Sacrifice

That morning, the connection between Neirah and her lover remained strong as she felt his body tense. It wasn't a destructive pressure, or so she noted by the way his body shivered. It was remorseful and apologetic. His teeth slowly retracted from her skin, and his devastated sigh was not nearly as scorching as it felt before. She could feel his apprehension, and that only made her clutch him tighter to her collar. He was scared to look at her, afraid of her judgment, and maybe, in part, her rejection.

When Neirah's arms flew around his neck, Saburōta mildly felt his burden lessen. She wept silently, and he could feel her tears dampening his collar, encouraging his charcoal eyes to match her misery. His legs weakened, and when his shoulders slipped down the splintered wall, Neirah followed until they thumped to the floor. When she didn't retreat, his grip around her constricted as possessively as it wanted to from the beginning. She was there with him, where she belonged, where he could protect her.

"Ts-Tsukiyo, I'm…"

Neirah gently shook her head, resting her palm on the wounds she'd given him long before they stood in the shadows of a desecrated warehouse. The abrasions he'd continued to scratch at after his disappearance still hadn't mended for how badly he'd agitated them. "Why hasn't this healed?" she interrupted kindly. "You're still a vampire, aren't you?"

Saburōta closed his eyes, burying his face against her breast. Visions of the nightmare that evening flashed behind his eyes, making him cringe as he tried to blot out the trauma. "I-I don't know what I am," he whimpered. He was terrified of a lot of things, the things he saw, the things he did and became. His mind was going a million miles a second when he felt a gentle touch interrupt his flustering in a location that he knew Neirah's hands were not. Instinctually, he strengthened his grip around his lover, terror in his eyes as he threw them over his shoulder in preparation to defend what had finally returned to his arms.

Instead, he turned suddenly into the face of his childhood friend, who was cradling his broken arm with a smiling face. "Shōhei…"

Regardless of his discomfort, Shōhei's grin didn't fade in addressing a comrade he was happy to see returned to them. He felt miserable for not listening to Neirah sooner, for not trusting Saburōta as she did. Then, he appreciated that the intimate connection they shared must have transcended their brotherhood, in a sense. "San-chan is San-chan, no?" It didn't matter if he was still a vampire or not. A sense of sobriety slightly dampened his bright expression as Saburōta's resolve crumbled, and the man tucked his face shamefully against his lover to escape the desolation. There was no sense in playing brave after the things he'd done. He was scared, and at that point, just grateful that he'd found forgiveness by the two most influential people in his life.

A wavy smile vivified Neirah's expression as she coddled Saburōta's head to her chest, gently stroking her fingers through his bloodstained hair. Part of her wanted to harp on him like she used to, but she could sense that it wasn't appropriate just then. If he were honest about his need for comfort, she would match his sincerity by giving it. "Shh, it's alright," she doted maternally. "You're okay now."

But soon, guilt caused her happiness to fade. She wasn't interested in approaching the subject so quickly after Saburōta had returned to them, but with Shōhei nearby, she thought it might be appropriate to make peace. "I'm sorry that I bit him there. I didn't mean-" But when Neirah caught the sight of Shōhei raising his right forefinger to his lips to silence her, she understood what he'd done when his touch landed on Saburōta's shoulder. She appreciated it better when Saburōta's confusion met her apology with mistrust. "I'm sorry, I misspoke. Don't worry about it," she whispered lovingly. "I'm just glad you're safe. I was so worried."

Shōhei smiled and gave her a gentle nod, encouraging her to be there the way he'd begged before. It wasn't going to be easy for Saburōta to accept the way he acted in his stupor, but somehow, Shōhei knew that they could heal each other. "I'll give you two some time. Get to shore when you can, okay?"

Shore was a blessed sight that evening when Izumo finally managed to drag his unconscious lover up onto the beach. He was wheezing for air, cursing every cigarette he ever smoked as the adrenaline faded and left him to hack on his next breath. After that, he couldn't stop. He repeatedly coughed between curses as his frozen body quaked in agony.

Despite the frigid temperatures, his muscles felt like they were on fire for covering such a vast distance while supporting Seri's head above water. Since they'd struck the surface, Seri had lost consciousness. When Izumo put his ear to her chest, he didn't know if she was alive or not, and he became frustrated when he listened only to meet with the sounds of the tide combing the damaged waterfront. His mind was sharper than ever, and when he couldn't hear that whisper of hope, he put all of his strength into steadying rhythmic chest compressions.

"Don't do this to me, Seri-chan." His words rushed out breathlessly as he fought his devastation to deliver adequate pressure with shaky hands. He didn't know which Seri would awaken should he manage to save her, but that was the furthest thought from his mind as he tipped her head back and covered her lips with his.

She was frozen, and it took all he had to ignore warming her as he returned to pumping his folded hands between her breasts. He thought he had taken the majority of the blow when they struck the water, and they reached the surface relatively quickly with the guidance of Genji's flame igniting their escape route like an unholy beacon. All he could imagine was that the shock of everything managed to overwhelm her into losing consciousness in a place where she felt safest.

Another breath.

"Moron," he hissed meekly to himself. "That was the best you could come up with?! Drowning us instead of burning to death!?" But he was alive, and he didn't understand why that was the part that angered him the most. He was so sick of living to see everyone around him suffer. First, it was Tatara, then Mikoto, and then it was their younger clanmates as they filed in one by one. Now the determined beauty that had sacrificed her dreams to serve was dying because of him; because she was determined to save him. He hated all of it.

He continued to count compressions, his technique faltering as hope faded to defeat. "Please don't take her away from me," he begged. "Anyone but her."

He was moments away from his next breath when Seri began to sputter before outwardly choking on the water that clotted her lungs. With her awakening, she was able to cough up most of the fluid that had settled in her inoperative airway until there was room for her to take her first unassisted breath.

The entire beach was distorted in the dark as Seri rolled over to help the acrid seawater drain from her mouth through forced gagging. At that point, Izumo stilled. She was alive, and that was where his thoughts stopped. She would either turn and embrace him with open arms or bury his head in the sand and suffocate him. "S-Seri…"

As she continued to cough, Seri turned her weak silver gaze to face where Izumo lingered. Despite the cold, he had never been more grateful to see her frosted irises piercing him with an unspoken skepticism. His silhouette looked shadowed, and somewhere along the way, he'd lost his lavender glasses, but his smooth voice was undoubtedly recognizable and comforting. Her body was weak as she struggled to support it, but she raised as directly as she could to assess the situation like any good soldier would do. "I-Izumo…"

It was in that moment that Izumo felt tears bead on his lower lids as the relief washed over him, but they never got the chance to fall. Before she could say anything more, he reached for her and collapsed her weak frame against his chest to hold her tightly. The wind was icy, and since abandoning the blistering island, Izumo could see that it was trying to snow. He didn't much care for that part, though. All that mattered were the gentle breaths wheezing from deep within Seri's aching lungs.

"Where… where are we?" Seri whimpered in confusion. "I remember flames and a demon uprising." She relaxed her eyes by closing them and just being thankful for the faint warmth they shared. "But here, it's so peaceful."

"It is, isn't it?" he whispered gratefully against her unbound golden hair. He loved it when it spilled wildly around her shoulders, and their midnight swim had washed most of the blood from her roots. "Then let's just stay here for a little while, okay?" Truthfully, Izumo wouldn't mind if they stayed there for the rest of their lives, no matter how long that would entail.

It took some time for Saruhiko to catch his breath as he stood on the top of the second island's main facility. The rooftop seemed mainly secure, and it was high enough that he could see the battle between Genji and Tomaya arise in the distance. There were agonized wails coming from all directions, roars of triumph and defeat. Then, somewhere under the blackened canvas of night, Misaki's thundering shouts split the skies with rage and anguish. Even from too far away, he could still feel them somewhere in his heart, reminding him of his purpose.

The truth was that Saruhiko wasn't entirely sure how things were going to progress once he scribed the mark in the ashes. He didn't precisely expect everything to end up magically remedied, but he knew very well that whatever fate befell everyone else, his was sealed. It was unnerving to imagine what his end would look like when it finally came. Would he disintegrate into colourful slag? Maybe he would just vanish. Then, there was the horrifying thought of unimaginable suffering while his life drained. That, even if he boasted that he would endure it, remained alarming to consider.

He tried to distract himself by scoffing and pulling out his PDA, illuminating the pattern he'd seen at the site of Habari Jin's tomb. He had to recreate the glyph as like as he could just in case the design had warped over time, for one reason or another.

When an enormous eruption of flames illuminated the island at a distance, he flinched, baring teeth as he watched the embers fade. As unconcerned as Saruhiko tried to remain, he was terrified that night. Still, he returned to his task, forcing himself to be angrier that the demon had interrupted him above anything else.

He wished he could go back in time to when he and Misaki were a pair of reckless kids taking the world by storm. Life-or-death matters seemed so far away, like an obstacle they would never have to face. When Misaki got sick, Saruhiko was so resentful that it hardened him to the world. He couldn't see beauty anymore, or trust in tomorrow. He didn't understand how a vibrant young spirit like his optimistic friend could be snuffed out so casually by fate. Misaki was always by his side, reminding him to enjoy life a little along the way. When he turned away from HOMRA in search of a cure, Saruhiko stopped enjoying life altogether.

As nervous tears tickled the backs of Saruhiko's burning eyes, he defied the sentiment, trying to tell himself that they could never have those days back, not together, at least. If he wanted Misaki to see the dawn of a new year, a new day, there was only one way to save him. Everyone else was just a consolation compared to that necessity.

His hands began to shudder as he prepared to draw the last line, and that was when his first nervous tear snuck free of his wincing eyelids. Life was fickle, then it was cruel, but death was nothing. There was no regret, no pain, no happiness, just a quiet end to the suffering and joy that could have been. It was in that quiet moment that he tried harder than he ever had to find hope, an inclination that he was wrong and giving his life wasn't the answer. It seemed ironic that he would give it all for more time, even though doing so would exclude him from the extension.

"Hate me," he murmured hesitantly under his bated breath. He recalled the fury and the way Misaki sounded cursing his name as they quarrelled, the look of mortified desertion on his face when Saruhiko walked away, and he hated himself. "Hate me, so I'm not afraid to die. Hate me so that there's no reason left for me to live…"

Both of Saruhiko's palms gripped the pommel of Tenrō as he took a knee, sealing his eyes tightly to ignore the noise in his head. He could hear Misaki's heart since the day they became vampires, and he could reluctantly perceive it to this day. He understood that he'd brought Misaki unimaginable suffering, but what he couldn't ignore were the traces of optimism that remained scarred on his heart. Despite their strained relationship following his treachery, Misaki still believed that his comrade would find a remedy. Even now, he could feel it at the end of all things. Just wait, Saru's gonna fix this. He told me so himself! He'd say it proudly in that dorky uninformed tone that Saruhiko loved to hate on, a carefree smile on his face as he pumped his fist in celebration. You'll see! There's nothing he can't do.

Tsk… The scoff that rushed from Saruhiko's lips was halfway to a whimper as he shook the memories out of his head and drew the final line in the pattern. Misaki was right. There was nothing he couldn't or wouldn't do to make things right. It was why he'd scoured the streets for the Red Monster, the demon capable of giving them a second chance. He was the one who cursed the only person who ever made him feel blessed, so the only one he felt like he genuinely betrayed was himself.

"I take it back," he whispered dully, waiting for the inevitable darkness to overtake him. "All of it. Everything since the day I tasted your blood." His tone miserably flattened as he jerked Tenrō from the completed mark in the ash. He glared at it sourly, daring it to do its worst. The sword carried traces of the demon's blood through Reisi's battles, and he even drew the mark with the blade. He had never been so miserably sure of his success. "But I don't regret meeting you," he monologued bleakly. "Even if it was just for a while… it was nice having a friend who would stand by my side until the very end."

But Misaki wasn't by his side, and what vexed him further was that nothing seemed to be ending. His sadness almost instantly shifted to shamed ire as he watched another devastating explosion colour the sky in the distance. "No…" he susurrated vehemently. "No! There's no way I-!"

He quickly tore his mobile into view and compared the symbols, his heart knocking against his chest so fiercely that he thought it would burst free of his skin. "That isn't possible! I drew it perfectly!" But as he glared at the unresponsive symbol, he couldn't see any traces of his lifeforce. He worried that maybe the size of the mark was a crucial detail that he had overlooked, but in his current situation, he would have no way to recreate the exact dimensions without trial and error. That was fine, if Saruhiko had to, he would scribe the details onto every dusty wall or surface down to every centimetre until he succeeded, but he was running out of time.

After seconds of consideration, Saruhiko dismissed the need to alter his diagram. On a dying whim, Jin had scribbled the mark before him. There was no way that he could be so precise with fading vision and faltering fingers.

"Take it!" Saruhiko roared. "What are you waiting for!? Take my life and destroy that bastard once and for all!"

From his perch, he jolted his attention from side to side, watching the battles continue to erupt with demonkind like he had accomplished nothing. He didn't understand why it wasn't working. There were traces of the demon at the tip of the Blue King's sword. Were there sealing words that he'd missed at the grave? Was it only possible for a king to seal a demon of Genji's calibre? Saruhiko's eyes flashed with malice as he raised Tenrō high above his head before stabbing it into the centre of his inscription, emitting a defeated wail filled with the livid remorse choking his words.

When the world settled and grew silent proceeding his tantrum, he slowly opened his eyes with a wretchedly cynical smirk. "Here I chastised the captain for his failures, now look at me." He had never felt so helpless in all of his immortal life. He hadn't felt so weak since the day he learned that his only friend in the world was on his deathbed. "I'm sorry, Misaki," he whispered brokenly. "I failed…"

Then, Saruhiko suddenly felt strange. There was a sharp pain in his chest, and he wondered if it wasn't solidarity when recalling that he'd put his colleague through similar torment. But when he opened his eyes, he watched the symbol beneath the piercing blade hum with crimson lifeforce.

Terror welled inside him as he stumbled onto the building's rooftop. Tenrō lingered in the ashy surface, the pulse of life beating from its incision like he'd pierced the mark in its heart, which brought it to life. He looked around nervously, waiting for a sign that he was triumphant, but as the glyph began to fill with colour, searing pain pierced his collar like a bullet, and he found himself taken to the ground by force.

Finally stumbling to shore through the planned evacuation route managed by their unlikely allies, Yō folded over and hit his knees, taking a weakened Masaomi with him. Typically, Masaomi would be able to keep his hungover friend on his feet, but whatever seemed to ail his counterpart managed to cripple him alongside his bewildered cohort.

Yō barked and clutched his hip, his skin burning to the touch beneath his fingers as they clawed at his grievances. Despite the discomfort, he increased the pressure, genuinely afraid that if he let go, his insides would spill onto the street. "I told you I was pregnant!" he roared. "Shit, Dewa, I'm not ready to be a dad! I can barely take care of myself!"

Despite raising his hand to smack his delusional comrade, Masaomi couldn't help but worry. At first, he was going to complain that he'd thrown out his back while assisting his colleague to safety, but then the pain began to localize. Still, he raged. Yō was slow to return to his senses, likely from all the substance abuse after his disappearance, but even with a clear mind, Masaomi understood that something was wrong. "Moron, I already told you you're not-!"

"What the hell!?"

Masaomi winced, opening his eyes to address Yō's curiosity when the agonized brunette linked his thumb in his pants to lower them and expose an unnerving tribal brand. It looked like the symbol was drawing itself, burning into Yō's skin despite his indignant howls. It was unnerving for Masaomi to watch, worrying that something terrible was about to happen. "H-how…?"

"Now what the fuck's he doing to me?!"

"Okay, no, that's not good…"

"Y' think!?"

Kōsuke was making his way steadily across the first atoll, preparing to return to shore when suddenly his right leg gave out from beneath him. If he hadn't been alone with Eric, he would have accused someone of passing and stabbing him in the thigh with a knife. He collapsed shortly after, slightly whinging as he connected with the ground along their path. Eric was quick to his side, moments from asking him what had happened when he felt sweltering temperatures carving into his left shoulder. Unlike his modest partner, Eric let out an aggravated cry.

"Eric! Are you okay!?"

Despite his grief, Eric couldn't help but grin wryly at Kōsuke's concern. "H-hah… I was about to ask you that…"

Catching the sight of smoke rising through Eric's stained hoodie, Kōsuke fought his distress to reach out and tug the clothing away from Eric's collar. He worried that his skin was breaking again to ventilate the pressure of flames even after Genji's control faded. He wasn't sure the etching on Eric's shoulder was any more comforting as he watched it burn a tribal inscription into the boy's skin.

Shōhei cracked his head against the steel slab he was resting against when the pain in his broken arm intensified unbearably. It was enough to cause him to perspire, and he didn't recall jarring the appendage enough to cause it to burn quite so fiercely. He quickly shifted, pulling his overshirt from his molten skin with great care before he noticed that the ache had nothing to do with his cracked bones. "W-what the heck is going on?"

At that point, Saburōta had already watched Neirah drop against the floor, clutching her chest. She had curled up with her back towards him, stifling her shrill squeals as she bound herself into a tight ball in the dirt. He reached for her weakly, once, before he found himself equally as wilted and gripping his stomach. His insides had already been in knots, so the pain wasn't unexpected, but the levels of anguish he experienced made him feel like someone was carving out his centre with a jagged knife.

"Saburōta…"

He raised weak eyes, watching tears stream down Neirah's sooty face as she spared one hand to reach for him across the floor. In his collapsed state, he shifted just a little closer until his fingertips could connect with hers, tangling haphazardly to offer her as much comfort as he was capable.

When she shifted with another agonized whimper, he saw the burning crimson aura tracing tribal scrawl over her right heaving breast. He wanted to speak, beg, demand that this invisible entity stop hurting her, but he felt winded by similar suffering beneath his clothing.

He settled for inching just a little bit closer before collapsing adjacent. Their fingers knotted a little more securely before he rested his lips against Neirah's head and tried to reassure her that the pain wouldn't last. He didn't accomplish anything so productive, but he did manage to muffle out a few broken syllables. "I found you…"

From where he held her, Izumo's grip faltered to the sound of Seri's tormented screech. After finding peace on the cold coastline, it seemed that something invaded and stole their serenity by causing them unimaginable pain. "Seri!"

"My ankle!" she gushed pitifully. "It feels like it's burning."

Izumo pushed through the aching of his shoulder blade to shift, calmly removing her boot despite every move causing the material of his shirt to aggravate his equally sudden injury. Once he'd detached her footwear, his heart stopped as he watched a mysterious force draw a dainty yet disturbing symbol on her leg just above her ankle. "What on earth…?" He pressed his palm to the mark in hopes of stopping the pattern, but the sudden eruption of cries from Seri's chest made him retract his hand. "Is it the demon?"

Tatara winced with the uneasiness of his shoulder sweltering for seemingly no reason, but he stayed by Anna's side, protecting her while she was with their king. She began to wince and stir, but she didn't surrender her connection during their final struggle to reclaim their future. She whimpered once, or twice, but nobody was more determined to be of assistance to their king. Still, rushed breaths caused Tatara to pant as he suffered. It seemed so strange when he considered that he was on the sidelines.

"Anna-chan, K-King… please hurry."

"Saruhiko!?" Misaki meandered clumsily through the wasteland of the island that had begun to move freely as Tomaya and Mikoto illuminated the sky at his back. Still, they weren't his priority since regaining consciousness. He knew that he'd seen Saruhiko retreat just before Reisi had dared to interrupt his charge, but after meditating on the recollection of his wit's state, he was subtly grateful.

After shaking his head fiercely, he raised his hands to either side of his mouth, helping his voice project bravely across the island. If any of Genji's lesser demons dared to attack him now, they would be devastated to find that he felt even more lethal than when he was under possession. "Oi. Saru, I'm sor-"

His apology was immediately interrupted by the feeling of something striking his chest, and with the severity of the pain, he considered that someone might have shot him. It was a familiar ache but lasted longer than it should have for a vampire. It caused him so much pain that it took him from his feet to writhe against the desecrated plane.

He cried out from the intensity and knocked his shoulders against the earth, twisting to the feeling of daggers tearing up his skin. The symbol slowly constructed against his collar, almost nervously, and there seemed to be hesitation in the way the final stroke traced. After observing its completion, Misaki ground his palm against the artwork staining his skin with soot and blood. "S-shit! What the fuck is happening now!?"

With panting breaths, Saruhiko slowly peeled back his collar to watch the same mark he'd just drawn engrave on his flesh. While it did, the symbol before his feet quietly hummed to life. When the ache subsided, Saruhiko calmly checked the afflicted area and watched the scarring instantly take the shape of the brand drawn in the dust.

He felt strange, woozy even, and just to be sure, he reached out and slit his finger on the erect Tenrō. He pressured the pad of his finger to flood as his opposite palm covered his new brand, and when the blood continued to bead long after his abilities should have healed it, his heart plummeted into his stomach. For further confirmation, he raised the taste to a hesitant tongue, and upon sampling the serum, he understood what had happened. "This is it…" he whispered. Then, he laughed ironically to deride his fate. "So… this is what it felt like back when I was human, was it?"

His head weakly bobbed as he watched the symbol begin to thrive, the racing pulse matching his own as he felt his consciousness fail him. He kept his palm locked on the brand like he was ashamed to let it show. He didn't feel like a hero, and maybe that's because he couldn't see the look on Genji's face or hear Misaki's triumphant cheer. Perhaps dying seemed anticlimactic, given the suffering that preceded it. Either way, it had a miserable chuckle in his dry throat as he dropped to his side and let his vision fade to black on the sight of the strangely familiar symbol.

It was funny, considering it would bind such an ominous presence, but it filled him with many conflicting emotions of resentment and fascination. Then, finally, it brought him peace. He imagined how giddy Misaki would be if he ever saw Saruhiko with a tattoo. 'He'd probably think this is the coolest thing,' Saruhiko mused with fading comprehension. Misaki was simple-minded like that, after all. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, though.

"See you… Misaki…"

Just as Mikoto's fist retracted for the focussed blow offered to his enemy, a consuming wave of unease and distortion flushed out the flames in his subconscious entirely. He took a hesitant step backwards as Anna fluttered to his side to the disturbing sounds of their enemy wailing his suffering. As unbridled as Mikoto's strength was in contesting the villain, he hadn't thought he'd hit him that hard.

Mikoto's brow creased as he braced for impending conflict, and Anna remained to peek attentively around his thigh. "What's the matter? He was all talk just a minute ago?" he murmured nervously.

"The flames are gone," Anna cooed. She watched the vision of their enemy deconstruct, fading into the flaming apparition he began as upon their meeting. And he didn't say anything. He didn't curse them or lash out in one final attempt at retribution. A choir of disapproving sneers seemed to hiss as every trace of fire gathered around Genji's distorting physique, and soon, additional blazes seemed to collect from the darkness to the sounds of familiar voices. They were tiny red lights floating calmly from all directions, something comfortingly less grotesque then Genji's implosion.

To this, Anna's ears perked keenly, and she ran out in front of her king to examine the mighty pyre. "Anna, stay back," Mikoto commanded lowly. "Something's gone haywire with him all of a sudden."

Contrary to Mikoto's worry, Anna watched the flames join the blaze with fond fascination on her face. Soon, bright eyes turned to face Mikoto over her faint smile, and her breathless lips parted in awe. "These are the flames of our friends."

Hm? Mikoto grunted softly before raising his eyes to the sight of the demon's expanse consuming every trace of flame in his thoughts. Even the snake and the lion battling each other in the background were decomposing, joining the pillar of flame that shot straight upwards into the blackened abyss.

The void around them had darkened, growing still and silent as the raging blaze settled into a calm pillar of fading light. When Mikoto lowered his eyes, Anna was wincing, lightly moaning as she tried to recreate the wings that used to carry her about his spirit during their struggle with the demon, but nothing would manifest. It was at that moment that he understood what had happened. Every trace of Genji's flame had evacuated Mikoto's body, and the same went for his clansmen. What Anna had seen was all of the unique shades of HOMRA's red filtering through their host until it severed all of their connections with the ancient evil.

"So that's it, huh?" he muttered grimly. Then, he let his eyes meet Anna's, traces of concern on his expression as she lingered at the foot of the pillar. "I suppose you have to go now."

Anna calmly nodded her head with a mild grin. "I will wait with Tatara for everyone to return."

A sad twist had Mikoto's expression softening. "What will happen to you?" he muttered bleakly. "To you, Yata and Totsuka?"

For a moment, Anna seemed unsure, but soon she gently nodded her head. "I think we will be fine."

Suddenly the child gasped as she was whisked off her feet by a gently uplifting force, and her tiny paws immediately burrowed into her lap to keep her skirt from rising immodestly. "It's time to go." As her connection severed and powers faded, she remembered that once she left Mikoto's thoughts, she would wake as a human girl, without a flame or any of her supernatural qualities. "Can I stay?" she called out nervously towards her king. She kicked out her feet lightly to try and reject the light calling her home. "If I'm not a vampire, will I still be allowed to stay with all of our friends by Mikoto's side?"

Mikoto smiled lazily and sauntered towards where the fair child was rising from his spirit. He reached for her face, laying his palm gently against her pale cheek to banish her worrisome expression. "You can stay," he reassured her kindly. "At least until you make some real friends."

Anna's lower half continued to float high above her head as she clutched her king's connection to keep herself rooted for just a little longer. "Warm," she whispered lovingly. Her toes were the first of her body to dissolve like the flames into the calming light. She nuzzled into his touch until the glistening dissection met the tips of her fingers, and finally, she vanished entirely.

When she disappeared, the pillar of light thinned serenely, and Mikoto's hand collapsed against his thigh. He watched as every trace of fire evacuated his soul, and then, it left him in the quiet shadows. "I'll be there soon," he murmured to himself. "With you and Totsuka and Yata, all of us."

I know, he heard her heart whisper.

"And everything will work out."

"Suoh! Hey, wake up, you lazy son-of-a-bitch!"

A dull groan rattled in Mikoto's aching chest as his airy head was banged mercilessly by an antsy werewolf. Compared to the beautiful sight of a dove fading into light, Tomaya's ugly bloodstained mug was a disturbing wake-up call as he struggled to reclaim his body. "Piss off," he growled. "You're lucky it's been a while since I made a fist on my own, or I'd put it right into those ugly teeth of yours-"

But when Mikoto opened his eyes, he was straining to assure himself that Tomaya was the one shaking him violently. The ginger was still freckled and sinewy with bright golden eyes, but he didn't look nearly as feral. "Oi… who the hell-?"

"Mikoto-san!" Misaki's eyes filled with grateful tears even as he urgently supported Tomaya's efforts to rouse the Red King by any means necessary. His hand was on Tomaya's shoulder as the wolf knelt next to Mikoto's side to jar him awake. "Hurry! We have to get out of here! That Blue King guy says the whole place is gonna sink!"

"Place," Mikoto muttered. "The islands…"

"That's right," Rikio rushed alongside their friends. "You and Tetsuko-san were fighting, and then all of a sudden, this big explosion went up into the sky. We thought the light burned you up!"

An agreeable Misaki nodded his head rapidly. "We tried to carry you back, but Tetsuko is too weak from-"

"Oi! Who's too weak, you little shits!?" the werewolf snapped. "I'm just fuckin' peachy, so screw you!"

"You're not a demon anymore, are you?" The gathering silenced as Mikoto sat upright on his own, laying his cold palm against his brow. "Your teeth are normal now." And when he opened one eye to meet his unexpected aid's honey stare, he smirked. "You can tell you smoke like a chimney, though."

Tomaya hated vampires, once, but Suoh Mikoto and clan were no longer vampires. They were just a bunch of kids that were too stubborn to die. "Yeah, looks like we can all die now if that's what you're gettin' at," he scowled friskily. "So, we'd better get the hell off this thing before we all drown."

When Rikio watched Mikoto hum nervously to life with a dull grunt, he stepped forward with some more information. "Kusanagi-san messaged us from Kōtō. He and the others are already there. It's just us now."

Misaki's leg was bouncing with eager energy as he waited, and that caused Mikoto's attention to wander. "Oi… How're you feelin' kid."

Misaki took a moment to consider the way he felt in depth. What Tomaya said was true, although terrifying. Since the pillar of light pierced the bay, the supernatural beings connected to Kagutsu Genji found themselves stripped of their immortality and abilities. That meant that he was human again.

He didn't recall much about his time as a human, it had been so long ago, but he didn't feel like he was dying. He remembered those feelings pretty vividly, but aside from not being able to summon fangs or flames, he didn't feel much different. Given his king's concern and the severity of the situation, Misaki offered Mikoto as bashful smile as he pumped his fist with enthusiasm. "I feel great!" he fibbed. "So, what d' ya say we all get to land, huh? It's way too cold to be swimming."

That was where Misaki left it, but what he meant to say was that he felt healthy. He laughed with his friends as they helped Mikoto to his feet, supporting him as they crossed the devastated structure of the sinking islands. But as they were about to join rescue crews preparing to take them to dry land, he still turned over his shoulder to watch the second island begin to submerge as it's artificial construct crumbled. Everything happened so quickly, and when he pressured Reisi for answers, he received none. But he remembered that last thought he had as a demon under Genji's control. Saruhiko looked back at him as he struggled beneath Rikio's determination, and the look in his eyes was something he'd never seen before. Even now, with his powers gone and mortality returned, he still felt it like a scar somewhere on his heart. I'm sorry, it muttered petulantly, for everything.

"Oi! Yata-san, let's go, huh?" Rikio pestered urgently. "You saw the other island go, right? It won't be long until this one does too!"

A pained crease bound Misaki's brow as he stared at the sinking landmass, and when he turned, he replaced that disdain with aggravated intolerance. "Calm your tits, Fatass," he snarled. "I'm coming already!" As he dropped onto the boat, he heard Rikio gratefully prattle about how happy the man was that Misaki was okay, but Misaki wasn't sure that he was yet. He supposed part of him expected that if everyone somehow had a happy ending, he should have gotten one too. That meant that Saruhiko had already made it inland, he bet. He was probably clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes as his teammates frantically dashed about like idiots trying to quell the calamity. He could see it as clear as day.

But something kept his eyes turned to the bay that greedily gulped like it enjoyed the meal, a dark whisper touching his icy nape on the frigid breeze that assured him that he was on his own from that day on.

"Captain! We just got word that Lieutenant Awashima-san was among recovered HOMRA clansmen," Himori urgently proclaimed. "She is seeking medical attention as we speak, but otherwise is accounted for."

Reisi stood on the edge of the water, watching as the first island slowly followed the second into the black abyss of the bay. After the battles to clash atop the manmade facilities, the frame members suffered irreparable damage, and he had to take a step back as the rush of pressure washed the ripples of their burial onto the shore. "And Fushimi-kun?" he prompted evenly. "Has there been any word of his whereabouts after the disaster?"

With a nervous shuffle, Himori slowly shook his head. "He isn't responding," he whispered. "We have rescue crews in the bay searching for any survivors who might have been trapped on the islands before they submerged."

"I see," Reisi murmured flatly. "Carry on, then."

"Captain, if I could," Himori pressured. "You have suffered grievous injuries. You should seek medical aid as soon as possible."

"Tend to those in greater need," Reisi interjected. "I will seek attention when it becomes necessary."

"Uh… yes, Sir."

Another wave crashing against the shoreline in the aftermath swept by Reisi's boots as he lost sight of the mighty isles lost to their struggle on the eve of that new year, but he didn't avoid the frigid temperature on his toes. He had heard reports that the afflicted who used to congregate under the title of 'vampire' were now suffering mortal injuries. Their rapid healing and bloodlust were gone, along with all traces of their flame. By the looks of things, Saruhiko was right. Regardless of the wagered outcome, the world was less Kagutsu Genji before sunrise.

Reisi's attention drew to the sight of the combing tide washing up on the shore a few feet away, and from the corner of his eye, he caught the presence of a coin reflecting the light of dawn breaking on the horizon. He considered approaching, out of curiosity, to see what fate the article had predicted, but in the end, he surrendered the need. He didn't believe in such things. As he walked away, he reminded himself that the predicted outcome didn't matter. Even if the numerical face showed, he alleged that the admirable people around him made the necessary sacrifices to ensure their victory as foretold.

Regardless of the position the coin landed, they suffered a great loss that day despite their triumph.