"Are you a threat?" Pixie asked, struggling to remain upright.
"I will be if you keep pointing that knife at me," Elise replied coldly, her tone sharp and unwavering.
Pixie chuckled, but his laughter was abruptly cut off. The sudden change in his demeanor caught Elise off guard. In the blink of an eye, Pixie's left hand—dislocated and grotesquely mangled—shot out and connected with her face. The force of the punch sent her sprawling to the ground.
For a moment, Pixie's expression was blank, eerily cold, and devoid of humanity. Elise's breath hitched as a shiver raced down her spine. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
Something was wrong.
In that split second, the one in control of Pixie's body wasn't Pixie anymore—it was Xialdre.
But just as quickly as the shift occurred, Pixie's body went limp, and the foreign presence receded. Xialdre returned to his own body, leaving Pixie to collapse under the strain. Elise remained on the ground, her head pounding and her face bloodied. She stared at him, trembling, her fear mounting.
"What… happened?" Pixie muttered, his voice distant as he struggled to regain his senses.
Elise glared at him, her voice unsteady. "Who are you?" she demanded, the tremor in her voice betraying her fear.
"What… happened?" Pixie repeated, his confusion evident. His mind was a blur, unable to piece together the fragments of reality.
Elise took an unsteady breath and stood, still cradling her aching face. "How can you move like that? Especially with all your wounds?" she asked, disbelief and anger mixing in her voice.
"What do you mean?" Pixie asked, confusion spreading across his face.
Without answering, Elise pulled a small gun from her sling bag, her movements slow and deliberate. Suddenly, Pixie's entire body gave out beneath him. His limbs collapsed, and he hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Xialdre had used Pixie's broken body to fight, forcing it beyond its natural limits. The strain was catastrophic, and now Pixie's form—already battered—was teetering on the edge of complete failure.
Elise watched in stunned silence as Pixie lay motionless.
Whatever had possessed Pexie to keep fighting despite his condition had done so at a terrible cost. His body had been utterly destroyed in the process.
"Hey," Elise called out tentatively, but there was no response.
Pixie's stillness unsettled her. She questioned whether this was another bluff, much like earlier when he feigned defeat despite his injuries.
"Hey, are you good?" she asked again, her voice firmer, but still met with silence.
A bitter thought surfaced in her mind: I'll die down here if I don't escape this floor soon. I don't even know the layout of the lower levels, and for someone from the Royal Floors like me, the unknown is even more dangerous. Her lip curled in distaste as her gaze shifted to Pixie. This guy's a slave. He probably knows these floors better than anyone. Letting him die might be throwing away my only chance to survive.
She sighed heavily, cursing her circumstances. I hate being around slaves. They're disgusting. But right now, I don't have a choice.
Elise rummaged through her sling bag and pulled out items she had scavenged earlier—medical supplies she had taken from a med kit. Another sigh escaped her lips as she knelt beside Pixie. Carefully, she laid his head in her lap and got to work.
Despite the difficulty, she began stitching up his open wounds. Sweat dripped from her brow as she struggled to mend his torn flesh. Her hands trembled, unused to healing someone so grievously injured.
After what felt like hours, she finished covering his wounds. She leaned back, catching her breath, before placing her hands over his chest.
"Light of love, so pure and true,
Send your warmth to my fellow foe, renew.
Heal their heart, their body, mind,
Peace and strength in them you'll find.
By earth and sky, by moon and sea,
Bring them health, so mote it be."
As she chanted, a soft wind swirled around them, carrying a faint, soothing warmth. Despite their location thousands of meters below the surface, the wind seemed alive, responding to her spell.
A green aura surrounded them as Elise's spell took effect. Her hair lifted gently in the magical current, and she felt the energy coursing through her. Slowly but surely, Pixie's body began to mend.
His dislocated arm snapped back into place with a sickening pop. As the spell reached its peak, Pixie's eyelids fluttered open. Elise, drenched in sweat, finished her chant just as his golden eyes locked onto hers.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy. A bead of sweat fell from Elise's face, landing on Pixie's forehead. He blinked, his senses finally returning as he sat up, pulling his head away from her lap.
Pixie clutched his head, groaning softly. His gaze flickered to Elise, who stood over him, her expression wary but no longer hostile.
"Are you okay now?" Elise asked, her voice steady but tinged with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine now… thanks to you," Pixie replied, his tone low as he stared at the ground.
Elise extended a hand to him, offering a small, firm smile. "So, um, what's your name? You never told me, did you?"
Pixie remained silent, his mind churning. "Can I trust her? She's from the Royal Floors. People like her hate slaves. Even looking at us makes them sick. They're worse than devils themselves."
Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he reached out and took her hand.
Elise helped him to his feet, her smile unwavering. "Sooo, are you going to tell me your name?" she asked again.
Pixie glanced at her, his golden eyes narrowing. "Call me whatever you want."
"Oh my, are you sure about that?" Elise teased, tilting her head.
Pixie didn't answer. He turned his gaze to the desolate corridor stretching ahead.
"I'll take that as a yes," Elise said cheerfully, clasping her hands together.
Pixie began walking down the empty hallway, his expression dark as he thought to himself "Judging by the layout, we're probably in the…"
Behind him, Elise's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Hmm, what should I call you? Madrid? Because you've got such angry eyes. Or maybe 'Dark,' since you've got dark hair? No, that's stupid. Oh! How about 'Yellow,' because of your eyes? No, that's worse. Wait, wait—how about 'Nightmare'? Yeah, that's perfect! Scary eyes, dark hair that's like the night, and those creepy yellow eyes for flair. Get it?"
Pixie sighed but kept walking, her chatter trailing behind him like an annoying echo.