Inwardly, Wrath had been cursing every last inch of this world they found themselves in that it would leave him without his ability to transvenio with his wife to freedom when they need it most. His own arm had wrapped around her as he attempted to summon the ability even beyond its capacity even with the ichor dripping down his back before they could be eaten from below. Wrath is confident in his ability to heal from any injury still, but he does not believe Emilia yet can, and it is this worry that fuels him along with his rage.

Then in an instant, they are carried away - he knows immediately it is not his ability but hers. It has been so long since the last time he ever saw her use it, and she never took him with her before - their time together had been so brief. But one moment they are surrounded, the next they have been placed in the room that they claimed in this city, having warded against nearly everyone else (beyond a select chosen few).

His back is flat on the ground. His wife is on top of him still, and he smiles slightly from underneath her, worried though he still is:

"You do love me," he says - the joking meant to reassure her even as his own hands slide gently over her body seeking her wounds as he sits up with one arm around her waist still. The tone shifts immediately though, breathless and bloody though they are, he needs to be certain her injuries are not grave: "How hurt are you?"