Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

Liria didn't answer. Didn't blink. Didn't flinch.

She just watched.

And the silence hurt more than the spear.

Enara stared at her former friend, frozen for a heartbeat that stretched into an eternity. Liria's two-colored eyes one amber, one piercing green reflected nothing, as if everything between them had been erased, a slate wiped clean by shadow and betrayal. There was no familiar glint of mischief, no flash of defiance, none of the warmth that had once defined their friendship. Instead, Enara saw only emptiness, like looking into a mirror and seeing no reflection staring back.

The pain radiating from her shoulder was forgotten, a trivial thing next to the ache that clawed at her chest. Enara clenched her fists so tightly that her nails bit into her palms, barely registering the sting. She had anticipated hatred from Liria, even rage, but not this hollow indifference.

"Fight back!" Enara shouted suddenly, her voice raw, echoing across the chaos-filled courtyard. "Stop standing there like none of this matters! Do something anything!"

Liria's expression never shifted, her gaze steady, relentless, silent.

Around them, the battle raged on with a brutal intensity. Warriors clashed in explosions of magic and steel, darkness and flame carving the air into fragments. The castle walls shook with each blow, stones dislodging in showers of dust and debris. But none of it mattered to Enara now. She saw only Liria, standing unscathed amid ruin, surrounded by enemies but isolated by something darker still.

"You owe me that much!" Enara shouted again, stepping forward despite the growing chaos around her, the hot sting of tears she refused to shed burning her vision. "You don't get to just stand there! Explain yourself!"

Finally, Liria tilted her head ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible movement that sent a chill skittering down Enara's spine. Her lips parted, as if she were about to speak, but no sound came. Instead, a shadow flickered briefly behind her eyes a fleeting expression of anguish that vanished as quickly as it appeared, drowned again by the blank indifference.

It was a tiny crack in the armor, barely there at all, but Enara had seen it, and it filled her with desperate hope and renewed fury.

"Liria," she whispered now, barely audible, voice breaking despite herself. "I know you're still in there. I know this isn't you. Come back to us."

But hope was fragile, and reality cruel. Liria's face hardened again, that spark of vulnerability extinguished like a dying ember. Her hands remained limp at her sides, her body unmoving, passive, obedient.

"Enough talking!" Daena roared, her voice shattering the fragile bubble of silence that had formed around Enara. "We can worry about emotional baggage after we survive!"

Daena's warhammer swung down in a vicious arc, meeting her opponent's blade with a deafening crash that sent shockwaves rippling across the stone. The fight resumed in earnest, the delicate moment broken by the harsh reality of battle.

Enara spun around just in time to deflect another spear strike aimed at her heart, shadows coalescing instinctively into a barrier that absorbed the brutal impact. She growled through gritted teeth, feeling her power surge, fueled by pain, anger, and hurt. Each strike she countered was vicious, a direct reflection of the turmoil within her.

Her opponent seemed to sense this shift his movements becoming cautious, his spear thrusts measured and calculating, attempting to draw her out into making a careless mistake. But Enara was beyond caution now; fury had replaced reason.

"You picked the wrong day to attack me!" she snarled, lunging forward suddenly, black lightning arcing from her fingertips, striking him squarely in the chest. He staggered backward, armor smoking from the blow, momentarily stunned.

She seized the opportunity instantly, shadows pooling around her like thick velvet, forming into countless razor-sharp blades that hovered menacingly before unleashing their deadly assault. The warrior raised his spear, desperately trying to deflect, but Enara's attack was merciless and overwhelming, slicing through his defenses, piercing his armor and skin, until he fell, lifeless, to the stone below.

The triumph was bitter, leaving her feeling emptier rather than victorious. There was no glory here, only the sour taste of survival. Panting heavily, Enara turned her attention back to the battle.

Azael's soldiers surged like a tide against the kingdom's defenses, their sheer numbers beginning to overwhelm even the Reavers' formidable line. She saw her mothers fighting fiercely above, Verida's flaming blade slicing through enemy after enemy, Nyssara's shimmering spells casting shields that protected their warriors from lethal blows.

And yet, even their immense power wasn't enough to halt the relentless assault.

"The gates!" someone shouted from below, panic edging into their voice. "They're breaking through the main gate!"

Enara's heart sank, her breath catching painfully in her throat. The kingdom's defenses were formidable, but against an unending enemy, even the strongest wall would crumble eventually.

She caught sight of Ananara, standing atop a fallen soldier's helmet, angrily shouting at a group of bewildered demon soldiers. "Move faster! Fight harder! If you lose, I swear I'll haunt your salads for eternity!"

"Do pineapples even haunt salads?" Enara muttered absently, momentarily distracted by the absurdity, despite the chaos.

Ananara overheard, her leafy crown shaking with irritation. "Of course we do! Why else would we exist? Focus, Princess Doom-and-Gloom!"

Before Enara could retort, a massive explosion shook the ground beneath her feet. She stumbled, barely catching herself on the battlement's edge as the main gates splintered apart in a thunderous roar, sending fragments of enchanted stone scattering like deadly shrapnel.

A monstrous roar echoed through the breach, a sound thick with malice and fury. Enara watched in horror as another of Azael's colossal beasts emerged through the ruined gates, its shadowy form towering over their soldiers, eyes burning white-hot with hunger.

At its side walked Azael herself, the Dark Sovereign stepping calmly over fallen bodies, her crimson skin glowing like molten rock, her golden eyes reflecting both destruction and triumph. She moved with unhurried grace, entirely unbothered by the chaos she had wrought.

Azael's voice carried effortlessly across the battlefield, smooth as silk yet dripping venom. "Come now, Enara, must we drag this out any longer? I grow bored of your resistance."

Enara felt cold rage rising from deep within her, eclipsing the hurt, the betrayal, even the fear. It crystallized into something sharp and deadly, something clear and resolute.

"You're right," Enara said quietly, voice surprisingly calm even to her own ears. "Enough delays. Face me directly if you dare, Dark Sovereign."

Azael smiled slowly, dangerously. "Ah, finally some courage. Or is it simply despair?"

Enara lifted her chin, defiant. "Why don't you come up here and find out?"

Azael's laugh was musical, almost delighted. "Very well. Since you insist on theatrics, I shall indulge you."

With a graceful leap, Azael soared upward effortlessly, landing softly on the battlements opposite Enara. Her golden eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Enara with mock curiosity. "And what now, little princess? Will you plead for your friend's life? Offer me surrender in exchange for mercy?"

Enara shook her head slowly, her eyes blazing fiercely. "No. I'll just kill you."

Azael's eyebrows lifted slightly in amusement. "Ah, such youthful confidence. How charming."

The two faced each other, tension crackling between them like a storm gathering strength. Below, soldiers from both sides paused momentarily, sensing the importance of the confrontation above.

Enara's heart hammered violently, adrenaline coursing through her veins, fueling the power building within her. She felt everything intensely the ache of betrayal, the sting of loss, the burning desire for vengeance.

Across the courtyard, Liria still stood, unmoving, her gaze fixed unerringly on Enara. Even now, she offered no sign, no reassurance, only that dreadful silence.

Enara took a deep, steadying breath, bracing herself for the fight she'd always known would come, one way or another. If this was her destiny to face darkness, betrayal, and all that lay between she would do it head-on.

"Are you ready, princess?" Azael asked, a mocking smile curving her dark lips.

Enara felt shadows wrapping around her, a comforting embrace of darkness, protective and lethal. She stepped forward resolutely, her gaze unwavering.

"I've been ready for a long time," she replied evenly. "Let's finish this."

Azael's smile deepened, slow and poisonous, as if Enara's defiance amused her more than it threatened her. The wind stirred around them, heavy with soot and heat, carrying the scent of scorched stone and iron-rich blood. Behind Azael, the sky seemed to ripple unnaturally, like silk pulled too tight cracking at the seams, bleeding the faint light of another realm into the war-torn dusk.

Enara took a single step forward.

Darkness bloomed at her heels, curling up her boots, rising like smoke. It clung to her body like a second skin soft where it wrapped around her throat, sharp where it licked her fingertips. Her eyes glowed now, twin orbs of midnight fire, her voice low and steady despite the crackle of power in her chest.

"You want a sovereign," she said, "then face one."

The declaration hit like a drumbeat across the ruined castle wall, silencing even the monstrous growls below. Azael's golden eyes narrowed slightly, her amusement waning, her posture sharpening like a predator catching the scent of unexpected danger.

The moment stretched sharp, breathless until Azael lifted her hand slowly and snapped her fingers.

She didn't attack.

But every creature still standing did.

And the battle began again, louder, bloodier, and far from over.