"Why couldn't you just save yourself you dumb son of a-"

"Ikraam, it's no use. He's dead." Dante spoke, as consoling as he could be with the tremble in his voice, his own violet eyes misting as he looked at the corpse clutched tightly to his friends chest.

The battle had been harsh, with what seemed like endless foes rushing at them from all sides. No one had made it out unscathed, but Judger. Judger had paid the ultimate price. He had seen it before anybody else; a sniper nested up on a bell tower some distance away, crossbow loaded and aimed into the fray. Aimed in the center of Ikraam's back.

They had never seen him move so quickly, swords still drawn as he threw himself arms out to the sides as a human shield. The moment he had begun to move had been the moment the assassin shot, man and bolt on a collision course with each other.

It had ripped through his chest like tissue paper, a single hole bored directly through his chest.

"I can still hear his voice, Dante. I can still hear his last words." Ikraam bit out between sobs, body shaking as he cried.

"Hey now, you're going to be king. Kings aren't allowed to cry over some nameless bodyguard." His voice had been shaky, blood trailing from his lips. Those lips that even in death stayed in that ever present smile.

"I hear it too. He'll always be with us, even in death." Dante was visibly crying as well, hand splayed open over his heart in some abyssal salute to the undead.

Ikraam slowly stood, letting the body slip from his grasp. His scarf was soaked, and tear stains were visible on the thick overcoat Judger wore.

They stripped the body of the coat and his weapons, the sturdy leather item bearing a hole the size of a copper above the heart.

Ikraam sat motionless, coat over his shoulders and swords at his feet as he watched Dante construct a makeshift funeral pyre for the fallen warrior.

Eventually, it came time to light the memorial, and Ikraam knew he would not enjoy this fire.

They watched the body burn, and as they prepared to leave the now truly abandoned town, Ikraam felt a dull thrumming against the hip where he had slotted Judgers swords.

Drawing it from the sheathe, he marveled at what had occurred. Upon the blade was the same lattice mark as Judger had tattooed on his cheek. The blade glowed green for a moment, before both Ikraam and, a little farther up the road Dante, heard a familiar voice.

"Well uh, this is new. Guess I'm going to be your bodyguard for a lot longer than we both expected eh?" Came Judger's voice ringing out over the road, unsure and confused by the new situation.

Ikraam began to cry once more, this time though, they were not in mourning.