It was here.
He could sense it.
After all, it was as much a part of him as he was it.
And it was here.
Inside this shoddy, grease stinking garage.
His breathing was heavy, labored, his cloaked form barely able to stagger closer towards his lost prize.
The fading light of the setting sun cast his shadow through the already darkened garage. Inside, his hidden eyes could faintly see someone, their back to him as they hunched over an open vehicle's engine. As his shadow touched them, blocking out the ever-fading light, they stopped, sensing his presence, and turned their face in his direction.
"You, uh, you need something?"
Their voice, young and ever-so slightly hesitant, confirmed they were male.
And he was right.
He needed what was his.
And this boy…
This boy has it.
The boy stepped away from the engine, moving towards a toolkit, speaking still.
"What is it, you hungry?"
Hunger was an inadequate word.
Want, or rather, need, was the only true word.
Leaning down towards the tool kit, the youth rambled on.
"Well , you're in luck pal, 'cause food's ready and Kyrie always makes too much."
The fool showed his youthful inexperience by turning his back to him, making what was to come so much easier. The relief he felt was almost sickening, but he had to be quick. His steps were heavy, and he had to force himself to remain steady, his heavy breath still labored as he approached the chattering boy, unawares of his approach.
"Hope you like loud talkers, 'cause we got a pair of those upstairs."
He was almost upon, him, one more step-
-The boy rose, turning quickly, finding they were now only mere inches apart.
And he could see the youth's face.
It was like looking in a mirror.
The boy's face furrowed in distrust and discomfort from their proximity.
"You see something you like?" He asked, his friendly tone gone.
He could not see it, what he sought, but it was here, the boy had it, so where-
The boy flinched, sudden blue light emanating…
From his right arm, a twisted, scaled limb, fingers tipped with sharp claws.
Now, all was clear.
He understands why it was with this youth.
In a sense…
It was his as well.
"What the hell?" The boy whispered, more to himself then his impromptu company.
Looking back at him, staring into the shadows of his veiled face, it was easier for him to see.
They shared the same strong, noble features of their bloodline, and while the boy could not see his eyes, he already knew.
They were the same icy orbs that could chill man…
Or devil.
"You a demon?" He asked sharply.
He did not respond, would not. Every ounce of his remaining strength had to be saved, for now the boy was on guard, but his prize was only inches away. He needed but a moment, just one.
And fate gave it to him. A new voice, that of a young woman's, suddenly called out.
"Nero, the food's getting cold. What's goi-"
The boy rounded around, quickly, shouting back, "Kyrie! Get back inside, now!"
His back was once more to him.
The prize he sought only an arm's length away.
His breath hitched-
As his own hand snatched out, grabbing the twisted demonic limb by the wrist.
The boy only had a moment to realize his mistake, his head snapping back around to look at him, eyes wide with shock as his other hand grabbed the demonic limb by the forearm-
-And with a single toss, the youth was flung into a rack of various mechanical parts and pieces, the youth crumbling down in a clatter of metal and spilling oil.
The boy rolled onto his side, gasping and shuddering from the sudden momentum and great pain racking his body.
He staggered, barely able to stand, his strength all but gone…
But it was his once more.
Standing tall and forcing his failing form upright, he peered over his shoulder, looking down on the boy.
"I'm taking this back."
His voice, once strong and sure, was barely a hacking rasp.
The boy looked at him with outraged eyes…
But their fire died when he saw what he held.
And they turned towards his right arm…
Where once a twisted, scaled demonic limb hung…
Now only a bloody stump remained.
He held the boy's arm in his own, the clawed hand limp.
The boy screamed in agony, blood gushing from the wound.
The limb in his hand flashed a brilliant blue…
And where it once was held in his hand, was now a long, sheathed eastern blade, a katana.
Yamato.
It was his again.
Agony wracked his body, and he could not stop the sudden fit of coughing that erupted past his lips.
He could barely breathe, his once great strength all but gone, used up to reclaim his legacy, but he held it once more, and now he could do what must be done.
"I'm running out of time…" He rasped, and knew it was true. He didn't know if he would survive after this, but he would try.
He had to.
Drawing Yamato from its sheathe, he forced himself to stand upright, and he swung the blade twice in crossing slashes.
Before him, the world cut away, a swirling mass of darkness opening before him.
Behind him, the boy feebly pulled himself through a puddle of blood.
"Wait…" He called, his own voice filled with agony and great loss.
He would not hesitate, even for him, and he forced himself on stumbling feet through the gateway.
"WAIT!" The boy screamed, but the portal closed behind him.
He held in his hand Yamato, the legacy left behind by his father.
And with it, he would finally succeed him.
Even if it meant damning his own son in the process.
Gasping, rasping, he staggered on.
"I need…more power."