Arata stumbles into the next room of the dungeon, his breathing heavy and uneven. The dim light barely illuminates the rough, stone walls, casting long shadows that dance with the flickering flames of torches mounted on the walls. His eyes are sharp, yet weary, as he scans the room for any immediate threats. The air is thick with the scent of blood and sweat, a tangible reminder of the battle that had just taken place.

He gently lays Butter down beside a jagged rock, her small frame looking even more fragile against the cold, unforgiving stone. Arata's hands, trembling slightly from a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline, reach up to tear a strip from his already tattered shirt. His fingers struggle against the fabric, finally managing to rip a piece free. The sound of the tearing cloth is harsh, but the silence that follows is even more deafening.

With careful precision, he begins to wipe the blood from Butter’s face, his hand shaking as it hovers just above her skin before making contact. Her face is bruised and swollen, the marks left by Alex's brutal assault vivid and raw. Arata's touch is featherlight, as if he's afraid that any more pressure might cause her to shatter into pieces. The cloth moves gently over her cheeks, across her forehead, and down to her chin, each stroke filled with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the violence of the recent battle.

Butter winces as he moves the cloth to another wound on her temple, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, each inhale a struggle. Her eyes, half-lidded and glazed with pain, search for Arata’s, trying to convey her urgency despite her weakened state. Her lips part slightly, and she struggles to form the words, her voice a mere whisper, rasping with every syllable.

“You should… go help the Queen. I will be… fine…” Butter’s words are punctuated with short, labored breaths, her hand weakly rising from her side as if to push Arata away, but it barely lifts before it falls back limply.

Arata pauses, the cloth stopping mid-wipe as his eyes meet hers. There’s a storm of emotions swirling in his gaze—concern, guilt, frustration, and an unwavering resolve. He presses his lips together tightly, trying to maintain his composure as he continues to dab at her wounds, this time more gently, more methodically, as if trying to erase the pain she’s in through sheer will.

“I am sure the Queen can handle the situation,” he says, his voice steady but low, almost as if trying to convince himself as much as Butter. His free hand comes up to brush a strand of blood-matted hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.

Butter’s breath hitches, and she winces again, her entire body tensing from the pain before she forces herself to relax. Her hand, trembling from the effort, reaches up and grabs weakly at Arata’s wrist, her grip barely there, but enough to make him pause once more. Her fingers are cold, almost lifeless, a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin.

“No, she can’t… this one… for some reason… that person Sheena…” Butter’s voice falters, each word dragging out as if it costs her everything to say. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to muster the strength to continue. “She is nothing like what we imagined… we made a mistake… we summoned a demon, Arata…”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and foreboding. Arata’s jaw tightens, and his hands freeze in place, the cloth falling from his grip and landing with a soft thud on the stone floor. His entire body goes rigid, every muscle tense as he processes what Butter just said. His eyes narrow slightly, a mix of determination and dread flashing across his face.

Arata’s free hand, the one not occupied with cleaning her wounds, clenches into a fist, the knuckles turning white as he tries to control the surge of emotions inside him. He doesn’t say anything, his mind racing, trying to calculate their next move, but his focus remains on Butter, his every action driven by the need to keep her safe, even if only for a few more minutes.

Butter’s hand slips from his wrist, her strength fading rapidly. Her head lolls slightly to the side, resting against the cold stone, her breaths coming in shorter, shallower gasps. Her eyes, though still filled with pain, hold a flicker of something else—fear, not for herself, but for what is to come. Arata sees it, and it hardens his resolve, his expression shifting from concern to something more determined, more resolute.

Arata's hands work steadily, tearing another strip of cloth from his already shredded T-shirt. His fingers move with precision, yet there’s a tenderness in his touch as he begins to bandage Butter’s wounds. His brow is furrowed in concentration, every fiber of his being focused on ensuring the makeshift bandages are tight enough to stop the bleeding but not so tight as to cause her further pain. The small room is filled with the sound of the fabric tearing, a sharp contrast to the otherwise quiet, tense atmosphere.

“It’s alright,” Arata says, his voice soft, filled with a calm assurance that contrasts with the tension in his body. His hands continue their careful work, gently wrapping the cloth around Butter’s battered arm, securing it with a firm but gentle knot. “I will save you first, and then I will save her as well.”

Butter's body tenses slightly as she inhales a shaky breath, the effort causing her to wince. She turns her head just enough to look at Arata, her eyes dull with pain but still holding a flicker of curiosity. “Why?” she asks, her voice fractured and barely above a whisper, each word a struggle.

Arata’s head tilts slightly in response to her question, his gaze shifting from the bandage he’s securing to her face. “Hmm?” he murmurs, his tone gentle, almost as if coaxing her to speak more. His hands continue to move with practiced ease, tearing another piece of cloth from his shirt and methodically wrapping it around her other arm, trying to stabilize the more severe injuries.

Butter watches him through half-lidded eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly as if she’s trying to smile but lacks the strength. “Why are you… Ouch!” she exclaims softly as Arata inadvertently brushes against a particularly tender spot. Her body jerks slightly in pain, but she forces herself to remain still, her breathing quickening as she fights through the discomfort. “So… nice to me?”

Arata’s hands pause for just a moment, his fingers hovering above her skin, the question hanging in the air between them. Then, without missing a beat, he continues wrapping the bandage, this time with even more care. He glances up at her, his expression softening as a small, reassuring smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “You are important as well,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a warmth that seems to ease the tension in the room. He ties off the bandage with a precise knot, his hands steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Plus, you were going to tell me a story as well.”

Butter’s lips quirk into a faint smile, despite the sharp pain that shoots through her jaw from the effort. She blinks slowly, trying to focus on Arata’s face, her vision swimming from the pain and fatigue. “You are such a weird human…” she murmurs, her voice trailing off slightly as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hand, trembling slightly, reaches out to grasp the hem of Arata’s shirt, her fingers brushing against the fabric before falling back weakly to her side. “Who the hell helps Undergrounders except… you…”

Arata’s smile widens just a fraction, though there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes as he continues his work, now moving to bandage the cuts on her legs. His movements are careful, deliberate, each one filled with a silent determination to ease her suffering as much as he can. He works quickly but without rushing, ensuring each bandage is secure, his focus unwavering.

Butter’s head tilts slightly to the side, her eyes beginning to flutter closed as exhaustion starts to take over. “You’re not even her child yet…” she adds, her words slurring slightly as she fights to stay conscious. Despite the pain, she manages another smile, one filled with a strange mix of amusement and gratitude, her eyes locking onto Arata’s for just a moment before they drift shut.

Arata’s hands slow as he finishes the last bandage, his gaze lingering on Butter’s peaceful expression. He gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cool skin. For a moment, he simply sits there, his body still, watching over her as her breathing begins to even out, the tension in her muscles slowly fading as sleep overtakes her. The flickering torchlight casts a soft glow over her bruised features, and Arata takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he silently vows to protect her, no matter the cost.

Arata's hands continue to work meticulously, securing the final bandage on Butter’s leg when he hears a faint, familiar voice from behind him. His body tenses instinctively, his head snapping around to face the source of the voice. His eyes widen in surprise as he sees Cheese stepping out from the shadows, his usually carefree demeanor replaced with one of deep concern.

“Arata… Is that you?” Cheese’s voice is shaky, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room until they lock onto Arata. The sight of his friend’s battered appearance and the prone form of Butter beside him causes Cheese’s breath to hitch.

“Cheese?!” Arata’s confusion is evident, his brows furrowing as he turns fully to face Cheese, his body still crouched protectively beside Butter. He studies Cheese’s face, trying to make sense of his sudden appearance.

Cheese’s eyes, wide with alarm, immediately dart down to Butter’s bruised and bloodied form. Without hesitation, he drops to his knees beside her, his movements swift but careful as if afraid that even the air around her might cause her more pain. “Butter! WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?!” His voice trembles with fear and worry, his hands hovering over her injuries, not daring to touch her yet.

Butter, though weak, manages to turn her head slightly towards Cheese, her eyes barely open but still filled with the familiar warmth she reserves for him. “Nothing, bro… I will be fine…” she whispers, trying to smile but wincing as the effort sends a jolt of pain through her jaw. Her hand twitches slightly as if trying to reach out to Cheese, but it falls back limply against the cold stone.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Cheese’s face contorts with anguish as he takes in her words, his eyes welling up with unshed tears. His hands, trembling with both anger and helplessness, finally rest lightly on the ground beside her, careful not to disturb her fragile state. “Still, who beat you this bad?!” His voice cracks with emotion, the words tumbling out in a mix of rage and desperation.

Arata, who had been watching their exchange with a tight jaw, finally speaks up, his voice low but firm. “Alex is here… I beat him though.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but there’s an underlying current of anger, his eyes narrowing slightly at the mention of the name.

Cheese’s head jerks up, his eyes widening even further, if that were possible. “The Lion? He is here?!” His voice is almost a whisper, filled with disbelief and a growing sense of dread. He stares at Arata, searching his face for any sign that this might be some terrible mistake.

Arata simply nods, his expression somber. The weight of the situation hangs heavily between them, and Cheese’s shoulders sag slightly as he processes the information. His gaze shifts back to Butter, his hand inching closer to hers, careful not to cause her any more pain.

“What about you? Where were you?” Arata asks, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity as he studies Cheese’s face, trying to gauge his friend’s condition.

Cheese lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes clouding with worry as he replies. “Everyone of us is separated, we were together till we reached another part of the dungeon and got separated there. Arata. I believe that Uriel and Lance will be fine, but I am worried about Elio and The Queen.” His voice is tight, the concern for his friends and their precarious situation etched deeply into his features. His leg shifts slightly as if he’s ready to spring into action, but he forces himself to stay by Butter’s side.

Arata’s eyes narrow slightly, his brows furrowing as he digests Cheese’s words. “What do you mean?” he asks, his tone laced with unease. His gaze flickers around the room as if trying to sense something he might have missed, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing with the rising tension.

Cheese shifts his weight slightly, his hands clenching into fists as he forces himself to stay calm. “Do you sense them?” he asks, his voice lower now, filled with a quiet urgency.

Arata closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as he tries to extend his senses, reaching out to locate their missing comrades. His face tightens in frustration as he opens his eyes again, shaking his head slightly. “I do, but I don’t understand this place, it’s like the place is blocking all the senses.” His voice is tinged with frustration and confusion, his gaze flicking back to Cheese as if searching for answers.

Cheese nods slowly, his expression grim. “I know, but they are at the place where Sheena…” He hesitates for a moment, his voice dropping even lower, “I should be saying Divine took her birth.”

Arata’s eyes widen slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he processes Cheese’s words. His mind races, trying to piece together the implications of what Cheese is saying. “I see… Sheena… That person… Who the Queen wanted to revive…” Arata’s voice trails off as he speaks, his mind delving deeper into thought, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on his shoulders.

Cheese’s face is set with determination as he watches Arata’s figure disappear down the dark corridor. The concern for their friends weighs heavily on him, but a small, proud smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he reflects on Arata’s dedication. “You go ahead, Arata,” Cheese calls after him, his voice echoing softly in the cavernous space. “Elio and The Queen will desperately need your help.”

Arata, with a last glance back, nods in acknowledgment. “Take care, Butter. I will be back… Then… tell me the story you promised.” His voice is filled with a mix of reassurance and urgency. He turns and begins to run, his steps quick and purposeful, as he focuses on the faint sensation of the wind guiding him toward The Queen and Elio’s presence.

Butter, her face still contorted with pain but softened by a fleeting smile, watches Arata leave. “Of course, you idiot. You better be back.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but the firmness in her tone is unmistakable. Her hand reaches out weakly, but she lets it fall back as she settles against the rock.

Cheese, now alone with Butter, shifts his gaze back to her, his smile fading as concern returns to his features. “He definitely is Sheena’s son…” he says with a hint of pride, trying to make sense of everything that has transpired.

Butter’s eyes, though clouded with pain, narrow in confusion. “Sheena’s son…? Him…? When did he… become Sheena’s son?” Her voice is raspy, her breathing labored as she tries to make sense of Cheese’s statement. Her legs shift slightly, struggling to find a more comfortable position against the hard stone, but the effort seems to be too taxing.

Cheese, noticing Butter’s distress, tries to reassure her. “I mean, during the trial, everyone agreed this had to be her son.”

Butter shakes her head slowly, her movements stiff with pain. “Are you stupid…? You should have asked me… He is not Sheena’s son, Cheese… He doesn’t smell like Harry… or Sheena, or doesn’t taste like either of them.” Her voice is strained, but there’s a hint of frustration as she tries to convey her point.

Cheese’s brows furrow in confusion, his gaze shifting from Butter’s face to the surrounding shadows. “Wait, what?” he asks, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Butter lets out a tired sigh, her hand lifting slowly as if to gesture towards Cheese, but it falls back against the rock with a dull thud. “You know… I have a bad habit of licking my paw over and over again, right Cheese?” Her voice is low, almost apologetic, as if she’s about to reveal something deeply personal.

Cheese, his gaze fixed on the ground, shifts uneasily. “Of course I do,” he replies, trying to avoid meeting Butter’s eyes. The awkwardness in his voice is palpable.

Butter’s eyes close momentarily as she gathers her strength. “Well… I actually licked both… Harry’s blood… when I injured him… 15 years ago by mistake… and also Arata’s blood… today… Both tasted different… Like their DNA’s didn’t match different…” Her explanation is delivered with a mixture of exhaustion and resolve, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Cheese’s eyes widen in surprise, his mouth slightly open as he processes Butter’s revelation. “What? We were sure that he is Sheena’s son… I am surprised he is not… He sure acts like him.” His expression is a mix of shock and confusion, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Butter’s gaze softens slightly as she meets Cheese’s eyes, her own filled with a tired but resolute look. “I do have a scent similar to… Harry though, and I know who he is…”

Cheese’s interest is piqued, but before he can ask further, Butter tries to shift her weight, attempting to rise from her prone position. Her body sways unsteadily, her legs trembling as she pushes herself up, but she falters and nearly collapses.

“Wait, who?” Cheese asks urgently, his eyes darting between Butter and the shadows of the dungeon, the worry clear in his voice.

Butter’s face tightens with effort as she tries to steady herself. “Before that… Take me to the place… where Sheena… was revived… I will tell you there…” Her voice is strained but firm, her determination evident even through the pain.

Cheese quickly moves to her side, his hand gently but firmly placing itself on her shoulder for support. He helps her to her feet, his own body tense with concern as he carefully wraps her arm around his shoulder, offering as much support as he can. “I got you, sis,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

“Thanks,” Butter replies, her voice soft and filled with gratitude. She leans heavily on Cheese, her movements slow and labored as she takes tentative steps forward. The two move together through the dimly lit corridor, the weight of their task ahead heavy in the air, but a shared resolve propelling them forward.

Deep within the dungeon, the air is thick with an oppressive darkness. The flickering torches cast wavering shadows that dance across the cold, damp stone walls. In the center of a large, cavernous chamber, Divine stands with a commanding presence, exuding an aura of both malice and confidence. Her posture is upright and poised, her movements precise and deliberate, as though every motion is calculated for maximum impact.

Her eyes gleam with a cold, calculating light, and a cruel smile curves her lips. She tilts her head slightly, observing The Queen and Elio with an air of detached amusement. Her hand, adorned with intricate rings, rests lightly on the hilt of a sword sheathed at her side. The subtle shift of her fingers against the hilt is a testament to her readiness for the impending confrontation.

The Queen and Elio, in stark contrast, are prepared for the battle with a palpable sense of urgency and determination. The Queen stands tall, her regal bearing undiminished by the situation. Her eyes, though fierce, reveal a hint of concern as she assesses Divine, and her hands grip the hilt of her own weapon with a steady resolve. Her breathing is measured, and each breath seems to sharpen her focus, the calm before the storm.

Elio, positioned slightly to the side of The Queen, adopts a defensive stance. His muscles are tense, his eyes locked onto Divine with a mixture of defiance and wariness. His hands, flexing slightly, grip his weapon with a firm but controlled strength. The tension in his body is evident, his legs slightly bent and poised for swift movement. He occasionally glances towards The Queen, a silent but resolute vow to protect her etched into his features.

Divine’s gaze drifts between The Queen and Elio, her smile widening slightly. Her movements are deliberate and almost languid, as though she is savoring the moment before the clash. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other with an almost casual grace, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the hilt of her sword. Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the sight of her opponents, a glint of anticipation flashing in their depths.

The Queen’s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing as she prepares herself mentally and physically for the fight ahead. Her breathing becomes slightly more pronounced, each inhalation and exhalation a testament to her resolve. Her stance is firm, her posture unwavering as she readies herself to face the challenge with unwavering determination.

Elio’s eyes never leave Divine, his face set in a stern, determined expression. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and shifts his weight slightly, readying himself for action. His body is tense, every muscle coiled and prepared for the impending confrontation.

As Divine’s gaze lingers on The Queen and Elio, her smile widens into a full, predatory grin. She draws her sword with a slow, deliberate motion, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light. The sound of metal scraping against the scabbard reverberates through the chamber, amplifying the tension that crackles in the air.

The Queen’s eyes lock onto Divine, her grip on her weapon tightening. She straightens, her movements precise and controlled as she raises her weapon, the resolve in her eyes a stark contrast to Divine’s malicious anticipation. Her stance is resolute, her posture rigid with readiness, every fiber of her being focused on the imminent battle.

Elio shifts his stance, his body moving with fluid grace as he positions himself in a way that provides both offense and defense. His eyes flicker towards The Queen, a brief but intense look of determination passing between them. He adjusts his grip on his weapon, his hands steady and strong as he prepares for the fight to come.

The chamber falls silent, the only sounds being the faint flicker of the torches and the quiet rustle of Divine’s cloak as it shifts with her movements. The tension is almost tangible, the anticipation of the battle hanging heavy in the air. Divine’s eyes remain locked on The Queen and Elio, her smile never fading as she prepares to unleash her full fury upon them.

The stage is set, the players in place, and the impending clash is imminent, each participant ready to face the challenge with unwavering resolve and determination.