Emilia rolls onto the ground and before the strike can come, he covers her like a shield. A more generous person might be moved by the gesture, by the urge to protect, but something hot simmers in her blood as she realises he has taken the hit in her stead. The damned demon is hurt and it serves him right.

... She realises, too, if he has not teleported them away, he is not able to.

Fuck indeed.

Her lip peels back into a snarl, too heated to deliberate on her next move. It's all instinct, all fire, as she attempts to roll herself back on top of Wrath and place her hands onto the creature's shell. Until it ignites.