Misunderstood Extra in a Twisted Tale

I slumped against a creaky wall in Rivermist's market square, the dual axes propped beside me like lazy guards. Cough, cough—ugh, my lungs were still whining from that rooftop chase after Vera . I'd lost her—red-haired pest slipped away—but I wasn't about to admit that out loud. Mya Seraphine perched on a crate nearby, her silver hair glinting in the midday sun, violet eyes drilling into me with that creepy love-pride mix. Her last smirk, "She's mine to slice," was still rattling around in my skull. Why's she gotta make everything sound so final?!

"Quiet for once," I muttered, squinting at the bustle—vendors haggling, kids darting around—all normal, annoying life. Cough, cough—I rubbed my chest, glaring at my stupid axes. "Nobody's burning my dump today, huh?"

Mya's smile flicked on like a trap—sharp, warm, way too intense. "Your dump's safe," she echoed, leaning closer. Her hand brushed my shoulder—light, fierce—and I glared, swatting it off like a pesky fly. Too slow—damn it!

"Hands off!" I rasped—cough, cough. Her touch—ugh, it's like a spark I can't dodge, and I hate it! I shifted away, scanning the square. The village was alive—bandits loafing, villagers haggling—but something felt off. "I don't need your clingy nonsense!"

"It's not nonsense," she said, voice low, steady—like some cryptic oracle. "It's fate." Her fingers twitched near my harness—too close—her smile fierce. "You scared her off, Kain!"

"Scared her?" I growled, grabbing an axe. It wobbled—lousy thing—but I hefted it anyway—cough, cough—pointing nowhere. "She ran! I don't scare clowns—I break 'em!" Her laugh—bright, wild—hit me, and I hated how it twisted my gut—anger, sure, but something else—shut up, feelings!

"You're mine," she whispered, sliding off the crate, her hand grazing my arm—warm, firm, way too gutsy. Her lips were close—too close!

I jolted back, heat blasting my face—rage, obviously, but maybe… no, stop it! "Yours?!" I rasped, swinging the axe off her—slow, too slow. Cough, cough—I glared, locking eyes, all grit and stubbornness. "I'm me, Mya! Not your trophy!" Her scent—steel and roses—was frying my brain, 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 trophy," she said, voice dripping with that vow vibe. "My guard—my Kain—I love you!"

"Love?!" I scoffed—cough, cough—turning away, glaring at the crowd. "You're beyond cracked!" But her words dug in—Rivermist's not my mess, so why's my chest tight? I scanned the square, head spinning. That surge from the fight was gone—my grip felt normal—too normal. What's it hiding from me?

A kid—scrawny, loud—barreled through the stalls, yelling, "They took her! They took her!" Cough, cough—I tensed, eyes narrowing. "Who's this brat?"

The bandit leader—big oaf—stumbled up, panting, sweat dripping. "Boss! Kid says south—thieves nabbed his sis! What's the move?!"

"Move?" I rasped, smacking the axe on the crate—it thudded—and coughed, steadying myself. "Find her! I'm not your damn babysitter!"

He grinned—too eager. "Aye, boss! You're a fortress—chased that gold chick off!"

"Fortress?" I growled, swinging the axe—cough, cough. "She bolted! Say it straight!" But he laughed—scrambling off, yelling orders—and I shook my head, gritting through the coughs. "Idiots piling on me again!"

The kid—still yelling—tugged my sleeve. "You're the axe guy! Save her!" Cough, cough—I glared down—big eyes, snotty nose—ugh, he's like me before this stupid life!

"Save her?" I rasped, shoving him off—gentle, sorta. "Not my job, brat!" But he clung—stubborn little pest—and I faltered—damn it, why's my gut twisting?!

Mya lingered, her smile fierce, loving—way too much. "He sees it," she said, voice low. "That spark's yours, my Kain."

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

"Not a hero," she said, soft, fierce. "Mine." She stepped closer—too close—grabbing my arm—gentle, stubborn. "You're tougher than his lot—than him!"

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

"Guts?" Her laugh rang—bright, dangerous. "I'd take your guts over his shine any day!" She leaned in, lips hovering—fierce, tempting. "You're enough!"

"Enough?!" I growled—cough, cough—but didn't dodge—not yet. "I don't need…" The kid yanked again—"Please!"—and I snapped—cough, cough—glaring south. "Fine! Shut up already!"

"South?" Mya said, smile sharp, wild. "Not his crew alone." She stepped beside me, sword out—warm, steady. "Ready?"

"Ready?" I hefted both axes—cough, cough—grinning raggedly. "Nobody grabs my brats but me!" I barked, "South! Move!"—bandits rallying, spears up—the kid trailing, yelling.

Shouts swelled—chaos surged—south gate loomed—three figures—cloaked, no gold—a girl's cry—"Let me go!" Not Leon's goons—thieves, greedy hands!

I roared—charging—the axe swinging—wild, fierce. A thief swung—a dagger flashing—I ducked—cough, cough—the axe clashing—steel sparked. The jolt hit—that surge flickered—my arm burned—and I shoved—hard—the thief stumbling.

"Grab her?!" I rasped—cough, cough—swinging again. The axe cracked his dagger—stronger now—and he yelped—eyes wide—reeling back.

Mya's sword flashed—one thief fell—her laugh wild. "Mine!" she shouted—spinning to me—pride blazing. "You're mine!"

"Mine?!" I growled—cough, cough—a second thief lunged—I swung—the axe clipped a shoulder—the surge pulsed—I grinned. "I'm me!"

The leader rallied—dagger slashing—I dodged—cough, cough—the axe arcing up—hitting his arm—blood sprayed—he bolted—cursing—"We're dead!"

"Dead?!" I rasped—cough, cough—standing tall. "Run faster!" The last thief fled—the girl free—bandits cheering—the kid bawling—"Sis!"

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

Mya knelt—hand on my cheek—gentle, fierce. "You guard it all," she whispered—love raw—fingers 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—rubbing my neck. "Maybe," I muttered—smirking—turning north—village buzzing. A shadow—north—"Gold!"—the kid yelled—I tensed—cough, cough—eyes sharp. "Not my mess yet!" I growled—Mya's sword up—her grin wild. I hefted an axe—voice low. "Let's crash that party!" The kid tugged—"Go!"—and we bolted