The Silent Script - Bungo Stray Dogs

Salvador

The Holy Night

One Year Ago

The red sky was stained with smoke and fire.

Atsushi blinked against the harsh light, his breaths heavy, his body already exhausted and bruised as he pushed himself up from the rubble-strewn ground. The airport around him was a wreck — glass shattered, walls ripped open, debris and twisted metal everywhere. Somewhere behind him, the flames of an abandoned aircraft roared, licking the sky. And through it all stood Amenogozen.

The figure loomed, an unmoving shadow against the chaos. Its expression was cold and unwavering. Atsushi’s fists clenched as he caught sight of Akutagawa moving in to attack, his coat billowing as he struck with Rashomon’s deadly black blades blessed with Bram’s final wish. But the strikes didn’t even make Amenogozen flinch.

Atsushi’s pulse raced, each beat like thunder in his ears. How long had they been fighting? Hours? He’d lost track, lost his sense of time, lost hope. They had thrown everything they had at Amenogozen, and it had hardly been enough to make a dent.

"Atsushi!" Akutagawa’s sharp voice cut through the air, and Atsushi’s eyes snapped back to him just as Akutagawa leapt forward, launching another attack. He moved with precision, each strike harbouring a strength foreign to Atsushi. All he could see was Amenogozen dodging effortlessly, sidestepping as if this fight was nothing but a chore.

“Akutagawa…,” Atsushi’s voice was almost a whisper, thick with dread. His fists tightened, and he forced himself forward, but something inside him had gone numb. Every time they gained ground, Amenogozen pushed them back. Every time they hoped, they lost it again.

The impossibility of the task they faced loomed over him, and Atsushi’s vision clouded over. They couldn't do this. They couldn't win. It was hopeless.

The sound of dark fabric colliding with the holy sword clanged in his ears. Atsushi saw nothing. 

Then, in a blur of movement, Amenogozen’s arm shot out, a gleam of blade flashing in the shattered light. Atsushi barely saw it in time.

“Aku—!”

The blade struck, tearing through Akutagawa’s side. He staggered, his gasp sharp in the stillness, and Atsushi’s heart plummeted as he watched Akutagawa sink to his knees, blood spilling across the ravaged ground.

“No.” His voice shook as he took a step forward, his mind blank and his body frozen. He couldn't lose another.

And then, Fyodor’s voice whispered in his memory, soft and cold.

“You, and you alone, could have protected your allies.”

The words twisted, dark and heavy, until they drowned everything else. Atsushi’s hands trembled. He wanted to shout back, to deny it. “It’s not true,” he whispered, the words tearing from his throat. “I’m not… I can’t...”

But even as he tried to push the memory away, he could still hear it. Atsushi clamped his hands over his bleeding ears and let out a pained moan.

“Their blood is on your hands.”

He was drowning. The airport, the blood, Fyodor’s voice—none of it felt real. And yet all of it was too real, pressing in on him from every side and strangling him. His eyes burned. His breaths came in broken gasps and that was why he barely noticed Akutagawa’s voice as he called his name.

A warning. A cry for help he heard too late.

Time slowed as Atsushi saw Akutagawa rise shakily, face pale but defiant as he lunged one last time. Akutagawa threw himself directly at Amenogozen, trusting that Atsushi had heard, that he would respond.