This was war.
No matter how many times Yuma begged them not to go, his friends still stood their ground as soldiers and fought until the end. They died with smiles still on their lips and fell honorably, but their reassurances didn't stop the cracks from spreading across his heart. How many had fallen, and how many were beyond him now?
Shark, never Nasch, always Shark, stood against him on the precipice between worlds. Even as they clashed (they had to, there was no other way, they had to), Yuma drew his cards out of obligation to the fragile worlds behind him.
He missed his friend.
He missed their silent understanding.
He missed the hours when they could exist together.
(Shark, do you understand my story too, or are you going to keep shouting curses?)
All their Numbers assembled, down came a great monstrosity; fully armored in blazing red, shield ready to protect their dreams, blade in hand to destroy anything that dared oppose it. Seven Numbers, seven souls, six comrades for better or for worse, hovered in front of the monster like shining eyes. They stood perfectly in line, just like how Yuma remembered seeing them all together for the first time, back when this terrible war had first began what felt like so long ago.
The monster attacked and attacked, but not once did it dare to protect itself any more than necessary.
Yuma saw, and understood.
Even if they had evaporated into red dust, the Emperors' souls were still in their cards. Precious souls that Shark would protect, even if he bled out and could no longer reach for another card.
It wasn't the force of their unified emotions against a singular point of evil anymore; the lines grayed and faded. Yuma wished he had his friends' cards hugging his side in his Extra Deck, but they were surely in Shark's hands by now. Everyone's hopes were with him, but they were just encouraging memories lingering in the back of his mind.
How he wished he could fight with his friends on the field like Shark was, he wished he wasn't fighting Shark— (how did it come to this-)
Astral spoke to him, glowing faintly by his side, and he heard Kotori shout his name from the edge of the arena. They were still here by his side, where he could see them, still solid and breathing.
His heart was chipping into pieces, but Yuma stood his ground.
He wasn't going to lose this war so easily, either.
(Come on, Shark. Why should only one of us have a happy ending?)
