I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The medical tent was crowded to the point of chaos. Injured soldiers filled every space. Voices overlapped, low groans cutting through the noise. Cherion barely slowed at the entrance before Reiner pushed him inside.

This was it. His first ”red code” patient. Not a theoretical case from a textbook or a minor scratch from a training accident, but a man ripped open by the very things that haunted the treeline.

Ezek looked smaller than he did when he was standing up and sneering. He was stretched out on the wooden bed, clothes shredded, his side carved open with rough, nasty claw marks. The claw marks were deep, messy, angry things that trailed from his ribs up to his shoulder. It was serious. Maybe not ”start digging a hole” serious, but enough to turn a man’s pride into a liability.

As Cherion approached, Ezek’s eyes flickered open. Even through the haze of shock and pain, the resistance was there. It was buried in the way his jaw fused shut and the weak, pathetic twitch of his good shoulder as he tried to recoil from Cherion’s touch.

”Don’t...” Ezek rasped, the word hitching on a wet cough. ”Don’t need... you.”

Cherion paused, his hands hovering over a basin of water. He looked down at the soldier, and for a fleeting second, he felt a spark of that old irritation. Really? We’re doing the ’tough guy’ routine while your liver is practically waving hello?

Cherion clicked his tongue softly. Fine. Don’t let it bother you. It was just pain talking.

So he kept his face neutral. No arguing, no pointless comforting, he just got to work.

”If you’ve still got the breath to complain, Ezek, you’re clearly not dying yet. That’s a shame for my workload, but good for you.”

He didn’t wait for a rebuttal. He simply started working.

After a while, the tent stopped being chaos and turned into... whatever passed for normal here. Reiner was a few steps away, dealing with a soldier’s badly messed-up hand, moving fast and saying nothing. Others from the patrol stood in the corners. They only spoke in short bursts, quick bits of information Cherion picked up while he tended to Ezek’s wounds.

”Lower perimeter,” one scout muttered, his voice shaking just a hair. ”Weren’t looking for a scrap. We had no intention of engaging. Usually, the monsters... they watch. They wait. You know how it is.”

”But this time?” another added, his voice dropping an octave. ”It noticed us before we even smelled the musk. Closed the distance like a damn blur. It didn’t stop, Reiner. It just kept coming, forcing us to break formation. It wasn’t a fight. It was a hunt.”

Unnatural frenzy.

Cherion’s fingers stilled for a micro-second, but he shook the thought away, focusing his mana. He felt the familiar hum in his palms, that golden, liquid heat, as he began to knit the deeper muscle tissues back together. It was slow, frustrating work. Ezek groaned, his fingers curling into the edge of the table, but he didn’t pull away again.

The tent flap suddenly snapped open.

The moment Zarius walked in, people pulled themselves together. The scouts in the corner went quiet, backs straight like they’d been caught slacking.

He moved through the space with a predator’s grace, his eyes scanning the room, assessing the damage in a single sweep. He stopped by the minor casualties first, offering a few words of acknowledgement that seemed to do more for their recovery than any tonic could. Finally, his shadow fell over Cherion and Ezek.

Zarius looked down at the wounded man, then shifted his gaze to Cherion’s blood-stained hands. ”How is he?”

”Stabilized,” Cherion said, not looking up as he finished the final stitch. ”Deep lacerations, some minor blood loss, but he’ll live to glare at me another day. The others just have scratches and bruises.”

Zarius let out a breath, a sound so small only someone standing as close as Cherion would have heard it. Then, he asked, ”Are you alright?”

Cherion looked up, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. ”Me? I’m not the one who ran into a monster, Your Grace.”

Zarius didn’t move. His gaze remained steady, sharp in that quiet, soul-piercing way he had. ”I meant after the healing. The strain.”

”Ahhh, I’m not that fragile,” Cherion said with a shrug. He wiped his hands on a towel, flashing a quick, awkward smile. ”Really. A bit of mana use won’t break me.”

The moment dragged a little longer than it should’ve. Then Zarius finally looked away and turned to the scouts. Cherion listened as they went over it again, the speed, the aggression, all of it. Zarius didn’t interrupt once.

Orders followed like rapid-fire: ”Reinforce the perimeters. Adjust the rotations to eight-man minimums. No one goes out without a flare.”

The camp was tense already, but it got worse under his command. Zarius turned back to Cherion one last time. ”Take care of them. They’re in your hands now.”

Cherion nodded, but as Zarius turned to leave, a sudden, cold spike of anxiety pierced through his chest. It was either the sight of Ezek’s shredded skin or the realization that the ”story” was finally breaking bad, but he couldn’t let Zarius just walk out into that grey morning.

He reached out, his fingers catching the heavy, dark fabric of Zarius’s cloak. It was a small gesture, impulsive and probably far too unfamiliar for the eyes of the knights watching, but he didn’t let go.

”Are you going back out?” Cherion asked.

Zarius paused, looking back over his shoulder. ”Yes.”

”Then... be careful,” Cherion said, his voice dropping until it was barely a whisper. He tightened his grip on the cloak for a second before releasing it. ”I mean, extra care. Don’t do anything heroic and stupid. Please.”

He felt like an idiot the moment the words left his mouth. Extra care? He sounded like a worried grandmother.

The silence dragged on. Cherion braced for a cold brush-off, or at least a confused look.

Instead, he felt a weight on the top of his head.

Zarius had reached out, his large, calloused hand resting briefly on Cherion’s messy hair. Not a pat, just his hand there. Warm...

”Of course,” Zarius said, softer this time. ”I’ll be careful.”

He paused, his thumb brushing lightly over Cherion’s hair before pulling away.

”So don’t make a face like that, little Omega,” Zarius murmured, a ghost of a shadow crossing his expression. ”It doesn’t suit you.”

Before Cherion could even process the warmth of the touch or the strange, fluttering sensation in his throat, Zarius was gone, disappearing into the swirling mist of the morning.

Cherion stood there, his hand hovering near his own hair, staring at the empty tent flap while the smell of blood and rot didn’t go anywhere.