"Do you harbor a death wish? What have you done?" Leora rushed to Cyrus's side, her voice a mixture of anger and concern. She gently took his injured arm, and a warm wave of energy enveloped him, instantly reducing the pain. Cyrus lifted his head, and their eyes met. Up close, she looked even more ravishing than before. His heart rate accelerated, and he tilted his head to the side, momentarily lost in her gaze.
Leora's voice snapped him back to reality. "The recoil from the Mustang is formidable. Where did you learn to charge its power? You could have easily lost your arm." She glared at him, pressing on the injured limb to assess the damage.
Cyrus's eyes widened, almost turning bloodshot as the pain flared up again. "Whoa, hold up! I mean, I couldn't even scratch them, and one of their blasts could blow my head off in an instant. Totally not fair!" he protested, trying to justify his desperate actions.
"Look at the damage you've caused them," Leora said, her voice tight with barely contained anger. Cyrus could see her vein muscles bulging, a testament to her rising fury.
Jolting in fright, Cyrus felt the bloody aura washing over him. His eyes darted to the gloves, noticing for the first time that one of them was torn from when he had shielded his body against the mannequins' attacks. A realization dawned on him – Leora had come to help him not because she cared, but because those gloves were more valuable than he was.
Indignation flared within him. "It wasn't my fault! You should've played fair and not pushed me. Besides, they are mine now, so what's the big deal?" he retorted, unwilling to be treated as inferior despite her obvious strength.
Leora's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You can't hold onto anything. Everything you touch gets destroyed," she said coldly, standing up to leave.
Her words struck a chord deep within Cyrus, and he felt a pang of guilt. Not from her accusation, but because of what it meant to him personally. She was right, and memories he would have preferred to forget resurfaced. He balled his fist, fighting against the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
"To hell with those damn gloves!" he shouted, his voice raw with pain and frustration. "They're worthless anyway. Who even wants to keep them? Only fools!" With that, he pulled off the remaining glove and threw it away in a fit of anger.
Leora's reaction was instantaneous and shocking. "My father was not a fool!" she roared, her voice carrying a power that made Cyrus's mind shake. He held his ears as a deafening ringing sound filled his head, blood trickling down from the sheer force of her outburst. As he looked up at her, he saw an expression that chilled him to the core – the look of someone who had lost their soul. It was an expression he understood all too well.
Guilt and empathy washed over him. "I'm sorry, I went overboard," he said softly, knowing too well the feeling of loss that her face betrayed.
Leora's voice, when she spoke again, was hollow. "No need. Where he is now, he has no use for them. You can have it; the prophet desires you to possess them." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Cyrus to sit in silence, a mixture of tumultuous emotions swaying within him. The pain from his arm, however, rapidly brought him back to reality.
Thanks to the kindness of the villa's maid, Cyrus managed to find the infirmary. Pushing the door open, he stumbled in and crashed onto the bed, exhaustion overwhelming him.
"Doc, I'm fading fast. Need help like now," he cried, his head buried deep in the pillow.
"Um, how may I assist you?" came a hesitant response.
Cyrus suddenly sat up, recognition dawning on him. "Wait, aren't you the—"
"Yes, um, that would be me, Neno, serving as both the librarian and the doctor here in the villa," the young man said, arranging his round glasses. He wore a white gown and gloves, looking every bit the part of a medical professional.
Cyrus eyed him skeptically, noting the excessive protective gear Neno wore. It seemed more suited for intervening in a virus-infested zone than treating a simple injury. However, the pain was becoming unbearable, so Cyrus decided to trust him out of necessity.
"Um, I'm afraid your arm has sustained quite a bit of damage," Neno explained nervously. "It's going to take some time to heal. Uh, for now, I can offer you something to help ease the pain."
Frustration and pain made Cyrus lash out. "What do you even mean by that? I'm freaking dying here. Aren't you supposed to be the doctor?" he yelled, biting the pillow to stifle his groans.
Neno fidgeted with his gloves. "Um, yeah, I understand, but I can't really use magic to heal you. Your body's, like, still adjusting to all these changes, and you haven't really been using your canine powers for that long. So, um, if we try to force things, it might affect your ability to heal properly in the future."
"You understand? Just do it if you don't want me to make sure you know exactly what it feels like," Cyrus threatened through gritted teeth.
Neno sighed in resignation. "Okay, but just, um, promise me you won't regret this decision later on." With that, he set to work.
As Neno began his treatment, Cyrus felt a warm sensation enveloping his body. The pain gradually subsided, replaced by an almost euphoric feeling of floating on clouds. It was addictive, and Cyrus found himself smiling as the agony receded.
While cleaning his tools, Neno's curiosity got the better of him. "Um, sorry if it's, like, intrusive, but I noticed there's a mark on your neck. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
Cyrus, now lying comfortably on the bed, tilted his head to face the young doctor. "It's a birthmark, I guess. I've had it since we came back from our trip," he said softly. "At that time, everything was still perfect. I didn't have to worry about having a job, nor did my parents have to." His voice trailed off as he fought back tears that threatened to spill.
Neno's movements slowed as he processed this information. "Um, I'm really sorry if I, uh, stirred up any painful memories. It's just that... I feel like I've seen this mark before, but I can't quite remember on whom."
Cyrus's interest piqued. "Is there something I should know?" he asked, sitting up slightly.
After a brief pause, Neno resumed washing his tools. "Don't bother. It's surely nothing big," he said, shaking his head dismissively.
Changing the subject, Cyrus decided to pursue another line of inquiry. "Do you know something about Leora's father? And a particular pair of gloves?"
Neno visibly tensed at the question. "I-I'm not really certain if, uh, she'd be alright with me letting that out."
"What do you mean?" Cyrus pressed, his curiosity growing.
Neno hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. "Um, yeah, Leora's dad... he was, uh, like the leader of the Bite."