His mutation was a mockery of his blood, sweat and tears.

In her eyes, the tormented scientist who was responsible for this affront had been thoughtlessly cruel. What twisted mind forcefully pushed someone into always yielding to their darkest impulses?

Hers, of course, but she had rarely met someone as insensible.

Hiedra tripped and she was dead, slaughtered before she could fathom it.

His claws could eviscerate her. He could impale her. He could dismember her. His fangs could tear out her throat, her vocal cords, her lungs.

No matter how many times she bled, no matter how many times he stabbed her.

The only certitude above her immortality was that her resilience was unmatched.

His wild, exciting fury and the man he used to be would always lure her back to him.

No physical injury, not even continuous death, could surpass the pain that wreaked havoc on her mind when she thought about giving up on him.

Her own blood, sweat and tears would exceed those he had shed to become the Undercity's protector, if that is what it took for her to succeed.

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