When the two water orbs in Ling’s hands swelled to ram-head size, she hurled them like twin moons.

The orbs kissed the ram-headed monster, then burst like ripe fruit, rain of droplets slicked its hide.

A green light-membrane skinned his body like spring moss on stone.

Strands of muscle knit like creeping vines; wounds sealed like closing petals; maimed flesh budded back with wild haste.

A miracle unfurled like dawn; a man the world called hopeless was returning—no, clawing rebirth from winter.

Nerves reconnected like silken threads, muscles set like taut ropes, skin rewove like fresh bark over sap.

Breath, once a candle, grew into a bellows; his chest rose like waves; warm blood ran again like thawed rivers.

Only… his eyes stayed closed, shutters over a quiet room.

Relief cooled into sober worry like tea losing steam; bodies aren’t storybooks.

His spirit had been tortured like a tree in storm; not going mad was grace.

Let him rest, she told herself, like laying a quilt over embers.

Clap-clap-clap.

The sound cracked like a whip; Ling jolted, joy scattering like sparrows; Alicia spun back, nerves strung like bowstrings.

A man in a white lab coat leaned by the doorframe like a pale heron.

His open palms faced his chest like sails; he’d been the one applauding.

“Not bad, not bad,” he said, smile sharp as a scalpel. “Such potent healing magic—I’m very interested. I want to dissect you.”

Ling recoiled half a step, stomach knotting like rope.

Alicia slid in front of her like a shield, blocking his feverish gaze like a gust halting ash.

“Pervert. Why think I’d let you dissect Ling?”

Firelites crawled from her palm like sparks; the Demonblade manifested, flames roaring along it like a hungry fox.

He should’ve flinched, yet his face stayed a zealot’s mask, eyes burning like coals, no fear anywhere.

Ling peeked past Alicia’s shoulder, unease pricking her skin like cold needles; the man felt wrong.

“Then behold a genius scientist’s power,” he crowed, arrogance blooming like a poisonous flower.

“Those feudal-fool Elvenfolk are one thing. You humans who worship science are the same—clueless at using ‘science.’”

Thumb to middle finger, index over the top, he twisted, and a crisp snap rang like flint in a cave.

Clack-clack-clack—gears chewed like iron locusts, and tight ranks of pillars rose like a forest of steel.

A cage swallowed three quarters of the room like a tide; Ling and Alicia stood trapped inside its ribs.

He strolled in from the door, eyes stitched to Alicia like needles; his lifted lips hooked with mockery.

“Well? Do you like this cage?” he asked, words oily as smoke.

“Fool. You think iron pillars I can slice at will can hold us?” she snapped, voice ringing like a bell.

She raised the Demonblade; magic poured in like fuel, flames beat faster, the air warped like a heat mirage.

“Heh. I’m a genius,” he said, tapping his temple like a drum. “My fully developed brain planned for that.”

He felt beside his ears, caught a long white strip like shed snakeskin, and tugged; a pair of Elvenfolk long ears sprang like willow leaves.

“Elf!” Alicia and Ling gasped, attention hooked like fish; they missed the smile sharpening like a sprung trap.

His hidden hand flashed out, revealing a golden pocket watch like a tiny sun; magic rippled from it like rings on water.

Ling stared at the watch, instinct flaring like a red flag; she leapt and clapped both hands over Alicia’s eyes like shutters.

She turned to close her own, but the ripple struck too fast, washing her gaze like sleep-tide over sand.

Drowsiness slammed her mind like velvet night; she dropped from the jump like a falling petal and slept upon the floor.

Alicia understood at once, mind sparking like flint—Ling’s sleep came from that watch.

“Undo it. Now,” she roared, wrath blazing like wildfire. “Three seconds.”

He only shrugged, shoulders bobbing like reeds. “I’d love to, but this isn’t magic. It’s science.”

“The watch plants sleep suggestions when your mind goes blank, so I baited you with Elven ears, then flashed the watch.”

Confidence or stupidity, he planted the classic villain death flag by monologuing, words fluttering like banners before battle.

Alicia lifted the Demonblade, countdown pounding like war drums; in three beats she’d cleave iron and his vaunted brain.

“No, no,” he sang, palms clapping like a cue. “I’m not your playmate. He is.”

He slapped his hands, and a red light traced the black tube on the ram-headed monster’s chest like a burning vein.