Morax, though heavily wounded himself, pressed onwards, carrying you through the chaos of the battlefield. He cradled you with careful tenderness, his touch a stark contrast to the searing pain that wracked his body. Every step was an agonizing battle against his own pain, the injuries sustained from the clash between devils and angels gnawed at him, but he refused to surrender. Not when you’re still in his arms, unconscious and in great pain. He has to find a safe place to hide and take your pain away. Seeing you in pain tore at him, especially knowing your fragility compared to his war-hardened body. He was accustomed to pain, but yours wasn’t.

How could this day, so peaceful just moments ago, erupt into a desperate escape? It was moments ago when you reminded him about his workaholic tendencies and the injuries he already had. But then, angels descended from the heavens, their eyes locked on your figure with murderous intent. Morax cursed his carelessness, the weight of his previous failure heavy on his heart. He had sworn to protect you from all harm, yet here he was, cradling your fragile body riddled with injuries.

Once settled in a relatively safe place, he settled you gently. With practiced hands, he assessed your wounds and carefully removed your bloodied clothes. His gaze remained fixed on you, his focus unwavering as he assessed your wounds and started alleviating your pain and ensuring your survival. He knew a nearby hospital awaited, where Buer and Marbas could offer the proper care you needed.

“It's alright,” he rasped, his voice a steady comfort as he whispered words of assurance. “I got you now, you won’t have to suffer anymore.”