Misunderstood Extra in a Twisted Tale

I tore through Rivermist's northern alleys, the dual axes banging against my back like some idiot's war drums. Cough, cough—ugh, my lungs were staging a full-on rebellion after that last mess with those fire freaks . Still, I'd sent 'em packing, and that's what matters! Mya Seraphine—silver-haired psycho—matched my pace, her violet eyes practically stabbing me with that creepy love-pride combo. Her last line, "guard it all," was looping in my head like a cursed chant. Why's she gotta make everything so intense?!

"Scream up north," I muttered, ears twitching for that shrill, desperate wail—loud, annoying, impossible to ignore. Cough, cough—I doubled over, hacking up my soul, but I forced myself up, glaring at my stupid axes. "Nobody's torching my patch—not on my watch!"

Mya's smile hit me like a sneak attack—sharp, warm, way too much. "Your patch, huh?" she echoed, sidling closer. Her hand brushed my arm—light, fierce—and I glared, shoving it off like it was poison. Too slow, though—ugh!

"Knock it off!" I rasped—cough, cough. Her touch—damn it, it's like a shock spell, and I hate it! I shook it off, dodging through shadows. The village was chaos—bandits lugging buckets, villagers clumped up like lost kids—all buzzing with panic. "I don't need your mushy junk!"

"It's not junk," she said, voice low, steady—like she's some wise oracle. "It's steel." Her fingers hovered near my harness—too close—her smile fierce. "You crushed them solo, Kain!"

"Solo?" I growled, yanking an axe free. It wobbled—lousy thing—but I swung it anyway—cough, cough—jabbing the air. "Damn straight! No flashy clowns are taking this place!" Her laugh—bright, wild—slammed into me, twisting my gut—anger, sure, but something else—shut up, brain!

"You're mine," she whispered, still keeping up, her hand grazing my chest—warm, firm, way too gutsy. Her lips were close—too close!

I froze mid-step, heat exploding in my face—rage, obviously, but maybe… no, stop it! "Us?" I rasped, shoving her hand off—slow, too slow. Cough, cough—I glared, locking eyes, all grit and stubbornness. "I'm me, Mya! Not your prize!" Her scent—steel and roses—was scrambling my head, and I gripped the axe tighter. "Back off already!"

She didn't. Her smile softened—creepy soft—fingers brushing my jaw, quick, clingy. "Not a prize," she said, voice dripping with that vow vibe. "My guard—my Kain—I love you!"

"Love?!" I scoffed—cough, cough—shoving past her, glaring ahead. "You're totally nuts!" But her words dug in like claws—Rivermist's not my gig, so why am I sprinting for it? I bolted north, axe in hand, head spinning. That weird surge from the fight tingled in my grip—what's it trying to drag out of me?

The bandit leader—big lug—stumbled up, panting, eyes popping. "Boss! North, cries, no gold yet! What's the move?!"

"Move?" I rasped, smacking the axe on a wall—it thudded—and coughed, steadying myself. "Find 'em! I'm not your damn boss!"

He grinned—too chipper. "Aye, boss! You're a fortress—smashed those fire nuts!"

"Fortress?" I growled, swinging the axe—cough, cough. "They ran! Say it straight!" But he laughed—bolting off, yelling orders—and I shook my head, gritting through the coughs. "Idiots dumping this on me!"

Mya lingered, her smile fierce, loving—way too intense. "They see it," she said, voice low. "That cry's yours, my Kain."

"Your Kain?!" I spun, axe up—cough, cough—defiant as hell. "I'm not your pet, got it?!" Her look—pride, love—smacked me, and I faltered—why's she so deep in my skull when I didn't ask for this?!

"Not a pet," she said, soft, fierce. "Mine." She grabbed my wrist—gentle, stubborn—pulling me close. "You're tougher than his crew—than him!"

I stiffened—her touch burned, her pulse syncing with mine—ugh! "Tougher?" I rasped, shoving her back—not far. "I'm a wreck! He's got flash, I've got spine!" Cough, cough—I stood tall, axes glinting, will blazing—nobody trashes my turf!

"Spine?" Her laugh rang—bright, dangerous. "I'd take your spine over his glow any day!" She stepped closer, lips hovering—fierce, tempting. "You're enough!"

"Enough?!" I growled—cough, cough—but didn't dodge, not yet. "I don't need…" A wail cut me off—north—high, raw. I spun—Mya's hand on her hilt—eyes narrowing.

"North?" I rasped, glaring down the alley—smoke lingered—faint now. "Who's that?!"

"Villagers," Mya said, smile sharp, alert. "Not his lot." She stepped beside me, shoulder brushing mine—warm, steady. "Ready?"

"Ready?" I hefted both axes—cough, cough—grinning raggedly. "Nobody fries my mess but me!" I barked, "North! Move!"—bandits rallying, spears up.

Cries swelled—panic exploded—three figures—ragged, no cloaks—a woman's voice, "Help us!" Not Leon's goons—villagers, trapped by flames!

I roared—charging—the axe swinging—wild, fierce. A beam cracked—fire blazing—I ducked—cough, cough—the axe clashing—wood splintered. The jolt hit—that surge flickered—my arm burned—and I shoved—hard—the beam falling clear.

"Trapped?!" I rasped—cough, cough—swinging again. The axe split a plank—stronger now—and the woman gasped—eyes wide—scrambling free.

Mya's sword flashed—cutting ropes—one villager stumbled out—her laugh wild. "Free!" she shouted, spinning to me—pride blazing. "You're mine!"

"Mine?!" I growled—cough, cough—a second villager lunged—I swung—the axe smashed a crate—the surge pulsed—I grinned. "I'm me!"

The woman rallied—grabbing a kid—I dodged flames—cough, cough—the axe arcing up—hitting a wall—debris fell—she bolted—sobbing—"Thank you!"

"Thank?!" I rasped—cough, cough—standing tall. "Move!" The last villager fled—bandits cheering—water splashing.

I sank to a knee—cough, cough—axes thudding—chest heaving. "Safe," I muttered—grinning—ragged. "No clowns torch this!"

Mya knelt—hand on my cheek—gentle, fierce. "You guard it all," she whispered—love raw—thumb brushing my lip.

"Guard?!" I swatted her off—cough, cough—glaring—but grinned—damn it. "Crazy!"

"Crazy," she echoed—standing—smile fierce—eyes blazing. "Yours!"

I glared—cough, cough—axes glinting—standing—brushing soot off. "Maybe," I muttered—smirking—turning north—eyes sharp. A flash—gold glinting—red hair vanishing over a roof—Vera?! "Flashy trash watching my dump burn!" I growled—Mya's sword gleaming—her gaze wild—teeth bared. I hefted an axe—voice low. "Time to carve that clown!" She smirked—sharp—"She's mine to slice!"—and we bolted