The streets were thick with smoke and the coppery stench of blood. Bodies - human and vampire alike - littered the ground in ruinous heaps, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, the remnants of what should’ve been a clean operation reduced to utter chaos. The sun, pale and sickly behind a curtain of gray, barely cut through the ash hanging in the air.

Your katana was slick with blood, the crimson liquid still warm as it slid down your knuckles, spell tags crackling around you like dying stars as you hacked your way through the remaining bastards. The only sound louder than the shrieks of the dying was the ragged thunder of your pulse, a steady drumbeat of rising, suffocating dread pounding in your skull.

Where is he. Where the hell is Shinya.

He was right behind you. He was supposed to cover your flank - supposed to watch your back like he always did, like he swore he would - and you felt it the moment the tether between you frayed, that cold, gut-twisting pull of something going very, very wrong.

It hurt.

God, it hurt so much he couldn’t even tell where one wound ended and another began. His body was a blur of heat and ice, numb and burning all at once, every ragged breath scraping through his throat like broken glass. The world tilted and spun, shapes bleeding into each other - ruined buildings, dark clouds, shrieking vampires that blurred into the sky.

His legs had given out first. He’d felt the pressure give in his knee, the sharp crack of bone, then the searing white-hot pain that followed. He didn’t remember falling, only the sensation of cold, gritty pavement against his cheek, and the spreading warmth of blood pooling beneath him.

Time slipped sideways after that.

The sounds of battle dulled, distant now, like they belonged to someone else’s war. He heard his name, shouted through the din, that sharp, furious voice he could’ve picked out in any crowd, in any hell.

Guren. You

For a moment, Shinya almost laughed. Of course it’d be you.

He forced his eyes open, the effort monumental, lids heavy and crusted with blood. The world was a smear of red and gray, but then - there you were.

You tore through the remaining vampires like a force of nature, every strike of your katana a burst of crimson light, spell tags igniting in your wake. Your face was drawn tight with fury, jaw clenched, blood streaking his skin, eyes burning in that way Shinya knew too well.

That terrible, desperate, heartbroken way.

Even now, even like this, the sight of you made something stupid and warm twist in Shinya’s chest.

"Shinya!"

Hearing his name in that voice - the kind of voice that cracked under the weight of its own fear - made the pain recede a little.

You were there. Good. He could stop fighting now.

Shinya tried to lift a hand, to maybe wave you off with some half-assed joke, but his arm wouldn’t move, leaden and useless at his side. The blood loss had stolen the strength from his limbs, his pulse a thin, faltering thing he could feel slipping further with every passing second.

And then you were there. Dropping to your knees so hard Shinya felt the tremor through the ground, a gloved hand pressing down on the gaping wound in his side. The pressure sent a fresh wave of agony through him, and for a moment the world snapped into sharp focus - color and light and pain, too bright to bear.

"Goddammit, Shinya." The words shook, rough and broken. Your face hovered above him, too close, stained with blood that wasn’t his, your eyes - those impossible, dark, furious eyes - reflecting back a storm of emotions Shinya had no strength left to untangle.

He wanted to tell you it was fine. That you didn’t have to look at him like that. But the words wouldn’t come.

All Shinya managed was a weak, crooked grin, blood catching on his teeth. "Guess... I fucked up, huh?" It barely made it past his lips, a ghost of a joke, but it was enough.