The Hero Returns with his Yandere Wife-Chapter 26 - 25

The night hung heavy with ash and silence, a oppressive shroud over Argon City, the air thick with the distant echoes of chaos—explosions rumbling like the heartbeat of a dying world, screams fading into the wind that carried the bitter scent of smoke and ruin.

Ryn's breath came ragged, tearing from his lungs in sharp, uneven gasps as he sprinted through the wrecked streets, his boots pounding against cracked asphalt, cradling Elena's battered body in his arms with a tenderness that belied the fury burning within him.

Her breathing was slowing, each faint, fragile inhale a whisper against his chest, like embers struggling to stay alight in a wind that threatened to snuff them out forever, her life slipping through his fingers despite the strength with which he held her.

"Hold on, Elena..." Ryn murmured, his voice trembling with a raw edge of fear he couldn't suppress, a plea to the woman who'd once carried him through battles, now reduced to a frail shadow in his embrace.

His flames dimmed to a low smolder, barely flickering along his sweat-soaked skin, their usual ferocity restrained—he couldn't risk drawing attention, not now, not when the city crawled with villains lurking in every shadow, their eyes hungry for blood, and without Mira's lethal grace at his side, he felt stripped of his edge, vulnerable in a way that gnawed at his resolve.

But there was no time for regret, no room for doubt—only the desperate need to keep moving, to reach salvation before Elena's light faded completely.

A broken billboard loomed ahead, its rusted frame creaking mournfully in the wind, the faded sign bearing the faint, peeling image of a red cross—an arrow pointing toward the hospital, a fragile promise of hope amidst the desolation.

Ryn's pace quickened, his legs burning with the strain, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm as he pushed himself beyond exhaustion, driven by the single, unyielding thought that he could not—would not—let her die.

But as he reached the outskirts of the hospital, a crumbling relic of a building that stood defiant against the city's decay, his heart sank, plummeting into a cold abyss of dread.

A dozen grunts in mismatched armor and dark uniforms guarded the entrance, their silhouettes stark against the flickering streetlights—some leaned lazily on heavy weapons, clubs and pipes stained with use, while others toyed with rifles, their barrels glinting with menace, and more lurked near the doors, eyes scanning the darkness with predatory intent.

"Damn it," Ryn muttered under his breath, his voice a low growl as he ducked behind the twisted remains of an old car, its frame warped and rusted, a skeletal shield against prying eyes.

He glanced down at Elena's pale face, her steel-blue eyes closed, her chestnut hair matted with blood and sweat, and a pang of helplessness stabbed through him—he couldn't fight while holding her, couldn't unleash the fire that roared in his veins without risking her fragile form.

He missed Mira, a sharp ache of longing for her shadowy precision, her ability to slip through the night and tear these fools apart before they even knew she was there.

If she were here, she'd have already painted the ground with their blood, her black eyes glinting with that cruel, detached amusement as she dismantled them one by one—but Ryn had left her behind to handle the grunts at Catapony's fortress, a choice that now weighed on him like chains forged from his own recklessness.

But there was no turning back, no time to curse his decisions—only the path forward, however treacherous it might be.

He scanned the area with a hunter's focus, his dark eyes narrowing as they landed on a row of abandoned military vehicles, rusted and battered, parked haphazardly near the hospital's side entrance, their husks a graveyard of forgotten wars.

A plan sparked in his mind, flickering to life like the first ember of a wildfire, desperate but viable.

Carefully, with a gentleness that trembled in his hands, Ryn laid Elena against the base of a gnarled tree, hidden behind thick bushes that shielded her from view, her body slumping against the rough bark as if it were the only thing holding her upright.

"Stay with me," he whispered, his voice soft and fervent, a promise pressed against her ear before he tore himself away, sprinting toward the vehicles with a speed born of necessity.

In the dim, flickering light of a dying streetlamp, he punched a hole into a fuel tank, his fist shattering the rusted metal with a dull clang, letting gasoline gush onto the pavement in a dark, glistening flood that spread like spilled blood.

He soaked the nearby trucks, splashing the flammable liquid across their frames with hurried, deliberate motions, and scattered a trail of fuel along the ground, leading to a small puddle several feet away—a fuse waiting for its spark.

Crouching low, his breath held tight in his chest, he lit the trail with a flick of his finger, a tiny flame leaping from his skin to kiss the gasoline.

A spark flared, bright and fleeting.

A low hiss followed, sharp and menacing.

A blaze erupted, racing along the ground with ferocious speed, a ribbon of fire that reached the vehicles in seconds.

BOOM.

An explosion ripped through the night, a deafening roar that shattered the silence as flames consumed metal, sending shrapnel soaring into the air like deadly confetti, the blast's heat washing over Ryn even from his distance.

The first explosion triggered another, and then another, a chain reaction of destruction as fuel tanks ignited, the night sky burning orange with the fury of his makeshift diversion, the ground trembling beneath the force of it all.

Shouts and screams erupted from the hospital entrance, jagged and panicked, as the villains guarding it scattered like rats, rushing toward the inferno with weapons raised, their focus torn from the doors they'd been tasked to protect.

Ryn wasted no time, his heart hammering as he dashed back to Elena, scooping her up into his arms with a tenderness that belied the chaos he'd unleashed, her weight a fragile burden he'd carry to the ends of the earth if it meant saving her.

He slipped through the chaos toward the hospital entrance, weaving between shadows and bursts of flame, his dark eyes fixed on the open threshold that promised refuge—if he could just reach it.

But as he crossed that sacred line, stepping into the hospital's ruined foyer, four grunts blocked his path, their sudden presence a wall of menace that stopped him cold.

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