The smell of blood, having long since become an unbearable stench, was sickening. Vision dimmed and hearing damaged, limbs feeling like lead on the bottom and fire on the top, smelling was the one sense remaining, enforced by the sensory deprivation, much to his dismay. The taste of blood covering his teeth, mouth and airways had grown into a torture all in itself. Nothing was fine, everything was dark, and yet his hands kept clawing into the ground, his fingerprints dampening the otherwise pristine floor of the damned place's secret passageways in red.

He had to reach her before it'd be too late.

Too late for who? For him, or for her? He was already done for; he was sure of it. There was nobody there for him at the moment, everyone having left to fulfil other duties. Whoever was left wasn't seeing him on purpose: he had made it so only her would see him, infiltrating the enemy's headquarters where she had surely escaped her cell but hadn't managed to find the way out. He was there to tell her that, to tell her to be careful as not to end like him.

He was too exhausted to exactly remember how injured he was and how he had gotten himself in so many predicaments in so little time. Mostly went through hostile, overly violent, sharply-trained guards he had somehow managed to defeat by wasting most of his mana on them. His right leg was broken. His left one had been stabbed with a shard of crystal. His arms almost got impaled, only getting scrapped by glass shards littered on the ground after someone had jumped inside and shattered the window to trap him (he presumed the infamous Caesar, but he just had no way to be sure). He had several broken ribs from escaping chest-crushing "hugs" from another hunter.

One could say that had to be the worst day of his life, would he allow himself to get cynical.

After a while, the pain had just become white noise playing in the background of his mind. "Oi, that hurts" didn't mean anything anymore. All that mattered was the mission at hand, the one he had assigned to himself because nobody else listened to him and advised him to stay put. He had to warn her, as soon as possible, while being quiet. His heavy, laboured breathing was no help there for sure, but he'd pull it off. He'd succeed because he couldn't fail. He couldn't endanger her even further.

Despite his determination, which had just perhaps turned into obsession, he felt weaker and weaker. Having used most of his powers to save himself and bleeding out with barely any hope to stop his blood from pouring out of his numerous wounds didn't help in making him feel any better than having the impression to be on death's doorstep.

All the corridors he explored had been the same, the ever-boring same. Dyeing the grey ground in red, he'd continue until he couldn't push himself any further, despite the tears blurring his sight even further. Broken. He was broken, utterly and undeniably broken, shattered beyond repair; but he was no healer. He had no curative spell to use on himself, unlike Sapphire and Spinel, no way to fix his injuries and no way to make the blood stop pouring from his body. Most people would have deemed it too late for them and would have started writing their will with their own blood, but he wasn't going to let himself stoop down to that level.

Maybe it was too late for him, but it sure wasn't too late for her.

How did the dying motivate himself to move forward despite the darkness of the situation and his dim future? By picturing her, his secret beloved, the one he had travelled with for what felt like an eternity, with whom he had wandered around to find their loved ones, the ones who mattered the most to them, tagging along and uniting their force to, at their scale, make the world a better place and saving the innocent from a madman's degenerate ideas.

Did Tsumugi deserve to be dragged into this? No. Did she consent to it? Yes. Did he enjoy her company? Absolutely. Would he die for her? Most likely. Would he regret leaving her forever? Obviously. Did he regret having to leave her now, at the first climax of their quest for justice and betterment? Yes.

Was he ready to die? Officially, yes.

Frankly, no.

Tired beyond human comprehension, he put a hand forward, then the other, then lifted his own weigh on shaking, fragile arms. Rinse and repeat until loss of consciousness, temporary or definitive. Senses swimming, even touching the floor tiles didn't make sense anymore: it was like touching cotton, or air, or watery, slippery stones, depending on where it landed and how conscious he was at the given moment. It didn't make sense anymore, but he had a message to give her.

He'd deliver that message even if it meant the death of him.

Eventually, his blurry vision stumbled upon an unfamiliar room. The stench of his future corpse damp with its own liquid came to a halt, the sickening beating of his heart becoming background noise for the first time in what felt like hours. A sigh of relief escaped his dried lips, reminding him that he was, in fact, not dead yet and could still have an impact on reality.

There was a new magical aura around him, familiar and comfortable, soothing. He, however, couldn't let himself relax and let himself down yet: he needed to move forward, until the end. He was this close to his goal, this close to succeeding, that he simply couldn't stop and perish there. He was going to save her through his knowledge. He was… going to. He just had to.

He felt like he was unable to move anymore, though…

He put a hand forward, then the other, then… nothing.

His body had reached his last limits. His last resort wasn't enough. His all hadn't been enough to reach her in time. He was going to bleed out to death here and there, alone, trapped within his own thoughts as to forget the unbearable pain he had been put through by these people and himself. Coughing up more blood to prove the point to himself and what was left of the world, tears mixing with the blinding red in a pathetic attempt to dilute it, his head fell in a puddle of his own.

This was the bitter end, wasn't it? This was… all it was going to end for him, and perhaps for her. What a disappointing ending that was…

"…i!"

A distant voice coming to his ears made him regain enough strength to look up, even if just slightly, and see a blurry pink-and-white figure come into the frame. A second blur, dark blue and golden, was right besides her.

"Tsu…" His voice was a hoarse whisper, nothing more than that, maybe less.

"Iori," his name rang to his own hearing, "is that you?!"

A smile creeped on his lips. It was her. It was Tsumugi's voice, her aura, her sweet scent and everything he had ever loved about her. In a last, desperate move, he tended his hand at her…

"My goodness, what happened to you…?!"

The second blur spoke up, a familiar but troubled masculine voice coming out from it. He was an ally. He could help Tsumugi escape safely. Everything… was fine… if Moonstone was with her, it'd be all fine. He could entrust him… He could trust her… It'd be all fine, really…

So was he not willing to die yet?

Was it because he had a sense of not having finished his duties yet? Of not having found his brother, or his other friends, or Tamaki's sister?

Was it because he'd, that way, have never reunited with anyone from their group? Because he'd have never had had the occasion to say "farewell" to Yamato, Nagi, Sogo, Tamaki and Riku?

Was it because he'd have failed Tsumugi with their mission, leaving her alone to endure their burden? Probably, maybe, he wasn't sure of much anymore… Fuzzy thoughts, buzzing memories…

The pain only rose in his mind when he felt someone putting him on their lap; even with a broken sight, he was still able to tell Tsumugi had done so, her pink eyes trying to look into his foggy and presumably glassy ones. A hand on his ribs almost hurt him even further, but he felt too numb to really cry out about it. All he needed to was to… inform her… and tell her farewell… and sorry… and to keep his feelings to himself.

She wouldn't cry under his watch, he wouldn't leave her with a hole in her chest.

"Shh… Don't force yourself, Iori, you've done more than enough… It'll be alright, let… Let Fran heal you, and… I promise you you'll be fine, Iori."

Tsumugi's voice was trembling, tears of her own falling onto his face, maybe in an attempt to finally wash away all the blood now dropping over his eyes. She sounded very much unsure, but simply hearing her was far more than enough, for now.

"There… There…"

"Be quiet, please… Don't strain yourself even further… You'll be fine…"

She looked away, probably in the third party's direction.

"Please, can… Can you heal him, sir…? I know your magic hurts, but… Please save him! He's all I have left; I can't lose him! I'd do anything for you!"

A short moment of heavy silence where Iori found nothing better but cough up more blood. He was getting tired of seeing it exit his body, but it'd soon be the end, the last beat of his heart, so was there any use to complaining about repetition when the loop was going to end itself?

"I'll do my best, Tsumugi," the uncertain voice of the good old Mr Bannaire finally arrived to his hears. "I can't promise anything, sadly, but… I can do something about it, at least I think so."

Two hands arrived on his chest, less delicate than Tsumugi's fingers enlaced next to his cheeks, yet soft and soothing. Before he knew it, the blood had stopped flowing from his numerous wounds, feeling some of them close despite the broken bones in his leg and ribcage still paining him. Less than some background noise, suffering started making sense again, his vision finally stopping to swim constantly. It felt… nice, with the lack of a better word for it. Only raw words came to his mind.

"It… should be enough for now, but… You'd better ask someone else to finish the job, I've only done what I could with what I have…"

The strain in his saviour's voice was palpable and, had he not been in such a dire and drastic situation, he'd have felt immensely sorry for putting him through as much pain as healing so many wounds could have caused him.

"It's alright… Thank you so much, sir…"

Her eyes went back to his, even as he felt himself slip away from consciousness.

"Stay awake for a little while longer, Iori, okay? Backup is on the way. You'll be all fine by the time you'll wake up, but… I'd rather know you're still with me. I… need you by my side…"

She kissed his forehead, despite the sweat and the blood, not hesitating to taint her own face with his dirt.

"Promise me you'll stay by my side, please…"

Verbally unable to reply, he simply attempted a smile of reassurance, even if fighting against the urge to fall asleep and rest was becoming more and more of a desperate battle.

Footsteps and familiar voices flooding into the room, more benevolent auras and sprinkles of healing magic from welcome allies convinced him that he could finally let himself go and give himself the energy he was striving for merely minutes before. A "he'll be fine, Tsumugi" and a "he should recover once he's safe, he'll be back on his feet in a few days, don't worry" were all that he needed, fingers chained with hers as she helped them carry him out.

In the daze of exhaustion, blood loss and blissful magic, Iori could say that, in a way, he had succeeded at his mission: survive until he found her and she found him, saving him in the process.