Misunderstood Extra in a Twisted Tale

Kain Rivel slumped against Rivermist's eastern wall, the dual axes propped beside him, their chipped blades dull in the midday haze. His coughs rasped, his arms throbbed from the last clash—Vera and Liana sent fleeing —but he'd held the line, their harem bravado cracked. Mya Seraphine stood nearby, her silver hair matted with dust, violet eyes locked on him, love, pride, that wild gleam he couldn't shake. Her kiss, her damn "yours alone," lingered in his chest, and he hated how it kept him steady.

"Peacocks," he muttered, spitting into the dirt. A cough doubled him over, but he straightened, glaring at the axes. "Leon's circus can't touch this."

Mya's smile flashed, sharp, warm. "Can't touch," she echoed, stepping closer. Her hand brushed his shoulder, light, fierce, and Kain glared, shoving it off, but not fast.

"Cut it!" he rasped, coughing. Her touch, damn it, sparked him, but he shook it off, scanning the wall. Bandits patched gaps—wood creaking—while villagers hauled stones, their chatter a dull hum. "I don't need your mush!"

"Not mush," she said, her voice low, steady. "Truth." Her fingers hovered near his harness, her smile fierce. "You held, alone."

"Alone?" He growled, grabbing an axe. It wobbled, but he swung it, coughing, pointing. "Damn right! No harem garbage!" Her laugh, bright, wild, hit him, and he hated how it stirred, anger, want, tangled up.

"You're mine," she whispered, closing the gap. Her hand pressed his chest, warm, firm, her lips close. "No harem, just us."

Kain froze, heat surging, rage, something softer, damn it. "Us?" he rasped, shoving her hand off, slow. A cough flared, but he held her gaze, gritty, unyielding. "I'm me, Mya! Not your prize!" Her closeness, her steel and roses scent, messed with him, and he gripped the axe tighter. "Back off!"

She didn't, her smile softened, fingers brushing his jaw, quick, possessive. "No prize," she said, her voice a vow. "My soul, I love you."

"Love?" He scoffed, coughing, stepping back, glaring. "You're crazy!" But her words, her faith, gnawed at him, and he turned away, axes dragging, mind spinning. That surge from the fight, faint now, itched in his grip—what the hell was it?

The bandit leader jogged up, grinning, sweat on his brow. "Boss! Wall's holding, loot's stacked! What's next?"

"Next?" Kain rasped, slamming the axe onto a crate, it stuck, wobbling, and coughed, steadying himself. "Rest! I'm not your king!"

The leader laughed, saluting. "Aye, boss! You're a rock, broke those harem fools!"

"Rock?" Kain growled, yanking the axe free, coughing. "They ran! Call it straight!" But the bandits cheered—stacking spears, hauling gold—and he shook his head, gritting through the coughs. "Idiots."

Mya lingered, her smile fierce, loving. "They see it," she said, her voice low. "That wall, my Kain."

"Your Kain?" He spun, axe raised, coughing, defiant. "I'm not your damn dog!" Her look, pride, love, hit him, and he faltered, why'd she cut so deep?

"No dog," she said, soft, fierce. "Mine." She grabbed his wrist, gentle, unyielding, pulling him close. "You're tougher than his harem, than him."

Kain stiffened, her touch burning, her pulse syncing with his. "Tougher?" he rasped, shoving her back, not far. "I'm a wreck! He's got flash, I've got spine!" A cough flared, but he stood tall, axes glinting, will blazing.

"Spine?" Her laugh rang, bright, dangerous. "I'd take your spine over his shine." She stepped closer, her lips hovering, fierce, tempting. "You're enough."

"Enough?" He growled, coughing, but didn't pull away, not yet. "I don't need…" A horn blared, south, loud, cutting him off. He spun, Mya's hand on her hilt, eyes narrowing.

"South?" Kain rasped, glaring at the horizon—hooves thundered—louder now. "Leon's pushing hard!"

"His harem," Mya said, her smile sharp, amused. "They'll break for him." She stepped beside him, shoulder brushing his, warm, steady. "Ready?"

"Ready?" He hefted both axes, coughing, grinning raggedly. "Let's smash 'em!" He barked, "South! Move!" bandits rallying, spears up.

Hooves roared—six riders—gold flashing—a woman's voice, "For Valtor's glory!" Sera, the healer, staff glowing, fire crackling—Leon's harem endless.

Kain roared, charging, the axe swinging, wild, fierce. Sera swung her staff—flames arced—he ducked, coughing—the blade clashing, sparks flew. The jolt hit, that surge flickered, his arm burned, and he shoved, hard, her horse stumbling.

"Glory trash!" he rasped, coughing, swinging again. The axe dented her staff, stronger now, and she yelped, reeling back—fire fading.

Mya's sword flashed—two riders fell—her laugh wild. "Trash!" she shouted, turning to Kain, pride blazing. "You're mine!"

"Mine?" He growled, coughing, a third rider charging—he swung—the axe clipped armor, denting it—the surge pulsed—he grinned. "I'm me!"

Sera rallied—fireballs flying—Kain dove, coughing—the axe arcing up—hitting her staff—wood cracked—she bolted—cursing—"He'll crush you!"

"Crush?" Kain rasped, coughing, standing tall. "Bring it!" The last riders fled—bandits cheering—spears high.

He sank to a knee, coughing, axes thudding, chest heaving. "Done," he muttered, grinning, ragged. "No harem breaks this!"

Mya knelt, her hand on his face, gentle, fierce. "This," she whispered, love raw. "Enough." She kissed him, hard, deep—Kain jolted—heat surging—shoved her off—coughing—glaring.

"Warn me!" he barked—voice shaky—he'd leaned in—damn it. "Crazy!"

"Crazy," she laughed—bright—standing—hand near. "Yours, alone."

He glared—coughing—axes glinting—rising. "Alone," he muttered—smirking—turning north—Rivermist's walls firm. "Damn right."

A horn—west—Kain tensed—coughing—ready. "More?" he growled—Mya's sword out—eyes locked—fierce, loving.

"More," she said—a vow. "Together?"

He coughed—nodding—axes up. "My way, smash 'em!" charging—her beside him—gritty, no harem—just them.