Here's chapter 12! fun fact, this is actually the third version of the chapter. I practically rewrote it twice, saving parts of the older drafts for future chapters. Shout out to d00d, Hellastic, and Weebly for all their help with this chapter. I'd also like to thank my bro Kumei for drawing the story cover photo! It's too cute!

WE HAVE A DISCORD! I'm trying to cultivate a friendly community of Arknights players, so if you're interested in joining the story discord, here's the invite link!

https: double_forward_slash discord dot gg forward_slash pPUd7HyF49

I hate how I can't add links to this site...

Book I Chapter 12: Jinxed

Luke waded through a sea of people, pushing past them without a second thought. The first name on their list led to a dead end. She did, however, recognize a few names and kindly directed them to a so-called "Red room" as she said, and it was easy for him to see why. Red carpets stretched from one side of the room to the other, interrupted solely by a central, circular floor built from a sand-inspired granite.

Striding forward, he took a sudden step to the right, swiping a shumai from a service boy's plate as they hurtled by, pushing a cart chock full of dumplings. He had skipped out on lunch and was starting to regret his decision.

Luke popped the pork filled delicacy into his mouth with a sigh of satisfaction. A pair of hands pulled at his hair, yanking it back along with his head.

"Ouch! Quit it!" He cried, slapping Grani's ankles.

"If I can't eat, then you can't eat!" She shot back, kicking against his chest. "This was your idea."

Luke swallowed his food, sucking his fingers. "Hey, it's easier to find people with a higher vantage point, right?"

"I guess…" Grani grumbled from her perch atop his shoulders. "It's just," she gestured to the dancers surrounding them, "we're in the middle of a ballroom."

Luke looked around the enormous room. "And?"

Grani paused. "Hey, isn't he…" she trailed off, pointing toward the far end of the dance floor.

"Wha…?" Luke watched as a tall man bull rushed an elderly woman, knocking her over and snatching her purse in the process. He blinked dumbfounded, astonished by the sheer audacity of the purse snatcher.

Grani reached down and slapped the exposed half of Luke's face, rousing him from his stupor. "Go! He's making a run for it! After him!"

Nodding, Luke took off, running as fast as he could amongst the herd of vacation-goers. "Stop, you thief!" he shouted.

A young boy and his mother watched Luke push a dancing couple aside. The boy pointed at Luke as he approached. "Mommy, look," he exclaimed excitedly. "The lady's riding him!"

Holding him protectively, the mother pulled her son away. "Don't look at them, Charlie. Just. Keep. Walking," she hissed, glaring like a gorgon.

"Hey!" Luke spat as he passed. How dare she think ill of them! Here they were, busting ass to catch a thief and what was she doing? He despised people like her: people who arbitrarily decided what was acceptable and what was unacceptable. She was no better than the kids who accosted him for his abhorrent face.

Grani dug her heel into Luke's chest. "Ignore them Luke, focus on the task at hand."

"Ugh…" he thought otherwise, but decided to withhold his opinion. Luke liked Grani—he really did. She deserved more than his incessant whining.

Spotting a pile of fallen luggage, Luke tightened his grip around Grani's ankles. "Hang on."

"Just go aro—" He leapt over the baggage, accidentally ramming her chin with his halo. "Ouch! Watch where you're jumping!"

The thief stopped, looking left and right, before dashing down a corridor. Grani tugged at Luke's hair. "Left, Left! Go left! He's heading for the courtyard!"

"I'm not a horse!" Luke shouted in protest as he skidded to a halt, almost tumbling over due to Grani's extra weight. Righting himself, he kicked off the floor and tore through the corridor, shoving people aside carelessly as he passed. The corridor was noticeably narrower, making it harder for him to navigate through the crowd.

Grani pulled at his hair again. "Turn right!"

Luke could only imagine how all this looked to bystanders: A Kuranta riding a Sankta as they chased after a random member of hotel staff.

Ahead, the hallway opened up to a courtyard lined with stone walls. Out in the open, Luke finally had a clear view of the culprit. He was well dressed, for a waiter, with dark hair and a bushy beard. He made a sharp turn, jumping over one of the retaining stone walls.

Luke sidestepped around a running child and leapt over the wall in pursuit. A dull thunk echoed around him followed by a yelp of pain as Grani's forehead smacked a low hanging placard.

"Luke, what'd I say about jumping? That hurt!" she cried, repeatedly pounding his head with an angry fist.

The waiter hopped over a chained sign that read "keep off grass," and tore across the courtyard, kicking up mud in his wake. Grinning, Luke tightened his grip around Grani's ankles and prepared to jump the chain.

"Hold on tight!"

"Don't you dare!" She warned, but it was too late. His foot caught the chain as he jumped, pulling him and Grani to the ground. They fell face first into a mud pit, throwing up a wave of muddy water.

Groaning, Luke picked himself off the ground. "Damn we lost him," he said, wiping his face. The words had barely left his lips when another wad of mud slapped his head.

"Not only that, now we have to wash up," Grani snapped, preparing another mudball.

His eyes narrowed. Two can play that game. He gathered a mudball of his own and hurled it at his partner—hard. The ball splattered across her face, knocking her over and onto her back.

Groaning, Grani pushed herself to a seated position. "Why, you…" she growled, shoving a handful of mud into his face. "Why are you always like this? Now, we'll never find the culprit!"

"That's the least of your concerns…" a familiar voice hissed.

They looked up to see a mud-covered Liskarm glaring down at them with her arms crossed, eyes twitching. Behind her, Franka and Exusiai were hunched over in a poor effort to conceal their laughter.

"I just want to say," Luke started slowly, pointing to Grani. "It was her idea."

He soon found his head driven back into the mud by an angry Kuranta.

Luke leaned against his broom with a scowl. "I can't believe she forced us to clean up the stadium." He complained, casting his broom aside. "It's already half past four, and we've been out here for hours."

"It was your fault."

"Well, I guess when you consider the fact that I was running, yes, I could see how someone might be… misled into believing that."

Grani tossed her bag of trash into a dumpster with a huff. Looking down at her green blazer, she frowned. "Look what you did. There's a stain on my blazer! This will take forever to wash out!" She marched up to Luke and jabbed a finger at his chest. "This is the second suit you've ruined! When we get back to Rhodes Island, you are so grounded."

"You're not my mom."

"Ugh!" With a humph, Grani turned away, pouting.

Luke chuckled at her reaction. He couldn't help but tease her. Her reaction was like a breath of fresh air: a temporary relief from the unending nightmares that plagued his dreams. With puffed up cheeks, pouty lips, and a frazzled tail, Grani was simply too cute to be left alone.

Conclusion: Grani is an angel. He thought, ruffling her hair.

She swatted at his hand in an attempt to dislodge the offending limb. "Hey! Stop patting my head! I'm an adult too, you know! How would you feel if I ruffled your head?"

"Wouldn't feel much, 'cuz I'd be dead. You'd probably snap my neck, munchkin."

"You're impossible!"

Luke moved to respond, but stopped when a shadow leapt out from the corner of his eye. One blink, and it was gone. "Hey, did you see that?"

"Don't change the subject! I'm not falling for that food truck trick again!"

Luke shook his head. "No, Grani, I'm serious. I think someone snuck out back," he said, pointing to a dark corner behind the dumpsters.

"I don't see anything out of the ordinary…" Grani mumbled, unslinging her pike from her shoulder.

Luke walked around the dumpsters, holding his breath as he passed. Absolutely rancid. There, off to his side, was a metal door left ajar. A lock and chain laid at the foot of the doorway. "Hold up," he said, walking over to the fallen items. He picked up the chain,inspecting the steel links. They were old and worn, but more importantly, cut in two. "These look like they've been tampered with…"

Grani tugged at his sleeve. "You don't think…?"

"It's worth a shot." Throwing the chain aside, Luke pulled Grani through the open door. He took a cautious step forward, but instead of solid ground, his boot found open air. "Oh, shi—" He fell forward, stomping the ground with more force than expected. He had over stepped two very steep stairs.

Grani looked down at him with a smug grin. "So this is what it's like to be your height. I could get used to this."

Luke chose to ignore her comment and focused on descending the stairs. The stairwell lacked both railings and overhead lights: Two glaring safety hazards in his opinion. The sunlight filtering through the open door could only reach so far; he and Grani would be bathed in darkness once they left the sun's warmth. So, gingerly, Luke shuffled forward, probing the open air with his feet. He would take a step only if he was sure he wouldn't slip and fall. Luke soon felt a bead of sweat drip from the rim of his mask: The stairwell was poorly ventilated. He could smell its musty odor as he plunged into a mire of stale air (would it kill them to crack a window?!) It was an agonizing experience.

After what felt like five minutes, the narrow stairwell opened up a massive basement filled with crates, equipment, and towering support structures. A few overhead lamps dotted the ceiling, casting a soft, eerie glow.

"Geez, it's like a warehouse down here…" Luke gaped with awe.

Grani held a finger to her lips. "Shhh!" She hissed as her equine ears twitched.

Luke had to admit, there were times he wished he had four gave his partner a curious look. She crept forward, motioning for him to follow. Grani leapt behind a stack of crates, rolling silently, while Luke, unconfident in his ability to remain hidden, opted to merely tiptoe after her.

"Sarkaz mercenaries," she whispered, gesturing to one of the large support columns.

Luke watched as two horned men milled around the pillar, fastening boxlike devices around its circumference.

"This isn't what I signed up for," one of them groaned. "I was promised action and adventure, not this."

"Just rig the explosives, newbie, and make sure you do it properly." the other replied. "You heard what the boss said, no survivors."

Luke inched forward. "We have to stop them."

"Wait," Grani hissed, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back. "We should call Franka."

"Screw that!" Luke snapped, shrugging off her hand. He wasn't going to sit around while some goons ruined his client's concert. "If these bastards want to kill Sora and her fans, they'll have to pry the detonator from my cold, dead hands!"

"Luke, wait!" Ignoring his partner's protest, Luke vaulted over the crates and dashed toward the horned figures. "One of these days, you're going to get us both killed," she mumbled to herself before leaping after him.

"What hell's going on here?" Luke growled as Grani brought up the rear.

The figures whirled around, revealing their masked visage. "Shit, we've been spotted," one cursed.

"I told you those guards saw us. We should've waited," the other said.

"Does it matter? Just fuckin' kill 'em."

Drawing his unnamed sword, Luke strode forward with determined steps. "I've got a friend who's been looking forward to this concert for a long time, and I'm not going to let you ruin it for her, or her fans!" He thrust his sword forward, pointing to the nearest mercenary. "I swear on her name, I'll take down every last one of you!"

"Big words from a little nobody…" the mercenary blew a whistle. Several figures emerged from the shadows, carrying an assortment of weapons: swords, axes, guns, crossbows, and staves.

Luke gulped. There were more than expected.

"Scared, boy?" One of the horned mercenaries taunted.

"Luke…" Grani warned.

"I tell you what, I'm a nice guy. Run now, and I'll let you live. Oh, don't bother taking the girl, she'll fetch a high price on the market"

Something within Luke snapped. He was overwhelmed by a sudden deluge of emotions, as though a sluice gate had been thrown open, releasing a torrential surge of pure unaltered rage. It hijacked his mind from the reins of reason, rendering him bereft of logical thought or compassion. Drawing his spare sword, Luke leapt toward the mercenary, belching out a sonorous warcry.

"Luke, don't!"

The mercenary deserved to die—no—that would be mundane. There was nothing artistic about death—nothing poetic.

A person could only experience death once in their life, so it had to be special—a celebration for the life they lived. Yes, he would make them suffer: use their fat to make candles, paint a portrait with their entrails, peel the skin from their heads and wear their comrade's faces as he tortured them. Only when they were begging for him to take their lives, would he snuff out their light like the vermin they were.

Luke threw himself into the air and swung his sword in a sweeping overhead strike, confident in his ability to kill his opponent: The strike came as thunder. One moment he was poised to attack, and the next he was tumbling through the air like. Luke cried out in pain as his back slammed into a concrete pillar. Stars burst into life before him.

The mercenary spun his ax, planting it in the concrete floor in a show of force. "Lesson one, kid. Never attack an axeman from above."

Luke groaned as he pushed himself to his wobbly feet.

"Is that all you got? I think the girl would have put up a better fight than you." He threw his head back and laughed. Soon, the other mercenaries were joining him in goading Luke, laughing for a moment.

But a moment was all Grani needed. Folding her pike into a rifle, she held her breath as she lined up a shot.

One of the mercenaries pointed toward Grani. "You idiots! She's got a gun!" He shouted desperately. He made a mad dash to save the axeman, but not even a vaunted Sarkaz mercenary could outpace a bullet.

The ax-wielding mercenary fell to the ground, dead.

Grani frowned. Something's wrong… she thought, backing up cautiously. That was almost too easy…

The remaining mercenaries stood stock still, too stunned to move. Some pipsqueak half their size had taken out one of the senior mercenaries. Suddenly, a lone mercenary broke rank with a cry, shattering the shocked tension. "You bitch!" he cried, charging toward Grani.

Then all hell broke loose.

The basement was consumed by shouting as three other men joined the assault on Grani. She leapt back, taking potshots at the oncoming mercenaries. These aren't typical Sarkaz mercenary tactics… they're after something.

Luke rolled his shoulders with a groan as a hulking mass of a man approached him.

The mercenary brandished his greatsword, resting it on his shoulders. "There won't be anything left to send back to your family when we're through with you."

A crowd of mercenaries gathered around them, cheering as the swordsman twirled his massive sword nimbly in a show of strength and skill.

Luke picked up his fallen sword, returning it to its sheath. "Well, it's a good thing I don't have a family then, isn't it?"

"I like your gumption, kid! Too bad you're my enemy." The lumbering swordsman kicked off the ground and dashed towards him, swinging his greatsword with a mighty roar.

Luke met his charge head on, countering with a strike of his own. His thin blade bounced harmlessly off the greatsword's polished edge. The unexpected punch behind the Sarkaz's swing caught him by surprise. He barely managed a block thanks to his sheer strength.

"Not bad," the mercenary critiqued as they locked blades. "I wasn't expecting you to be this strong."

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Luke's mask as he leaned into his blade, attempting to match the mercenary's power.

The mercenary stepped toward him, pushing him back a couple of inches. He smirked when Luke braced his sword with the palm of his hand. "I'm just getting started!"

Panicking, Luke leapt back just as the greatsword slipped against his blade. The room shook as the herculean weapon crashed into the floor, crushing concrete and bending rebar. He looked at the crater with wide eyes. "Holy…"

The mercenary belched out a guffaw. "Surprised? Face it kid, you can't hope to match me in a contest of strength."

"You know," Luke started with a lopsided grin. "I like you: With you, I don't have to disport myself with a cockass game of guess who. You're a bastard, and you don't hide it."

The mercenary shook his head with a chuckle. "You're goddamned crazy, kid." He pulled his massive sword from the ground and held it beside him, poised to strike.

If not strength, then speed! Luke burst into action, zipping toward his opponent. He carefully watched him for any signs of movement. The mercenary merely stood there as he began to run circles around him. Do something, you warthog! Luke blinked and, suddenly, the mercenary was in motion, his greatsword tearing through the air.

Caught off guard, Luke kicked off the ground into a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding the strike by a hair's width. Looking back, he sighed in relief as the mercenary struck the ground once more. That should buy me a few seconds. He looked forward and saw another greatsword screaming toward him. He dove to the ground as the weapon's edge sailed overhead, barely scratching the top of his halo.

Luke rolled out of his dodge. Give me a break! How could anyone move that fast? It should have taken a few seconds for the mercenary to dislodge his sword, let alone attack again!

He lashed out with his sword in desperation. His blade bit into the mercenary's greaves, cutting through the shin guard and severing a section of plate from the armor. By some miracle, he had managed to land a decent hit.

The mercenary gripped his greatsword like a bat and swung a retaliatory strike. Luke had no time to dodge. The greatsword's flat side smashed into his chest, throwing him off his feet. He hurtled through the air, flying through two pillars, before crashing into a third. He slid to the ground with a groan.

The crowd of mercenaries jeered as Luke struggled to his feet. "Kill him already!" one shouted.

The mercenary shook his head. "Where's the fun in that?" He said. He sneered viciously. "Unless that's all you got?"

Fun? If the fight was a game, then it sure as hell was a shitty one. Luke took a deep breath. If a frontal assault was impossible, then he'd simply strike from behind. With some semblance of a plan in mind, he limped toward his opponent. He started in a light canter before quickly building speed to a full sprint.

The mercenary smirked. "That's more like it! Show me what you're made of!" He raised his sword above his shoulders, preparing to receive Luke's strike.

For once, Luke didn't rise to his opponent's taunts: He couldn't spare the energy to. He had already received two brutal blows and couldn't afford to take another. And if he fell, what would become of Grani? Not even a fighter of her caliber could fend off all the mercenaries.

"Another bull rush?" The Sarkaz asked, disappointed. He shrugged. "Alright, it's your death." He pulled his sword from his shoulder, swinging in a wide, horizontal arch.

At the last possible second, Luke leapt over the greatsword, lashing out with a sheathed Murakumo in a rising uppercut. Luke used the mercenary's head as a footstool, clearing his dangerous horns with an aerial somersault and landing behind him. He reached for his spare blade only to find it missing. His heart sunk into his stomach like an iron ball cast out into the ocean. He must've dropped the blade when his body struck the pillars.

Out from the corner of his eyes, Luke caught a glimpse of his partner just as her opponent batted her weapon aside, delivering a vicious kick to her stomach.

He gripped Murakumo's handle, praying to the heavens for a miracle. Please, I don't care if you reject me for the rest of my life; I don't care what the price is; I don't care if you kill me; please—just this once… For once in his life, Luke was overcome with thoughts for a person other than himself. He had been alone and afraid for as long as he could remember. From the day he awoke on that bed in the temple, to the sofa he slept on the previous night, he could think of nothing but shielding himself from the world's ostracism.

He watched helplessly as his friend retched on her knees, vomiting her lunch all over her gray top. Filled with determination, tighten his grip around Murakumo and pulled.

A tidal wave of power surged through his body as Murakumo parted with her ornate sheath. She slipped from the wooden prison, revealing a glowing Auburn blade.

Driven by instinct, he sliced the air before him, launching a spinning crescent of energy from Murakumo's leading edge. The energetic disc slipped into his opponent's body, bifurcating the beast before exploding into a dazzling shimmer of light.

"Go, now!" A voice cried out to him.

Wasting no time, he pushed off the ground and launched himself toward the silver haired girl, shoving aside demented creatures as he zipped by. Her opponent raised its arm, poised for the final blow. With a desperate jump, the Sankta scooped up his friend with his free hand just as her opponent swung down.

Holding the unconscious woman protectively beneath his arm, he skidded to a stop and swung Murakumo to intercept the oncoming attack. She sliced through the creature's twisted body, cutting through its scaled skin like a hot knife through butter. The monster fell back, exploding into a thousand pieces.

The girl under his arm began to stir. Her eyes fluttered open as she looked around, confused. An angering realization seemed to beset her face. She flailed wildly, kicking and screaming. "You idiot!" she shouted, punching his stomach. "I was doing just fine on my own! Put me down, Barnaclehead!"

"Barnaclehead!" Her voice echoed around him, growing increasingly distant with every iteration. "Barnaclehead…"

Is that… me?

Soon a new voice entered his mind, overwriting any memory of the previous speaker. "…uke… Luke…"

It was somehow… familiar…

"Luke."

Grani…?

"Luke!"

He was torn from his body as a rush of sensations assaulted his senses. Everything came barreling in all at once as though someone had roused time after a long hibernation.

"Luke, snap out of it!" Grani cried. "This is no time for daydreaming!"

Luke looked around him, dazed and confused. Where… Where am I? He was standing amongst a killing field of Sarkaz mercenaries. He looked down to see Murakumo held safely within her sheath. Where are the creatures?

"I appreciate the help, but next time, worry about yourself!" Grani said, tossing him his secondary sword.

Luke caught the blade. What happened to her? Was she okay? He shook his head. Whatever just happened: it didn't matter. He could think about it later. He needed to focus on the here and now.

A wet cough cought his attention. At his feet, knelt the mercenary who had attacked Grani.

With his strength fading, the Sarkaz mercenary fell onto his back. "Listen closely." The mercenary gargled out, slowly drowning in his own blood. "The bombs… were… distractions…"

Luke frowned… Distractions? Distracting them from what? If the bombs were distractions, then the stadium's destruction wasn't their objective. They weren't planning to kill anyone: not yet. If they were plotting a murder, blowing up the stadium would all but guarantee their success. They wanted their target alive…

Luke's eyes widened as the clues coalesced into a concrete picture: Sora.

"Grani we have to go! Now!" he shouted desperately just as she delivered a vicious roundhouse kick to one of her opponents.

"Heads up!" she cried.

Luke ducked as another mercenary sailed overhead. Acting on instinct, he whirled around, blocking a battleaxe with Murakumo. Its sheath reflected the blow without so much as a scratch to its surface. Luke rushed in, knocking the mercenary off center with a bunt to his chest. He raised a leg for a front kick and—

A bolt of chaotic energy slammed into his back, knocking him off his feet. The force threw both him and his opponent to the ground.

"Nice shot!" One of the other Sarkaz casters exclaimed.

"Luke!" Grani stabbed another mercenary through the gut and swung her pike, hurling the dying body against one of its former compatriots. "Luke!" she cried again, dashing toward her partner. She barely ran a few paces before a fireball slammed into the ground before her, forcing Grani to backflip into a dodge.

Luke rose to his knees, straddling the downed mercenary. He raised Murakumo and repeatedly bashed his opponent's face, breaking the mercenary's mask and bloodying his face. "I don't have time for this!" he cried while brutalizing the struggling mercenary with the pommel of his sword.

Luke grabbed the Sarkaz and, holding him above his head, pushed himself to his feet. He hurled the mercenary's body deeper into the basement. It skipped like a stone, disappearing into the darkness with a sickening crunch. Luke's shoulders shook as his chest heaved with ragged breaths.

The remaining mercenaries looked at one another, bewildered. "What the hell?! The brat just threw him like it was nothing!" One exclaimed.

"You… you don't think he's that hunter do you?" another, more youthful voice asked.

The first mercenary turned to look at the second. "Idiot, the walking catastrophe's a woman." Seizing the opportunity, Grani delivered a flying roundhouse kick to his chest. The mercenary fell back, struggling to breathe. Luke rushed in for the kill, before a searing pain stopped him in his tracks.

The pain was sudden, but ferocious. Like a snake bite, it started at a single point before spreading throughout his abdomen as though it had been consumed by a wildfire—he had been shot in the flank.

"Shit…" Luke covered the wound with his free hand, hiding it from view. He made a mad dash for cover. Diving, Luke slid to a stop behind a stack of crates. They needed to reach Sora, and the last thing he needed was for Grani to freak out. If she flipped out over a punch from Ch'en, then he didn't dare to imagine what she'd do now. "Could this get any worse?"

"Grani!" Exusiai's frantic voice streamed from the radio strapped to Grani's shoulder. "Grani, are you there?"

Grani swung her leg high, delivering a brutal side kick to the newbie mercenary's temple. "I'm a little busy right now!" She dashed towards the group of casters who had shot Luke with their arts. Using her pike as a pole, Grani lifted herself off the ground and spun around her pike, knocking the casters off their feet.

"We've got company backstage!" Exusiai cried.

Luke pulled a thick pad of gauze and a roll of bandages from his jacket. He rolled up his shirt and tried to dress his wound as best he could, tying a tight knot right above the entry wound. "Shit, we're too late," he hissed.

"Can you handle them?" Grani asked as she landed gracefully.

"Uh maybe, just—" a burst of rapid gunfire interrupted the call. "A little help would be nice?"

"Shouldn't have tempted fate…" Luke mumbled, rolling down his shirt. He peered around one of the crates just as a bullet whizzed by his head. Reeling back, Luke held his racing chest with a shaky breath.

That was close.

In a burst of speed, Luke rushed out from his cover, drawing his blade. Caught off guard, the sniper fumbled with her ammo as she tried desperately to reload.

Using his momentum, Luke shoved his spare sword through the sniper's chest piece, shattering the armor and piercing her heart and lungs. The Sarkaz woman staggered back with a voiceless gasp. She clawed at her throat in vain as fluid flooded her ventricles. The sniper crumpled to the ground like a sack of rice as the light left her eyes.

Luke stomped on her chest, pulling his sword from her body without a second thought. The tip of his blade threw up a putrid shower of metallic rust as it left the body. He sheathed his sword and took in the carnage around him.

The basement was ripe with the foul stench of bile and blood. Puddles of human waste littered the basement floor. Gagging, Luke tore his eyes from the rancid sight. He watched Grani, covered in dust and blood, walk towards him while flashing a victorious peace sign.

He recalled how his adopted father once claimed a person's eyes were "a window into their soul." Now he knew what Septimus had meant: Grani's smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"How's your stomach?" he asked, recalling the terrible blow she had received.

She stopped in her tracks, confused. "Stomach?"

"Yeah, that Sarkaz bastard kicked you," he chuckled. "How could you forget?"

Grani slowly shook her head. "W-what are you talking about?"

Luke frowned as his partner took a hesitant step back."Wh-what happened back there? It was like you were a different person."

He could see it in her eyes: She was afraid. He had barely processed her words when a magnificent explosion rocked the basement, hurling Grani in his direction. Luke adopted a horse riding stance, holding his arms open as Grani's limp body sailed towards him.

He staggered back with a grunt when she rocketed into his arms. "You're a lot—" he hissed as a sudden jolt of pain rushed through his injury. "A lot heavier than I expected."

She looked up at him. Her full lips parted slightly as she gasped, trying to catch her breath. The noticeable rise and fall of her supple chest sent shockwaves through his system. Grani's soft face flushed seven shades of red before finishing with a glowing indignation. "Did you just call me—"

Her radio crackled to life, Exusiai's battered voice blaring from its speaker. "Where are you guys?!" she questioned frantically over the chaotic battle raging in the background. "They're pushing us back!"

Luke crouched down, gently setting Grani on her feet. "We're in the basement," he said, clutching his abdomen. "What's the safest route to your location?"

"There should be a flight of—" An explosion interrupted her as the radio feed cut out.

Grani snatched the radio from her shoulder, desperately fiddling with the frequency dial. "Exusiai?" she ventured, her voice dyed with trepidation. "Exusiai!"