Chapter 8: The Man Inside the Knight

Luz’s grip on Amelia’s red hair tightened slightly, both painfully but demanding obedience. The black vein on his neck pulsed furiously as the Darkness within him sensed the victory– this human soul willingly surrendering herself. “You will sleep in my quarters and eat at my table. Every Corrompido soldier in this camp will know you are off-limits to everyone but me.” Amelia nodded lightly and said, “I am yours, completely. As long as you promise to never leave me again.” The finality in her voice was a balm to wounds Luz didn’t realize was bleeding. Hearing her promise herself to him so completely– without reservation, without fear– cracked the last remnants of his icy commander persona. “I promise.” His voice was raw, stripped of all pretence. “Never again. I swear by every soul I have taken that I will never leave you.” 

His free hand slid from her red hair to cup her face gently, his thumb brushing over her lips as if memorizing their shape. The crimson glow in his eyes softened into something warmer, more human. “You have no idea what you are getting into,” he murmured softly. “But if staying with me means you will never be forced to marry some fat black smith…” The corner of his mouth twitched into something resembling a real smile. “But fine,” he conceded with grudging affection. “You win. You can stay.” Amelia’s hand that was still cupping his cheek moved down to his neck. “Good decision,” she said casually, and her hand moved down further to rest on his armoured chest. “Can you take this off now?” she asked softly.

Luz’s armoured chest vibrated beneath her hand, the black plates feeling cold and unyielding despite the warmth blooming within him. His crimson gaze fixed on her fingers resting against his breastplate. “Take it off?” his voice was low, laced with a hint of amusement at her casual confidence. “You are asking me to strip in front of you?” The black vein on his neck pulsed visibly as he considered the request. It was not just about removing armour; it was about shedding the monster’s disguise and revealing the vulnerable flesh beneath. “I will warn you,” he said, his thumb stroking along her jawline. “The scars aren’t pretty. This armour hides more than just flesh.” He stepped back slightly, creating space between their bodies while maintaining eye contact with Amelia.

Luz’s hands moved to the fastening at his shoulders and chest, working at the leather straps until the chest plate loosened with a faint shift and he carefully lifted the chest plate off. As it comes off, his upper body straightens more freely, no longer constrained by rigid metal. Amelia watched patiently as he continued with the arm pieces– pauldrons, vembraces and rerebraces– unfastening them with practiced precision, his arms moving more fluidly with each step, the motions becoming quicker as the burden lessens. At his waist, he unbuckles the belt securing the lower armour, loosening and lifting away the faulds and cuisses. Finaly, he deals with the leg armour– greaves and sabatons– he leans against the wooden table behind him, lifting each foot slightly and pulling the pieces free. Once they are off, he stands more comfortable, weight evenly distributed without the rigid encasement.

Luz stood there wearing a black simple linen shirt with a pair of brown trousers covering his legs. Amelia’s green eyes roamed his body, her eyes widening slight when Luz took off the black linen shirt, revealing his bare chest. The black vein-like marking crawled up his torse, from a space just below his trousers, moving across his stomach, over his left pec, like vines. The dark veins split at his shoulder, one half moving up his neck to his jaw, while the other trails down his arm to a jagged scar that marred his left palm– the mark of his original bargain with Mestre Escuro. Amelia stepped closer to him, her fingers making contact with his skin and tracing the lines of the black vein running down his chest. “Does it hurt?” she asked softly. Luz’s body went rigid at her touch, the darkness beneath his skin flaring brightly when her fingers made contact. A sharp hiss escaped his teeth as the sensation of her touch against his flesh sent a jolt through him.

“Hurt?” he repeated, his voice strained. “It feels like you are touching fire, but it is not pain– not exactly. It’s– a reminder.” His crimson eyes watched her hand move over the dark marks, mesmerized by the contrast between her soft skin and the living corruption crawling across his chest. The darkness inside him seemed to writhe under her touch, reacting to the human warmth pressed against it. “Don’t,” he warned through gritted teeth, though his hand camp up to cover hers instead of pushing her away. “You have no idea what you are doing. This thing– it feeds on human touch. It is trying to pull you closer.” Amelia looked up at him. “I don’t mind being pulled closer,” she said calmly. “So, it doesn’t hurt when I touch you?”

The calm certainty in her voice seemed to surprise Luz more than any display of fear ever could. His crimson eyes searching her face, looking for the catch, the moment when she would realize what she was inviting in. “It doesn’t hurt,” he corrected slowly, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand. “But it burns. Like drinking poison and finding it tastes sweet.” His other hand moved to rest on top of hers, pressing it more firmly against the black veins near his collarbone. The dark marks pulsed visibly under her palm, reacting to her touch like embers catching oxygen. “Look at this,” he said quietly, guiding her fingers higher toward where the corruption crept up his neck.

“Every time you touch me, it gets stronger. The darkness inside me feeds on human connection– its whole purpose is to consume souls like yours.” Yet despite his warning words, he made no move to pull away. “I don’t mind being consumed either,” Amelia said softly. “As long as it is with you.” Luz’s breath hitched, the raw vulnerability in her statement striking him with the force of a physical blow. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, searching for any sign of doubt or fear– but found none. Only unwavering devotion. “You don’t know what you are saying,” he whispered harshly, his hands trembling slightly as they frame her face.