Dancing with the Devil

Just Therapy

The knapsack containing the powder was sliced open by the tip of the sword, causing the glass bottle to shatter and the powder to mix with the potion, spreading across the ground. Kalista quickly got back on her feet and lunged for the dagger, but she suddenly felt a searing pain in her left leg. She gasped and fell to the ground again.

The pitiful cries and weak struggles seemed to make the men enjoy the a***e even more. A gentle breeze blew in from the distance, and he slowed his pace, the tip of his sword cutting b****y patterns across her body.

"I have to... kill you," Kalista whispered, still crawling towards where the dagger had landed. Blood was flowing from her leg and covering her body, and her left leg was nearly useless. She struggled to move using the strength of her arms, but the dagger was kicked even further away. The pain caused Kalista to curl up, and she clenched her teeth to protect her vital points.

"Excuse me, miss," the man laughed, "that's more like my word." He raised his sword, as if to calculate the angle from which to kill her, admiring her futile resistance before she died.

Kalista's body was shaking with pain and tension. What else can she do? The metal button, the symbol of the crimes of the Royal Knights, was tied around her neck by a thin chain, the jagged pattern of which pained her chest.

She needs to live. She must survive to return to Serafinia's past and expose Andrew's crimes. She will kill her enemies, appease her parents and the spirit of Lancelot. How could she die by the sword of an unknown killer?

Unwilling and resentful with her chest constantly billowing, she opened her mouth and tried to reach forward to reach the distant dagger, but between the five separate fingers, there was suddenly a lot of slightly cool air.

The ground whipped up a small wind against the original wind, and a few dead leaves were swirling and blowing.

The man looked back doubtfully, and the next moment, his sword was out of his hand.

The sword pressed straight into the road, the man's neck tightened abruptly, a force so great that it forced him to stop breathing, and his feet lifted off the ground. He struggled to his feet, the blade of the cuff popping out between his fingertips, stabbing in vain behind him.

What happened?

A sudden gust of wind had swept across the alley, knocking the man's sword from his hand. The force of the wind was so strong that it had lifted the man off the ground, causing him to struggle to maintain his footing. The wind had come from nowhere, and Kalista had no idea what had caused it. But she knew that she had to take advantage of this opportunity to escape. She crawled towards the fallen sword, her movements slow and deliberate, as she tried to ignore the pain in her leg.

The blood clearly stained and warmed the blade, yet the strength of the tight throat had not diminished a bit. The man with such a question fell into a faint, casually discarded aside.

Kalista glanced at the man's fallen body and struggled to reach the dagger.

The silhouette of the huge figure, which covered the moonlight overhead, had already revealed the identity of the visitor. Kalista, whose lip was bitten with bright red blood, said: "I'm going to kill him."

The devil silently picked up the distant dagger and thrust it into Kalista's hand.

Kalista clenched her dagger, struggled to her feet, and limped toward the man in gray. He fell defenseless in the middle of the road, a circle of blue finger marks around his neck. She bent her right leg to crouch down, but it too lost strength. She fell and was held up by the devil.

She waved away the devil and crawled toward the unconscious man alone, leaving a b****y drag on her left leg. There was only one thought left in her mind: Kill him, kill him!

Kalista's chest burst into flames, and the souls of the dead cried and wailed miserably in her ears. She climbed in front of the man in gray, clenched her teeth, and sat up with the tip of her dagger at the throb on the side of his neck. But the silver blade did not strike.

The devil took hold of her knife hand and with a very gentle force separated her fingertips and pulled the dagger out.

"You don't need to get your hands dirty again," said the devil.

Just as he spoke, the devil pulled out the thin sword nailed to the road and gave it a gentle stroke. A long, bright red mark appeared on the man's already blue larynx. His body shook violently, with one convulsion after another, and the red color in his neck sputtered like spring water.

Kalista looked coldly at the cobweb of red spreading across the road and spat a b****y foam at him.

The devil picked her up with one arm to keep her clothes from being stained with blood. He reached for a clean handkerchief, carefully wiped the blood from the dagger, and returned it to Kalista. When Kalista did not answer, he sent the silver blade into the sheath of her waist.

There was a faint voice in the distance, and the devil took her in his arms and retreated into the deserted alley.

Kalista sat quietly in his arms, her eyes on his face.

"I heard someone coming. I'll take you back to your quarters and take care of your wounds," said the devil. "I'm sorry to have caused you pain, but you left earlier than usual, and I couldn't get there in time."

After a few jumps, he carried Kalista up to the second floor of the hotel and landed right in front of her window. The window faced the wall of another building, so no one would notice.

The devil's claws were firmly fastened to the brick protruding from the ledge of the window, and his other hand was tied around Kalista's waist, leaving no room to open the window.

In response, Kalista opened the window and barely stepped on his arm to get into the room. The simple movement exhausted her, and she fell down as soon as she stepped on the ground.

The devil hurried into the room through the narrow window and helped her onto the bed.

Kalista's mind was blurred, and the wound from the slender sword was throbbing, the pain ebbing and flowing, the heat dissipating with the blood. Everything in sight began to whirl, and the last thing she saw was a pair of twisted goat horns, before her thoughts faded into silence as she reached up in confusion.

In a daze, the devil removed her shoes. She shivered instinctively, and the fabric that had adhered to her many wounds was torn away.

Something slick and soft glided over the surface of the wound, and the numbness and pain transformed into an intense itch, followed by a steady stream of warmth. The warmth traveled through the blood to her extremities and torso, and her weary, chilled body felt a slight sense of relief. Regaining a modicum of strength, she reached down and touched the devil's horn on the side of her bent leg.

Kalista opened her eyes.

The devil was l*****g her wounds. She tried to push him away twice, but he held her wrist. His sharp claws carefully avoided her skin, and he pinched her fingers with his rough digits, like a silent rebuke to a mischievous child to comply.

Kalista took a beat, subconsciously searching for the dagger at her waist. After a moment, she gave up, and her tense body slowly relaxed.

The wood-paneled ceiling was moldy, with a c***k running between three planks. Occasionally, a few grains of wood fell, and it was anyone's guess when it might collapse.

After a while, the devil raised his head. Kalista felt a sense of relief. Her eyes were dense, frozen by the dry salt. The devil lifted her shoulders and gave her the soft look she knew so well, like Lancelot. She stroked his cheek and tilted her head slightly. "Why did it stop? Don't you want to kiss me?"

The devil did not answer, nor did he avoid her hand, but reached out and gently lifted her waist and pressed it against her lips as carefully as he could. He seemed too much of a gentleman for a devil.