humming in his veins. No lightning, no earth control, no sudden urge to smite evil like some righteous bastard.
The only changes were his perfectly healed skin and the fact that he looked a little less malnourished—healthier, firmer.
'Angel's blessings, apparently. Real generous.'
With one last glance at his sleeping sister, Pryce crawled out of the cavy hole from the opposite side and stood up.
He froze.
"Oh, by the gods, angels, their freshly washed divine thongs flapping in the celestial breeze..." he muttered, then immediately upgraded it. "And the Supreme Angel's holy lingerie drawer and all the sacred panties that have ever been blessed with starlight and poor life choices..."
The destruction was absolute. A crater, easily a hundred paces wide, had been vaporized out of what used to be their street.
It wasn't just rubble; it was a void, a perfect circle of utter nothingness where houses, shops, and people had been atomized.
The entire fringe town looked like it had been nuked, then stomped on by a giant wearing steel-toed boots for fun. Rows of seven-story hab-blocks had been reduced to jagged piles of concrete, twisted rebar, and smoking craters.
Streets were gone.
What used to be narrow alleys full of vendors, kids playing, and exhausted laborers was now just a wasteland of rubble stretching as far as his eyes could see in the moonlight.
No homes. No lights.
No signs of the scrappy life that had stubbornly clung here.
"Huh. So, this is what 'collateral damage' looks like when it's not happening on a news screen behind a pretty talking head." He gestured with one hand at the devastation, a grand, sweeping motion of a naked conductor leading an orchestra of misery.
What used to be narrow alleys full of vendors, kids playing, and exhausted laborers was now just a wasteland of rubble stretching as far as his eyes could see in the moonlight.
"All this, just to take out one little pissant darkness user, me who happened to know what I wasn't supposed to and revenge of a cuckold and whoever happened to be in the same postal code. Real surgical, you pompous, cape-wearing thunder-fuck."
His words were a quiet poison in the dead air, a stark contrast to the grief surrounding him.
And the sounds…
Wails and cries drifted through the night—adults sobbing brokenly, children screaming for parents who would never answer.
Thick blackness still seeped from the ground and ruins like living ink, the unmistakable signature of a powerful darkness user. Nightcrow's void had painted the whole district in permanent midnight.
Pryce scoffed, the sound low and bitter.
Pryce scoffed, the sound low and bitter.
"This fight had jack shit to do with hero versus villain," he muttered to the crater, the sound swallowed by the immense silence between screams. "It's exactly what the Guild of the Seven wanted—a clean slate for whatever scheme they're cooking. And the other reason that thunder bastard cuckold made sure I died..."
He shook his head, the motion sharp and full of a private, bitter memory.
"Because Pryce the relic collector—the guy who dug through dungeons and towers for hero scraps—overheard the real plot. Plus the five times I cucked him. Can't have that black spot ruining the proud Thunder Saint's spotless rise to glory, can we?"
He sighed, running a hand through his dusty hair. Still no powers he could feel. No lightning at his fingertips, no earth answering his call. Just healed skin and a slightly less starved look. Wonderful.
"Guess I'll have to haul my glorious naked ass to the nearest Guild branch, get scanned, and start playing sidekick to the angel chick. Whatever missions she throws at me, they'd better be worth the trouble. The gifts are tempting enough."
His gaze dropped. His glorious member swung freely in the cool night air, completely unbothered by the apocalypse surrounding it.
"Right. Practicality first."
Pryce looked around the rubble with a dramatic sigh. "Better find something to cover the goods before the surviving ladies start falling head over heels. Let's not accidentally create more vengefulboyfriends and husbands. I've already got enough revenge plots on my plate without starting a harem by public indecency... though honestly, that does sound like a pretty solid long-term retirement plan."