"Maybe I should've thought this through," he gasped, "before diving headfirst into an island full of top-tier warriors."
He lay there, back against the wall, head pressed against a dumpster that smelled like regret and rotten meat.
The metal was cold against his forehead.
Almost soothing compared to the fire burning through his veins.
He pressed Ari's weak body against his chest, feeling her tiny form barely moving, her scales cold against his skin. Slowly, carefully, he fed her his blood, letting droplets fall onto her mouth, watching her tongue flick out weakly to taste it.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice cracking. His throat felt raw, torn. "I put you both into this situation. Both of you."
His other hand pressed against his chest, where the Black Knight's presence flickered like a dying flame.
His mind flickered back to moments ago. To his brilliant plan. Not only had he almost died, but his stupidity, his recklessness, his arrogance—thinking he could take on the whole clan alone—had almost gotten his child and loyal knight killed.
⸻
The fight with the two lieutenants hadn't just messed him up. It had deep-fried his entire nervous system. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed, like someone had peeled back his skin and poured salt on the muscle.
He was about to move forward, toward the upper district where his dear old dad was probably sipping tea or whatever terrible fathers did, when—
Some guy dressed like… well, like nothing Shiro had ever seen before.
Actually, that wasn't quite true. He'd seen outfits like this. Once or twice.
But they were rare. Uncommon.
Jeans. A leather jacket. Unzipped, because apparently looking cool was more important than, you know, not dying.
The man was young. Tall. Lean. Red hair that caught the moonlight, styled just enough to look effortless. The kind of face that probably got him free drinks and bad decisions in equal measure.
And then Shiro saw the armband.
Captain. Eighth Division.
His stomach dropped. 'Oh. No.'
The captain clapped slowly, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he walked forward like he was strolling into a party instead of a fight.
"Well done, well done," he said, voice smooth, almost amused. "You've caused quite the scene tonight. I almost admire it."
He tilted his head, eyes roaming over Shiro like he was sizing up a piece of art instead of a wounded opponent.
"Though I have to admit," he added with a light chuckle, brushing a bit of dust off his jacket, "interrupting a man in the middle of a date is just cruel."
He sighed dramatically, like the whole situation was more inconvenient than dangerous.
"She was beautiful too. Soft voice. Nice eyes. Probably would've agreed to a second date." He shook his head. "Now look at me, chasing a bleeding kid through the lower district."
The man's smile widened, sharp and playful at the edges.
"You owe me a new evening," he said lightly. "And maybe a new jacket."
The smug expression softened into something colder, but the playful tone never fully left his voice.
"So tell me," he said, leaning in just a little, "any last words? Try to make them interesting. I've had a very disappointing night."
Much as he liked to call him a few names, he had nothing left. Like, actually nothing. His mana reserves felt like a dried-up well, cracked earth at the bottom. He wasn't even sure he could take on a regular foot soldier at this point, let alone a captain.
And sneaking up on this guy like he'd done with the swordsman? Yeah, not happening. Not with his body doing the electric slide without his permission. Not with his nerves firing random signals like a broken alarm system.
At this point, Shiro was pretty sure a particularly aggressive toddler could take him out. Maybe even a really motivated baby. One with good arm strength.
His eyes wandered over the wreckage. Dozens of foot soldiers appeared and scattered instantly, surrounding him in a loose circle. Their weapons were raised, steel catching the dim light like predators' eyes in the dark.
Shiro's vision blurred at the edges, colors bleeding together like wet paint running down canvas. Everything moved in slow motion, or maybe he was just that slow now. His body felt distant, disconnected, like he was watching himself from outside.
Not out of fear. His body was doing everything opposite. Left meant right. Forward meant back. His nerves were scrambled, signals crossing, misfiring like a broken machine.
"Give me something, brat," the captain said, the smile still on his face, but his eyes had gone cold. "I gave up a very important evening for this. You could at least pretend to be worth the trouble."
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone who appreciates good wine and better company?" he muttered. "And now I'm stuck here, in a filthy alley, because of you."
But he couldn't get any word out. The smug bastard raised his hands. Each finger bore a ring—ten in total, gleaming dully.
From thin air, chains materialized and shot toward him so fast he barely registered the movement, just a blur of metal and malice.
'Wait, what—'
His eyes drifted down slowly, his neck moving like it was stuck in molasses.
The chain had torn clean through his shoulder. Blood welled up around the metal links, hot and sticky, soaking into his already-ruined robes.
His eyes went wide.
'Huh.'
For one perfect, stupid second, there was nothing. Just the image of metal through his flesh. Distant.
Then his nerves finally realized it had a job to do, and pain tore through him.
He tried to scream. His voice didn't come. Just a strangled, broken sound that died in his throat.
The captain pulled the chain, and Shiro's body jerked forward like a fish on a hook. He was dragged closer, lifted until they were eye-level, his toes barely scraping the ground.
And the smug look on the bastard's face was the kind that made you want to punch someone, even if you were currently impaled.
"Again. Tell me. Any last words?"
Shiro's lips twitched. A smile—small, broken, barely there. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
"Now."
Ari shot out of his pocket like a tiny, scaly missile.
Her scales caught the light as she flew through the air—small, determined, and absolutely furious.
She latched onto the captain's neck and bit down.
The man's hand snapped up, grabbing the tiny serpent. His eyes burned with rage, actual heat behind them, unnatural, as he ripped her off.
Shiro heard her small hiss of pain.
Desperate, he bit the inside of his cheeks and gathered what blood he could, and spat straight at the captain's face.
The man jerked his head to the side.
The bloody projectile sailed past, missing by inches, spattering against the wall behind him.
His eyes drifted down to his jacket.
Checked for stains.
He looked back up at Shiro, and smiled.
"You almost got blood on my jacket."
The captain's eyes narrowed, still holding Ari in a crushing grip.
She writhed, struggling.
Then she yelped again—a tiny, pained sound that cut through everything else.
Worse than last time.
"Oh, for the love of—" The captain squeezed harder. "Shut up, you little pest."
He sounded genuinely annoyed now.
"First the date gets ruined. Now I'm being attacked by a snake the size of my finger." He looked at Ari like she'd personally offended him. "My night just keeps getting worse."
That sound—that small, helpless yelp—broke something in Shiro.
Everything went red.
Not anger, but his vision.
Actual red bleeding across his eyes like someone had poured blood over the world.
His voice came back all at once, raw, cracking, furious. A sound ripped from somewhere deep and primal.
"LET GO OF HER NOW, BASTARD!"
Enraged, Shiro grabbed the chain piercing his shoulder with his free hand. His muscles screamed in protest. But he pulled.
Pain exploded through him.
He twisted the chain around his arm and pulled harder.
"I WILL KILL YOU, BASTARD!" he roared.
With one final, desperate pull, he yanked the chain free.
Metal ground against bone. Tore through muscle. Burning agony radiated outward from the wound.
And he lunged forward, baring his teeth like an animal, jaw wide, aiming for the throat.
The man tried to move, tried to step back, tried to dodge—
But his body locked up.
And even frozen mid-breath, the captain's face twisted into that smug look again.
The pressure change. The space twisting behind him.
Nine more chains erupted from thin air, shooting toward him from every angle. Blades gleaming. Too many. Too fast. The sound of their passage cut the air like whistling death.
Ari leaped from the captain's now-slack grip and dove into Shiro's shadow, disappearing into the darkness with barely a ripple.
And instantly, a barrier flickered to life around him, double-layered, shimmering like heat waves rising from hot stone.
The chains slammed into the barrier and shoved him backward, the sphere skidding across stone. They kept kicking it around like a soccer ball, and he tumbled inside with each hit.
Although the barrier held, he could feel it weakening, and all the bouncing around wasn't doing him any favors. His head spun, his ribs ached from hitting the barrier's walls.
"You can either die quick or die slowly," the smug bastard muttered as his chains rose up like serpents ready to strike—all ten of them coiling higher and higher, winding up for what was definitely going to be the killing blow.
His barrier flickered.
And just as the hit was about to connect, he was yanked down into his own shadow and expelled violently into an alleyway next to the garbage can he'd been lying beside.
He gritted his teeth, forearm draped over his face, blocking out the sliver of moon above.
His gaze drifted upward toward the sliver of moon between the tall buildings.
A figure appeared on the rooftop's edge above, standing perfectly still. Utterly silent. Staring down at him.
They wore a mask of pure white. Blank. Featureless. No eye holes. No mouth. As if they sought to erase themselves from existence entirely.
His body moved on instinct, or what was left of it. Pure survival reflex overriding exhaustion. He pushed himself up against the wall, every muscle shrieking.
His dagger materialized in his trembling hand, the summoning cost nearly pushing him into unconsciousness. Black spots danced across his vision.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even seem to breathe.
Then their hand moved, slow, deliberate, reaching into their robe.
They pulled something out.
A vial. Small.
The glass caught the moonlight, the liquid inside glowing faintly silver.
Then they threw it.
His hand snapped up, catching it more through desperation than skill, his fingers closing around cool glass.
It was an elixir.
Precious. Rare. Worth more than most people earned in a year. Salvation in a bottle.
He looked up, questions forming on his bloody lips.
But the rooftop was empty.
The figure had vanished as if they'd never existed at all. No sound. No movement. Just… gone.
He stared at the vial in his trembling fingers, blood smearing the glass. Then at the vacant edge where they had stood. Wind whistled through the alley, carrying the distant sounds of search parties.
He uncorked it with shaking hands and drank it.
It was sweet and bitter at once, tasting of honey and metal and something indefinable.
The familiar feeling returned. Heat exploded in his stomach, spreading outward in waves.
His shoulder began to knit.
Shiro slumped back against the wall, gasping, the empty vial slipping from his fingers to shatter on the stone.
His body was done.
His vision blurred.
'Just… need a minute…'
Everything went black.