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Chapter 18 - My Beloved wife

Ordeon nodded grimly. "That's not even the half of it. There are whispers that Zonrac is more than just a skilled fighter. Some say he's a Celestial Nightstalker a rare breed that carries the blood of both the devilish and angelic tribes."

"Well, that explains the charming personality," Aerovind quipped, though his tone lacked its usual mirth. "Listen, Ordeon. I need to be in these Purging Games. Zonrac has something I need."

Ordeon raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Aerovind's grin returned, sharp and dangerous. "Let's just say it's a personal matter. Now, about that payment we discussed..."

"Ah, yes. The Key of Eternity." Ordeon nodded. "It's in a steel chest in my quarters. But remember, it's useless without—"

"The blood of each avatar of the demon gods," Aerovind finished. "I know. I've already got one Mammon's. Just six more to go."

Ordeon studied Aerovind for a long moment before reaching into his pocket and producing a small, ornate key. "Here. Whenever you're ready to claim it, it's yours."

Aerovind pocketed the key with a nod of thanks. As he turned to leave, Ordeon called out, "Aerovind. Whatever game you're playing... be careful. Zonrac isn't someone to be trifled with."

The yellow-eyed traveler's smirk widened. "Ordeon, my friend, trifling is what I do best."

Meanwhile, in a dimly lit chamber within the fortress, Zellrid lay awake, his single eye fixed on the stone ceiling above. Beside him, Lyra slumbered peacefully, her lithe form pressed against his side, her arms wrapped possessively around his torso.

Zellrid's calloused fingers absently played with a lock of Lyra's hair, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and worries. The bounty on his head, the looming threat of the eldritch presence in his mind, Zonrac's unexpected return it all weighed heavily upon him.

Lyra stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet Zellrid's gaze. A soft smile graced her lips as she pressed closer to him. "Good morning, my love," she murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.

Zellrid's stern features softened as he looked down at her. "Morning," he rumbled, his voice a low growl.

Lyra's hands began to wander, tracing the scars that criss crossed Zellrid's muscled chest. "You're thinking too loudly again," she teased, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Perhaps I can help quiet your mind?"

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Zellrid's mouth as he rolled over, pinning Lyra beneath him. "Is that so?" he said, his eye darkening with desire.

Lyra arched her neck, baring her creamy white throat to him. "I've been known to be... resourceful," she purred, running her nails lightly down his back.

Zellrid growled low in his chest, his self-control shattering like glass. His lips found hers in a crushing kiss, their tongues dancing together in a sensual tango as their clothing fell away in a flurry of fabric.

His hands gripped her hips, marveling at the way her curves molded to his hard muscles. Lyra's nails raked down his back, eliciting a low groan from him.

Soft moans and sighs filled the chamber as Zellrid and Lyra became lost in each other's arms, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.

When they finally lay spent, Lyra's head resting on Zellrid's chest, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Zellrid... when all of this is over, will you marry me?"

Zellrid's hand, which had been lazily stroking her back, stilled for a moment. Then, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I promise," he said softly.

Lyra's arms tightened around him, her smile radiant. "I love you," she whispered fervently. "In every universe, whatever you are."

Zellrid's throat tightened with emotion. "And I love you," he replied, his usual gruffness softened by genuine affection.

"Wakey wakey cyclops."

Their moment of peace was shattered by a thunderous knocking at the chamber door. "Rise and shine, lovebirds!" Aerovind's cheerful voice rang out. "Time to face the day, unless you two are too busy facing each other!"

Zellrid groaned, burying his face in the pillow. "I'm going to kill him," he muttered.

Lyra laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Zellrid's cheek before sliding out of bed. "No, you won't. You like him too much."

"Debatable," Zellrid grumbled as he reluctantly got up, pulling on his clothes.

When Zellrid finally wrenched open the door, he found Aerovind leaning against the doorframe, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Well, well," Aerovind drawled, his yellow eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look who finally decided to join the land of the living. Have a good night, did we?"

Zellrid's glare could have melted stone. "What do you want, Aerovind?"

"Oh, nothing much," Aerovind replied airily. "Just thought you might like to know that your old pal Ordeon's agreed to let me participate in the Purging Games. Isn't that exciting?"

Zellrid pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Fantastic," he muttered. "Because that's exactly what we need right now—you in a death tournament."

Aerovind clapped Zellrid on the shoulder. "That's the spirit! Now, come on. We've got training to do, broody. Can't have you getting soft on me now, can we?"

Zellrid and Aerovind made their way through the winding corridors of the Nightstalkers' stronghold. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to their conversation.

"So, broody," Aerovind began, his yellow eyes glinting with curiosity, "got any good war stories? I bet a grizzled veteran like you has seen some things."

Zellrid grunted, his single eye fixed on the path ahead. For a moment, it seemed he might not answer. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.

"Five years ago," he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, "I took a contract. Nasty business."

Aerovind's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Do tell. Was it damsels? Dragons? Daring escapes?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at Zellrid's lips. "Something like that. The princess of the Dead King had been cursed with lycanthropy. Her father wanted it lifted."

"Ah, werewolves," Aerovind nodded sagely. "Tricky customers. Let me guess, you waltzed in, broke the curse, and swept the princess off her feet?"

Zellrid snorted. "Not quite. Fought her for three days straight. She was... formidable."

Aerovind whistled low. "Three days? That's some stamina, my friend. I'm impressed."

"Your turn," Zellrid grunted. "You've hinted at some interesting travels yourself."

Aerovind's usual smirk faltered for a moment, his eyes growing distant. "Ever been to Hell, Zellrid? And I don't mean metaphorically."

Zellrid's eye narrowed. "Can't say that I have."

"Well, let me tell you, it's not a tourist destination I'd recommend," Aerovind chuckled, but there was an edge to his laughter. "I once found myself in Asmodeus's domain. Even for someone like me... it was unsettling."