Reincarnated as the Villainess's Unlucky Bodyguard-Chapter 224: Escape

I had always imagined my escape from Azael would be a grand affair doves, trumpets, perhaps a righteous speech and a crowd of rebels ready to hoist me onto their shoulders. In reality, I was currently dragging myself through a half-collapsed corridor, boots squeaking on spilled shadow ichor, breath burning in my lungs, with only the echo of Azael's curses for company and the faint scent of toasted furniture.

In fairness, the battle had started well enough. There is a certain poetry to trading blows with your tormentor in a throne room that looks like it was decorated by a pyromaniac who had recently discovered abstract art. By the time we reached the second round, I'd managed to collapse two pillars, ignite a tapestry that was definitely worth more than my soul, and insult Azael's taste in footwear. ("Serrated heels? What are you, an allegory?")

But poetry wears thin when your opponent is immortal, vindictive, and capable of conjuring a storm of obsidian daggers with a flick of her fingers.

Azael moved with a predator's certainty, her silhouette framed by the roiling mass of living shadow that now pulsed and frothed across the throne room like an angry ocean. Her eyes burned, her magic thickening the air until each breath tasted of thunder and iron. For all her composure, there was a thread of desperation behind her movements, a jagged edge to her attacks a subtle hint that, at last, she was afraid.

"I will find the edges of you and grind them to dust," she hissed, each word a stone dropped into the churning pool of magic between us.

I gave her my best smile sharp, a little wild. "Careful, Azael, you're starting to sound sentimental."

She threw a javelin of pure darkness at my head. I ducked, rolling across the shattered floor, sending a spray of marble chips skittering across the room. Magic thrummed in my blood my own, not borrowed, not twisted, but stubbornly mine. The system was a voice at the edge of thought, quick and wry.

[If you wanted her to hate you, you could have just sent a thank-you note for the imprisonment.]

You know me. I always take the scenic route.

Azael advanced, shadows coiling, the air humming with the promise of violence. Our spells clashed and rebounded—her night-black lances against my burning spears of emerald and silver. Every impact sent sparks skittering, the ceiling trembling overhead.

I let her press me, parrying as I moved, but never letting her pin me. It was a dance one that left both our boots scorched and the throne room looking like the aftermath of a particularly contentious family reunion.

"You're still smiling?" she spat, incredulous, wiping blood from her mouth mine, not hers. "What could you possibly find amusing?"

I twirled my dagger, feeling my knuckles pop. "Your interior decorating choices, for one. I'm sorry, but the skull motif? A bit much."

She shrieked an actual shriek, not the usual composed roar. It was almost worth the price of admission.

She surged forward, her magic a living storm. I met her, spell for spell, sparks lighting up the ruin around us. For a moment, we were locked in a stalemate, a clash of wills so intense it felt like the entire world had narrowed to the point where our magic met a single, burning line.

In that line, I saw everything her anger, her pride, her need. And behind it, the sliver of fear she would never admit to.

"Why are you doing this?" she demanded, voice low, almost lost in the thunder of our magic. "You could have had everything. Power. Purpose. Me."

For a fleeting moment, I almost pitied her. Almost.

I let the magic surge in my veins, brighter, wilder. "Because I'd rather be broken and free than perfect and yours."

Azael recoiled, just a step but it was enough. I pressed the attack, pushing her back, scattering her defenses like autumn leaves in a storm. Each blow landed with a satisfaction I'd never let myself imagine, not in all the months trapped in her shadow.

But freedom was hungry, and magic alone wouldn't be enough. My body ached, exhaustion creeping at the edges, the bruises blooming under my skin. Still, I grinned, teeth bared, every laugh a tiny rebellion.

[She's slowing,] the system observed, its tone a rare mix of awe and glee. [So are you. But you have one thing she doesn't.]

An exit strategy?

[Close. Actual friends who don't have to be compelled into loyalty.]

Azael, realizing she was losing ground, snapped her fingers. The stones of the floor split, and monstrous hands clawed their way up shadow beasts, fanged and clawed, eyes like smoldering coals. They moved with unnatural speed, swarming me from all sides.

For a heartbeat, panic fluttered in my chest. There were too many. I was tired. My magic flickered, waning. One beast pinned my arm, another caught my ankle. The third bit a chunk out of my cloak (rude).

Azael laughed, her voice echoing from every wall. "You can't run, Liria. Not from me. Not from this."

She started forward, arms wide, shadow magic swirling in ribbons around her. The beasts held me fast, the shadows closing in, pressing the air from my lungs.

"Say you surrender," Azael purred. "Call me mistress. Kneel."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, Gregory the rune-snail cheered me on.

Instead, I spat blood at her feet. "I'd rather mop your floors."

[You have about fifteen seconds before she finishes that binding spell,] the system said, ever the helpful voice of doom.

Suggestions?

[On three, you dump everything you've got into a flash-burst. Distract her. Then you run. You don't have to win. You just have to escape.]

I was hoping for something more glamorous, I thought.

[Survival is the height of glamour. Trust me.]

Azael's voice rose, thunderous, the binding spell swirling toward its climax. The shadows around me pulsed, tightened.

One.

I summoned every shred of will, every scrap of magic, drawing it inward, letting it burn bright and wild in my core.

Two.

The beasts snarled, their grip tightening. I stared Azael in the eyes, saw her certainty—her utter conviction that this would end with me at her feet.

Three. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

I exploded.

Light burst from me in a storm of color, every spell, every emotion, every ounce of pain and longing and fury channeled into a single, blinding flare. The beasts reeled, shrieking as the magic seared through them. The floor cracked, the throne split cleanly in two.

Azael staggered, eyes wide, robes smoking at the edges.

I didn't wait for her to recover.

I ran.

Ran through the wreckage of the throne room, dodging collapsing masonry, leaping over smoldering corpses of the shadow-beasts. I didn't look back. Behind me, Azael screamed a wordless sound, the promise of vengeance echoing through the halls.

I tore through corridor after corridor, heart slamming against my ribs, the world spinning with adrenaline and exhaustion. My magic was a guttering flame now, barely enough to light the way. But I was moving, free, every step a defiance.

Up ahead, a window broken by one of our earlier skirmishes gaped open to the night air. I staggered toward it, lungs burning.

[Now's your chance,] the system urged.

If I fall and die, I'm haunting you forever.

[If you fall and die, I'll throw myself into the ocean out of guilt. Now JUMP.]

I leaped through the window, twisting in midair, landing hard on a lower roof with a bone-jarring thud. Rolled, scrambled, and tumbled down onto a pile of something that squelched and glowed faintly.

[That is not regulation demon landscaping,] the system commented as I staggered to my feet, slick with what I hoped was just luminescent moss.

Below, the fortress grounds were alive with chaos. Shadow creatures scrambled in the courtyards, alarms blared from every tower, and in the distance, the faint glow of fire marked the city beyond the promise of freedom, of friends, of a life not measured in chains and curses.

Behind me, Azael's voice rose in an inhuman shriek, magic crackling, the air itself twisting with her rage.

But I didn't stop.

I ran, stumbling, laughing, tears and blood streaking my face, not caring how mad I looked or how hopeless it all seemed.

Because I was out.

I was alive.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the night air was full of possibilities.