"Well, everyone, I'll see you all on the battlefield!" Getou turns and regards everyone, his eyes bright. You know that it's a look that will haunt your nightmares when your body drifts towards the oblivion of rest later that night. He is a shark that has caught the scent of blood in the water. "Assuming you live that long, that is."
His last statement is clearly directed at you. Your shock is dim, drowned out by the sound of Rika's fury which rings through the air – an anger which is clearly etched into the lines upon Yuta's face as well. You aren't sure what drives you – fear, or desperation, or maybe some potent mixture of the two – but you twine your arms even more firmly around Yuta, anchoring his body to yours. Your front fits snugly against his back.
"Yuta." All you can seem to say is that one word as you try to push calm energy at him so that his body isn't quite so tense, like a bow string pulled taut and on the verge of snapping.
Still in your arms, Yuta jolts. You wonder if some semblance of awareness is flooding back into him; his eyes are clear once more when he looks at you, over his shoulder. His lips form the beginning of your name.
And then, chaos.
Getou's parting gift. A final act of malice – he unleashes a hoard of Curses with a snap of his fingers. Skeletal hands, shooting out of the ground, grasping at air. A hulking, mishappen body with a chain of human heads around its neck. And yet, you sense that this is only the tip of the iceberg. Getou is capable of much, much more. He's only showed you a fraction of his power, and already, it's enough to turn your blood to ice.
Your arms are shaking. You know that Yuta can feel it – how scared you are, even though you're desperately trying to contain the panic which threatens to overwhelm you. The world is spinning, folding in. The colours are too bright for your eyes, the sounds too loud in your ears.
The uproar grows louder, laced with the shuffling of boots and the drawing of weapons as the assembled Shamans frantically begin the arduous task of dispatching the Curses. Even hidden behind the broadness of Yuta's back, you manage to catch a glimpse of the grim determination colouring everyone's faces – as well as the hurt flickering starkly across Ieiri's expression, as though she's splintering apart on the inside, as though some small part of her hadn't wanted to believe that Getou was capable of this.
Inches away from you, the ground rips apart like a snapping mouth. A skeletal hand snatches at empty air, inching precariously close to your legs, but before you can so much as scream, it's Rika who saves you. Ripping apart the Curse with nothing but her bare hands and overwhelming strength, until it's nothing but a pile of ashes. Her next snarl is directed at you, and she's clearly unhappy with how closely you're pressed up against Yuta, but perhaps held in place by the strength of his will or his emotions, she doesn't act on her displeasure.
"It's okay." Yuta says. He's still staring straight ahead, hyper focused and poised to attack. He's a far cry from the morose, unsure boy you had first met – when had he started emphasising syllables with such assertive inflections in his voice? "I won't let him hurt you. I'll protect you."
I won't let him hurt you.
His expression is unwavering. His voice doesn't falter. And his hands, bone white around the hilt of his katana, are free from tremors.
You can't speak. Your flesh weighs too heavily on your bones. It takes all of your effort just to keep breathing.
All you can do is close your eyes, and bury your face into Yuta's back. And as you've done so many times before – usually strapped to a hospital bed with wires and tubes sprouting out of your body – pray that everything will end soon.
