Demon suppression missions weren't supposed to be personal. They were supposed to be routine—quick in, quick out, no witnesses, no drama. Lucien Caelthorn liked them that way. Quiet. Efficient. Clean.
This one, of course, had Elliot Valerian in it.
So naturally, nothing about it was quiet, efficient, or remotely clean.
Lucien stood ankle-deep in demon blood. The air crackled with leftover magic. Around him, corpses steamed in the cold light of dawn. His coat, once crisp black, was slashed open in three places, hanging like a tattered flag over his shoulder. His sword was warm from overuse, humming faintly with residue.
Another Rift opened. Just like that. No warning, no pulse. The sky split apart like wet paper and screamed.
"That's the fifth one," a soldier behind him muttered.
Lucien didn't reply. He narrowed his eyes as the tear widened, spewing corrupted wind and flickering ash. The cursed ring on his finger glowed faintly. He flexed his hand. It had been glowing since they arrived. It hadn't stopped.
A streak of gold shot across the battlefield, a flare of white and gilded light, trailing magic like ribbons.
Lucien knew that light.
Elliot.
He didn't turn his head. He didn't need to. The other man landed nearby with theatrical precision, boots kicking up dust, the edges of his formal coat somehow still immaculate. His sword gleamed. His smile gleamed harder.
"You're late," Elliot said.
Lucien replied without looking. "You're loud."
Elliot exhaled in that exasperated way he always did when he wasn't taken seriously. "I was coordinating barrier teams and looking good. You try doing both."
"I kill demons," Lucien said.
"Yes, yes. Sword goes stab, bad things die. I've heard." Elliot's boots crunched closer. "You could try looking less like a corpse next time. For morale."
Lucien didn't answer. Another demon dropped from the sky. He sliced it in half before it landed.
Elliot let out a theatrical sigh and raised a hand. Light burst from his palm, blinding white and shaped like a lance. It pierced a flying demon midair. The creature shrieked and crumbled into black ash.
"That's four for me," Elliot announced. "How many are you at?"
"Thirty-two."
"Show-off."
Lucien moved without warning. Another Rift appeared above them, too fast, too sharp. He slashed upward, steel cutting through bone. Blood sprayed. He didn't flinch.
The ring on his hand pulsed again, brighter this time. He ignored it.
Elliot stepped to his side, blades floating around him like orbiting stars. "You know," he said, almost cheerfully, "this was supposed to be an easy mission."
Lucien gave him a flat look. "Then you shouldn't have come."
"Rude." Elliot raised an eyebrow. "What if I said I came to protect you?"
"I'd laugh."
Elliot smirked, but it faded quickly. Another Rift opened, bigger this time. The sky rippled. The ground cracked beneath them.
A roar echoed from within.
Lucien gripped his sword tighter.
Then the Rift spoke.
"Last mercy," it said. The voice was broken glass. Wet. Wrong.
Lucien froze.
Elliot turned his head sharply. "What did it say?"
"It knows me."
Lucien didn't raise his voice, but something cold passed through his spine. The Rift pulsed again. Demons poured from it. Not the usual fodder. These were faster. Leaner. Smarter. Eyes glowing red. All of them staring at him.
Or maybe… at both of them.
Elliot's voice dropped. "They're targeting Sovereigns."
Lucien didn't look at him. "We can't retreat."
"Of course not." Elliot laughed, but it was tight. "Wouldn't want the Empire thinking our marriage made us weak."
Lucien side-eyed him. "You brought up the marriage during a demon siege."
"You always forget we're legally bonded, Lucien. Someone has to add flavor to your cold little world."
Lucien didn't get to answer. A demon lunged.
He struck fast, faster than thought, blade slicing upward. Another came from the side. Elliot was already there, eyes glowing, two floating daggers spinning from his fingers.
They fought like they always did. Not as partners, not as friends. But as two forces that collided and somehow didn't cancel each other out.
Lucien fought like a machine—precise, brutal, unstoppable. Elliot fought like a flame—dancing, twisting, mocking his enemies with beauty before burning them alive.
A demon got past Lucien's guard. Claws slashed. Blood sprayed.
Lucien turned, sword rising—but Elliot was already there, pushing him aside with a flash of golden light.
The barrier cracked.
Lucien caught him before he stumbled.
"Stop protecting me," he said flatly.
"I'm your husband," Elliot said, voice trembling just slightly.
Lucien stared at him. Elliot's cheek was bleeding. A thin line of red, slicing through pale skin.
It shouldn't have meant anything.
But it did.
Lucien let go quickly and turned away.
"We need to shut the Rift," he said.
Elliot nodded. "I'll stabilize the core."
"No," Lucien snapped.
Elliot looked at him, really looked at him, and for once, didn't smile. "You'll need time to charge that final strike. I can buy it."
"You're limping."
Elliot shrugged. "That's emotional damage, not physical."
Lucien's hand twitched on his sword.
Elliot stepped forward anyway.
Lucien followed.
They reached the center of the Rift. The air vibrated like it was made of teeth. Magic tangled in thick knots, impossible to untie. The cursed rings on their fingers flared.
Lucien glanced at Elliot.
Elliot was holding his hand out.
"Magic sync," he said simply.
Lucien hesitated.
"Lucien," Elliot said, quieter. "You won't last in that rift alone."
Lucien took his hand.
The moment they touched, the air cracked. Their magic surged, not harmonious, but jagged, wild, forced into union by the curse they never wanted.
They stepped forward together.
The demons screamed.
Lucien swung.
Elliot burned.
Magic and steel side by side, they tore through the Rift. Every step was agony. Every strike cost more power than they had. But neither stopped.
The Rift pulsed one final time.
Lucien saw it too late.
A demon shot through the collapsing crack, spear aimed not at him—but at Elliot.
Lucien moved without thought.
He took the hit.
Steel through shoulder.
He didn't fall.
Elliot screamed his name.
Lucien turned his head, blood dripping from his lips, and smirked.
"Told you I'd kill more than you."
Elliot ran to him, magic flaring, pulling the spear out with shaking hands.
"Idiot," he whispered. "Stupid, cold idiot."
Lucien's knees buckled. Elliot caught him.
The Rift closed behind them.
Silence fell.
In the ash and the blood, Elliot sat on his knees, holding Lucien against his chest, his face twisted in fury and something else.
"You're not allowed to die," Elliot muttered. "You're not allowed."
Lucien looked up at him, barely breathing.
"Then stop making me save you."
Elliot laughed. It broke halfway through.
"I hate you," he said.
"I know."
Lucien closed his eyes.
The cursed ring on his finger stopped glowing.
The sky finally cleared.
And somewhere behind the clouds, a new Rift opened.
As if the war had only just begun.