After beating him so severely his eyes had swollen shut and several teeth had flown the coop, after shoving sharp pins under his nails, electrocuting him and carving the mark of infinity—their mark—into his back, they'd removed his hands. He'd seriously thought he'd reached the end. Until a very much alive Sabin had found him, rescued him and carried him home (after doing some of that aforementioned bitch-slapping).

Thankfully, both of his hands had finally regenerated. Something he'd been waiting for. Very...patiently. So he could seek revenge, yes. Or rather, that had been the case at first. But then his friends had jailed this woman, this Scarlet, and she had claimed they were husband and wife.

His priorities had kinda switched at that point.

He didn't remember her, much less wedding her. But he had seen flashes of her face all these thousands of years. Mostly every time he collapsed atop a woman, sweaty but not truly replete because he was too filled with longing for something, or someone, he hadn't been able to name. Therefore, he couldn't outright deny her claim. And he needed to deny her. To prove her wrong.

Otherwise, he would have to live with the knowledge that he'd abandoned a woman he'd promised to protect. He'd have to live with the knowledge that he'd slept with other women while his wife suffered.

He'd have to live with the knowledge that someone had fucked with his memory.

Yeah, he'd demanded an explanation from Scarlet, but she was stubborn to her core and had refused to tell him anything more. Like how they'd met, when they'd met, if they'd been in love, happy. How they'd split.

To be honest, he couldn't blame her for keeping the details a secret. How could he? She had been as much a prisoner to the Lords as he'd recently been to the Hunters, and he hadn't talked to his captors, either. Even during that oh, so pleasant hand extraction.