Seraphiel cast again.
The instant Quinlan staggered, she unleashed another wave of healing magic. Golden light flared in his direction as she forced every ounce of power she had into closing his rapidly worsening wounds.
But it was never enough.
No matter how quickly she acted, no matter how fast she cast…
Quinlan died.
Again.
And again.
And again.
She tried everything.
She pre-cast the spell, predicting the moment his wounds would come.
She pushed beyond her limits, channeling magic faster than her body could handle.
She screamed in desperation, pouring herself into her magic.
But it didn't matter.
Every time, the monster was faster.
Every time, its claws ripped into him.
Every time, his body was torn apart before her eyes.
And every time…
It turned to her next.
Her own death came quickly. The pain meant nothing compared to the utter agony of failure.
Seraphiel couldn't care less about her own death. As soon as Quinlan died, she would stop resisting. Why?
