Page 89 of Unhinged Omega

The thought catches me off guard. I've never considered the Knight might have a nationality, an origin beyond my own fevered imagination. But that hair... it's unmistakably familiar.

Like mine.

Like my mother's.

He's not just mortal.

He's… human.

Before I can process anything, the Knight lets out a slow, deep breath and collapses forward.

I try to scramble back, but I'm not fast enough. His massive metal arm falls across me, pinning me to the slope. The weight is crushing, driving the air from my lungs in a pained gasp. Panic claws at my throat as I struggle to breathe, to move, to do anything.

But I'm trapped.

Trapped beneath the very monster I've spent my entire life running from.

I can't breathe. The Knight's massive metal arm crushes down on my chest, pinning me to the muddy slope. Panic claws at my throat as I struggle for air, my lungs burning. This can't be how it ends. Not after everything I've been through, everything I've survived.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to focus. To think. The weight of his arm is immense, but he's unconscious. Unmoving.

If I can just...

I wiggle my body, inching to the side millimeter by agonizing millimeter. The mud helps, slick and cool against my skin. I feel a rush of air as I manage to slide my torso out from under the crushing metal.

Gasping, I scramble the rest of the way free, my nails digging into the earth as I claw my way up the bank. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my temples, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I should run. Every instinct screams at me to flee, to put as much distance between myself and this monster as possible.

But I don't.

I can't.

Crying changes nothing, mylita,my mother's voice whispers in my head.But kindness? Kindness changes everything.

"Fuck," I mutter, already turning back.

The fallen Knight lies motionless, half in the river and half on the bank. His legs are submerged in the murky water, thecurrent tugging gently at his massive frame. If it weren't for the slow rise and fall of his muscled back, I'd think he was dead.

He's even bigger up close. At least eight feet tall, maybe more, and every inch of him is solid muscle. The plating grafted to his right shoulder and upper back, the foundation for the metal arm that resembles a knight’s armor all the way down to the clawed gauntlet that serves as his hand, gleams dully in the filtered sunlight.

It's the first time I've seen his face, too, visible now that so much of his iron mask has been blown away. I've caught glimpses of it in my nightmares, flashes of teeth and exposed muscle, but never like this.

One blue eye is mostly closed, at least as much as itcanclose with his eyelids so badly damaged, while the other glows faintly through what remains of his iron mask. Like his body, the exposed portions of his face are a roadmap of scars layered upon scars, leaving barely any unmarred skin. But beneath the destruction, I can tell he's a man.

That's what shocks me the most.

Only his mouth is truly monstrous. He has no lips or cheeks, only exposed muscle—a dull, grayish purple—and sinew holding his jaws together. His razor-sharp teeth are permanently bared in a terrifying grin like some kind of nightmare beast. I've felt those teeth sink into my throat enough times in my dreams to know exactly how lethal they are.

What kind of torture did he endure to become this? What sort of monsters would do this to another living being?

Unconscious and bleeding, he looks less like a demon than before. He looks almost... vulnerable.

The thought is absurd.

This creature has terrorized me my entire life. He's torn me apart in my nightmares more times than I can count. I should be running as far and as fast as I can.

Instead, I find myself reaching out with trembling fingers. I hesitate, my hand hovering over his blood-drenched hair. His head is warm beneath my palm when I finally make contact. Warmer than it should be even through his hair, like he's burning with fever.

Why am Itouchinghim?

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