"No!"

Hakuryuu thinks Alibaba screamed, but he's not sure. All he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, a figure in black robes blurring in his vision. One of Al Sarmen's pawns. He had to kill him, to keep fighting, but he can't move. And he's confused, why won't his body listen to him? The distant clang of his spear hitting the ground rings through his ears, and he wonders why. He meant to lift it up, to slash it through the body in front of him, but his fingers couldn't hold onto its weight. And he's falling, or he thinks he is.

The pain doesn't register until his hits the ground.

This time, he thinks he screams; a broken, wretched sound. His hands fly to his side, clutching to a wound almost deep enough to reach his spine. Its pouring blood, he can feel it flowing out of his body. That's bad, really bad; he's going to die.

No, no no, he can't die, not yet.

His Djinn Equip dissolves as he draws back his magoi, focusing what little's left of it to the cells around the wound, grow back already. But it's not enough; his magoi has almost run dry from the fight.

It's only when a black blade slices into his vision, heading straight for his heart, when he realizes he can't do it, he doesn't have enough power to save himself.

So he closes his eyes, already exhausted from forcing his magoi beyond its limits, and waits for the pain of his torn flesh to end.

It never comes.

Instead, he feels heat. Cracking open an eye, he sees fire. Bright, blazing flames. Fire unlike the one which burnt his flesh and took his family, but it was warm, almost gentle.

Alibaba.

Alibaba is standing before him, already finishing off the robed Al Sarmen who almost took his life. Fire blazed as Alibaba stood in his full Djinn Equip, something he doesn't see often considering how powerful and unstable it is. And Alibaba's leaning over him, tears in his eyes. He thinks he's calling his name.

'Don't cry, Alibaba,' he tries to say, but he can't speak, all that comes out of his throat is a choked gasp.

He can feel his eyelids growing heavy, his hands falling limply from his side as everything becomes fuzzier. Black dots poke at the edges of his vision, and the pain in his side recedes. He doesn't want to die—there's still so much he has to do!

But it's so soft, and white; it feels happy, it feels comforting. He hasn't felt so at peace for a long, long time.

And he tries to say one last thing as his eyes close.

I love you, Alibaba