Michel Dubois - formerly Lieutenant of the Fifth Demi-Brigade of the Chasseurs Alpins, according to the urgent telegram he was currently reading - woke up that morning with a bitter headache and a pained stomach. He was hungry. His dôji was right. He hadn't eaten in days.

He had rolled over on his sleeping mat that morning to see that said dôji had removed the bodies, leaving only their blood stains on the dirt around their encampment. He had even piled their belongings, but idiotically, only the items that Paresse thought would be useful to Dubois - severed fingers, cigarettes, pins, dirty socks. It was the work of a child who didn't know what mattered. Dubois made a mental note to teach Paresse about rations if he was going to help him survive and train.

Paresse was sleeping a short distance away, next to a tree. He didn't sleep like a human. He laid out on the ground like a ragdoll that was thrown to the floor, one arm straight out, one leg bent inwards, his head pushed forward against the tree roots. Michel surmised that dôji did not eat or drink as Paresse had also not eaten these past 3 days.

He found the telegram among the spoils Paresse had piled. It seemed that the men he killed last night were from the nearest base by this side of the mountain. They were not, however, Chasseurs. From what Dubois knew, the mountain soldiers would most likely be patrolling the other side of this range at the moment, keeping watch on the Rhine.

Not that he would be joining them anytime soon.

He continued skimming the crumpled paper. Michel Dubois - 1,8 to 1,9 mètres - Slight Build - One Eye - Missing - Wanted -

Unknown Man - 2,06 to 2,1 mètres - Slim - Assumed French - Missing - Wanted - Dead Company - Deserters - Assumed Dangerous - Capture on Sight

The second page, ripped and tinged with blood - Update - Truck Found - Large Footprints Found - Investigation Pending

"Hm." He ate a piece of rationed chocolate. The only edible thing Paresse had left in the stockpile.

This changed nothing, Dubois decided. He finished his small breakfast and got up. The morning sun peeked through the dense foliage, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.

"Oi." He walked over and kicked his dôji. Paresse didn't move. He knew he heard him.

"Time to train."

He heard Paresse's teeth scrape against each other. A slow rising.

"Get up. It's an order, slave."

Paresse's eyes remained closed. "Don't…..call me that."

"Let's go."

Paresse rose his head languidly, using his arms to glacially prop himself to a seat, and then eventually to a stand, rising above Dubois' height like building blocks.

"...Will we be joining…a brigade today?"

"I see you didn't read this." Dubois held up the rumpled pieces of paper, wondering for a second if dôji even could read. "We're wanted. For murdering a dozen soldiers. More, if you count the ones I killed before I met you."

"...So they won't take us back?"

His response was curious to Dubois. He saw how scared Paresse was at the sight of his first kill. That meant he knew murdering was wrong - at least in his eyes - but he didn't understand the ramifications of his actions.

"I'm done with that." Dubois decided to respond. What, is he going to teach the killing machine that murder has consequences? What a waste of time. "I don't need to be part of a brigade anymore."

"...Why…not?"

"I don't need anyone to tell me who to kill." Dubois stated bluntly.

Paresse tilted his head, his mechanical eyes reflecting a hint of confusion. "But… who will we fight with?"

Dubois shrugged dismissively. "Anyone who dares to challenge us," he replied. "I'm not looking for a squad, Paresse. I'm looking for a fight."

He didn't mesh well with teams, anyway. Comradery, marching together - as Paresse would say, boring. They didn't need any of that to find death now.

"Now, let's go. Time to teach you a thing or two, slave."

"Can't call me slave," Paresse said. "Just as I can't call you Lieutenant."

Dubois smirked. So he did read the telegram. "Touché."

The dôji followed his master a short while away from their encampment until Dubois was satisfied they were in a spacious-enough clearing, surrounded by the thick of the woods.

Just as the dôji stopped behind him, Dubois swung his leg back, directly hitting Paresse in the chest with a fouetté kick and throwing him back.

Paresse staggered backward, caught off guard by the sudden impact. His body, unyielding and rigid, absorbed the blow, but he stumbled nonetheless. Holding his chest where Dubois's foot had connected, he straightened himself, his expression unchanged.

"The same move I used on you when we first met, and you still got hit." Dubois rotated his hip back and forth, warming up for another. "Truly pathetic."

Paresse said nothing in response, his eyes fixed on Dubois with a mixture of resignation and determination.

The former lieutenant smiled. "Again."

Without hesitation, Paresse lunged forward. He aimed a swift kick at Dubois's midsection, but his master was quicker, sidestepping the attack with ease. Before Paresse could recover, Dubois countered with a series of rapid lateral revers, each kick aimed with precision at the traditional vulnerable points on a human's body - the head, the neck, the stomach. The dôji sustained every blow this time with only a slight backward stumble.

"Hmph." Dubois straightened his legs. "You fight better when you're challenged by me."

Once more, Paresse said nothing.

"If you want to survive this so-called war," Dubois continued, "you'll need to be on guard at all times. Not just when you're being challenged, but in every moment."

His dôji was still, then nodded.

"Now, again."

This time, Paresse looked down at his master's footwork as he approached him - très bien - and they circled each other warily. Their movements were precise and deliberate, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of intent. Dubois took the initiative, launching a chassé frontal, his foot snapping out with lightning speed towards Paresse's stomach. But Paresse anticipated the move, sidestepping with unusual grace to evade the kick. In a fluid motion, the dôji attacked with a fouetté kick of his own, and as Dubois dodged he heard the creak of his opponent's arm as he turned his human hand into a blade-

At the last second, Dubois whipped out his pistol from his waist and shot Paresse point-blank in the shoulder. The dôji, stunned, crumpled to the ground.

"Are…" Paresse coughed. "Are you… serious?"

"Mad that wasn't fair?" Dubois grinned, stepping closer with mock sympathy. "You weren't playing by any rules either."

Paresse coughed again and turned to look at his shoulder. The bullet wound was already closing, leaving a tattered hole in his blue uniform. Michel nodded to himself, silently noting that Paresse could regenerate faster now that he was officially his master.

"Get up. Again."

The man watched as Paresse slowly rose for another round, his grin widening. He knew well that his dôji would have indeed cut him had he not cheated and drawn his gun.

—

Up they went, through the firs, through the mountains.

Dubois trained and taught Paresse most of everything he knew about Savate La Canne for the rest of that winter.

The soldier learned that Paresse knew random things, such as the make of every rifle & weapon they came across, the topography of where they were, and the incoming weather just from looking at the sky. But he, stupidly, didn't know other things - how to start a fire. How to set up a tent. The use case for every item in his pack. How to clean his uniform so that lice and dirt didn't stick.

He discovered new ways Paresse was useful.

After they finished training one day, Dubois noticed Paresse's jacket lying discarded nearby, its fabric untouched by the chill of the winter air. That's right - Dubois had ripped it off him when he was teaching him how to not get caught in an opponent's reach.

"You don't feel the cold," Dubois remarked, stating the obvious. It had been hours, and the sun was setting. The night chill was setting in. He could tell, even without Paresse's help, that it was going to snow tonight.

Paresse shook his head, slumped against a tree. "No, I do not."

Dubois nodded, his fingers tracing the collar of the jacket. "Then you won't mind if I borrow this," he said, and draped it over his shoulders.

When he taught him how to swing rope up onto tree branches to lift himself up, Paresse simply extended his arms into singular claws, his feet converting into their original jester-like hooved boots to climb up. At first, Dubois was still able to climb up trees and mountainsides faster than Paresse this way, but after some days of practice, the dôji was able to outpace him when climbing.

"Save your rope..." Paresse eventually suggested. "Just hang onto me when I climb."

He hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Alright," he conceded, deciding to test the dôji's capabilities.

With Paresse leading the way, they traversed the rugged terrain with newfound efficiency. Dubois hung his elbows around Paresse's sturdy neck as they ascended the steep slopes and dense foliage.

"Impressive," he remarked, his tone laced with a modicum of genuine respect when they reached the top.

On another colder night, when the biting chill blew out the fire, Michel cursed and pulled his two jackets closer over his chest. He stomped his cigarette out and entered the tent. Inside, he found Paresse lying still, his mechanical form illuminated faintly by the moonlight filtering through the canvas.

Despite the freezing temperatures outside, the tent was warm. Dubois furrowed his brow in confusion. He crept closer and reached out to touch Paresse's arm. To his surprise, it was not cold to the touch, but rather faintly warm.

His touch prompted Paresse to crack open an eye.

"You're cold." He mumbled.

"Excellent observation, asshole." Dubois withdrew his hand, burrowing it into his other arm's sleeve. He settled down beside him. "Why is it warm in here? Did you do something?"

Paresse shifted. Rolled onto his side.

"My body generates heat," he explained. "It's one of my functions."

"Well, isn't that convenient." Dubois laid down next to him. "Guess you're not just useful for combat. You're also a makeshift furnace."

"...Slave…..makeshift furnace….." Paresse eyes drew closed again, falling asleep before he could finish his sarcastic comeback.

Dubois couldn't help but chuckle. He stared at his dôji sleeping, but then his expression hardened and he shifted his gaze to the tent's ceiling.

Eventually, the fatigue slid over him, and he fell asleep next to Paresse.

A week later, they suddenly heard the crunch of boots on snow ahead. Dubois raised a hand, signaling for Paresse to stop walking. He crouched and his dôji copied him as they slowly crept behind a cluster of rocks.

"Yeah. Alpenkorps." Dubois recognized the edelweiss stitching on their collars as the dark green group moved through the trees.

Paresse blinked. "They're looking for us."

"You can hear them from here?"

"Yes… they intercepted that earlier telegram…." Paresse ceased speaking for a minute before continuing. Dubois realized after a beat that he was translating. "...They think the mentioned deserters want to…..join them."

The corner of Michel's mouth twitched. "Fuck that." He quietly began to slide his rifle off his shoulder.

Before Paresse could follow suit, Dubois reached out to stop him, his hand gently restraining his dôji's shoulder. "No," he whispered. His voice was barely audible over the howling wind. "You don't need that rifle to kill. I'll give you the signal."

He crept out from behind the rocks, leaving Paresse behind. His footfall was light as he hopped between patches where the snow had not yet collected on the ground.

Dubois quickly closed the distance between himself and the last soldier in the regiment, a confident grin playing across his lips as he prepared to strike. With a calculated move, he lowered his hands on his rifle and swung from his right side, delivering a powerful blow to the enemy's head.

The soldier let out a startled yelp as he was knocked to the ground, the impact echoing through the silent forest and alerting his comrades ahead. Dubois wasted no time and burst forward with the ferocity of a wild animal as he charged toward the unsuspecting soldiers.

As the last soldier fell to the ground, Dubois stood amidst the chaos of bodies, his chest heaving with adrenaline.

"Paresse, come out now."

The dôji emerged from his hiding place.

"You never gave me the signal."

Dubois's gaze darted between the shadows of the trees. "Now I am."

The sound of more boots crunched on the snow reached their ears, signaling the approach of reinforcements.

Dubois looked at his dôji. "Well?"

The man saw that this time when Paresse turned away from the fallen enemies, his stare asked for no praise from his master. No validation. Paresse just looked tired.

Better, Dubois thought.

–

He taught him how to hunt.

"When it crosses your eye, shoot," Michel said. Paresse studied the scene: his master laid on his stomach, his left eye aligned with the backsight of his rifle, the snow-covered forest before them.

"If humans… can hunt… why do you eat those ... .rations?" Paresse thought out loud. The rifle let out a loud bang as Dubois shot a badger. They watched the game trip and fall.

'Not all humans can hunt." Dubois heard a rustle in a bush and moved his gun to the left. "And even fewer humans know how to hunt during the winter."

"Then how do you know how to hunt?"

Dubois's jaw tightened imperceptibly as he reloaded his rifle. He exhaled slowly, his breath forming a faint cloud in the chilly air.

"I learned out of necessity. Doesn't matter how I learned it."

Paresse tilted his head slightly. The man shot again, missing the next animal by a hair.

A few days after that, Paresse was limping.

"You can't get tired. Stop limping. You look ridiculous."

"...You think I can't get tired?" Paresse said with a hint of snark in his voice. Dubois tolerated it at this point. "Mon nom est Paresse."

"I suspect you fake sleeping, truth be told."

Dubois sat down on a fallen trunk, dragged Paresse's foot up onto his thigh, and inspected the bottom of his boot. As he suspected, there were bits of dirty snow and rubble caught in the soles. "Keep your boots clean." He said, annoyed. It was as if he was teaching an infant how to exist. He took out his pocket knife and began to pick out the dirt and rocks, piece by piece.

"This is so… boring." Paresse did not move, but he spoke with the faintest weariness, which Dubois knew by now was the equivalent of a person throwing his head down into his hands. "You humans…..have to think…do…..too much."

"Do I know it." Michel gritted his teeth. "It's 'too much' because you're a fucking hassle. Now quit it-"

The sound of eight hollow shots rang out, startling the birds in the trees above them into flight.

A soldier smirked, but his expression quickly faltered when he realized the two men remained unfazed. Michel continued to pick out the rocks from his companion's boot as if nothing had happened.

"I counted 8." Paresse stared at the soldier but spoke to his master beside him.

"Correct." Dubois said. "What idiot fires all of their rounds to intimidate?"

The blue soldier heard them and realized they called his bluff. He stepped forward, but Paresse's attention on him made him stop. The dôji looked just like the tall deserter described in the military reports.

Michel finished his chore and finally looked up. Paresse had extended his arm, his gauntlet piercing the soldier yards away through his forehead. The man's feet thudded against the floor - he was in the middle of turning around to flee.

Paresse's right eye was closed, imitating his master.

"He crossed my eye."

"Very good." Dubois wouldn't let him bask in his victory though. He dropped Paresse's foot off his lap, knocking the dôji off balance and propelling him forward. He smiled. Had to get some entertainment.

–

"...Your savate la canne." Paresse said idly, as Dubois was setting up the tent one night. Spring was finally breaking into the mountain range and the nights weren't as freezing as they had been the past few weeks.

"What about it."

"It's….good."

"I'm aware."

"...Where did you learn it?"

Dubois paused as he dug a tent pole into the dirt. "Through practice."

"In the military?"

"No. The streets."

"What streets?"

Dubois hesitated, his jaw tensing slightly as he weighed his response. "Why are you asking me?"

"...I want to understand… how you know it, but… other soldiers we came across do not."

Dubois regarded Paresse for a moment, his exhaustion evident in the lines etched on his face. It was late.

"The streets I grew up on," Dubois finally replied. "Well. Not exactly 'grew up' on. I always lived somewhere in the mountains."

"What streets?" Paresse asked again.

Dubois shook his head. "I don't even remember. There were several. I would hunt, come down, and find the nearest village to where I was to sell for money. Oftentimes there were men holding competitions, fighting for fun. Sometimes fighting to kill. I learned from watching them." He let himself smile wryly. "Or sometimes I had to fight, if they got in my way."

"I remember you once told me they used swords."

"Yes, swords. If they could find them. More commonly, canes." Dubois let out a chuckle. "I remember I had taken a tree branch and whittled it to have a sharp point. Stupid kid, coming into town, holding onto a small stick, kicking his tiny legs."

"Would you win?"

"No."

"But you learned."

Dubois kept his gaze on the tent canvas. "Eventually," he said. "I learned to adapt."

The memory seemed to linger in the air between them.

"And now you teach me."

Duboise glanced at Paresse. "Yes," he replied simply. "Now I teach you."

He tugged the tent panels around the poles. Paresse watched in silence.

"...Did you learn how to hunt the same way?"

Dubois remembered that this wasn't the first time Paresse had asked him this.

"No. I learned how to hunt on my own."

"Did you learn….anything in the military?"

Dubois paused again. "Now that I think of it, no." He secured the last side of the tent. "The army was mainly useful in that it gave me more opportunities to practice what I had already learned."

"Is that why you joined?"

"No," Dubois replied. "There was no 'why' for me joining. It was mandatory."

"….Why didn't you just kill them at the time?"

"Eventually I did." Dubois pointed out. "But at the time…"

He thought about his hunger three years ago, the tiredness, and how they had somehow found him, telling him it was his duty. His younger self already didn't care, but at the time, he didn't think much of the cause. He just wanted an actual bed to sleep in for once, clothes that weren't ripped and falling off him, and an opportunity to use modern rifles, not the half-broken guns he would scavenge for in his days in the mountains.

"...At the time," Dubois finally continued, his voice tinged with bitterness, "I was too hungry, too tired, to care about the reasons. The military offered food and shelter. I took what I needed to survive."

Paresse didn't ask any further questions, and Michel was grateful.

–

Eventually, they fell into a routine. They woke up. Dubois and Paresse sparred. Sometimes the man would eat a breakfast consisting of whatever game & rations he scavenged from the forest. Sometimes they went on their way without eating or sleeping for days. Up they went, his dôji trailing a kilometer or two behind him at his slowest. A break in their routine came from the occasional enemy they came across.

Dubois couldn't ignore the subtle cues that punctuated their interactions. He noticed how Paresse would occasionally stop and end their relentless march. When he did that, Dubois would deliberately steer their course towards another Savate sparring session or hunting lesson, feigning obliviousness to the Paresse's real silent request - he was asking his master to eat & rest.

And sometimes the man would often find himself wrestling with the overwhelming absurdity of their situation. He found it absurd when he realized he was sparring with someone who could actually match his abilities. He found it absurd when Paresse would try to copy him and attempt to light up a cigarette, only to keel over and cough uncontrollably, which in turn caused Michel to burst into laughter just as uncontrollably. He found it absurd when he started to sleep in late, and he didn't understand why until it hit him that before, all his life, the morning chill used to wake him up early. He found it absurd when eventually, Paresse would continue to ask questions that he didn't want to, and refuse, to answer.

In these moments, he would feel the black in his chest swell and twist and he would take off, purposefully trying to lose the dôji.

The longest he was able to lose Paresse was a month. He would wander the forest, not caring where he was going, just wanting to keep moving forward. Sometimes he would hunt intermittently, but during these escapes, he wouldn't eat and instead chew on the butts of whatever cigarettes he still had left in his pack.

Yet, despite his best efforts to outdistance, Dubois could never fully shake him. Out of the trees, Paresse would slump wearily towards him. His master would be silently tending to a crackling fire. The dôji would sit down across from him, not saying anything. And though Dubois preferred the being's silence most of the time, there were times when the oppressive weight of it drove him to the brink of madness. He would rise abruptly, not caring about the still-burning fire, and walk away, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night.

This became part of their routine as well.

–

"The others." Dubois said as they trudged through the dense undergrowth. It was midday in the middle of summer. During this season, Dubois only wore his undershirt and wrapped his jacket and shirt around his backpack as extra paddings to prevent friction burns on his shoulders. He took off his beret. His hair was growing in and it scratched his ears.

Paresse slugged behind him.

"The…others." He echoed.

"The other dôji." It was Michel's turn to ask questions now. He was once again thinking of the memories shown to him during their Pledge. Apocalyptic visions notwithstanding, he couldn't recall any incidents of fighting others like Paresse. "What are they like?"

Paresse thought for a moment.

"I…..don't remember."

"Useless." Michel should have expected this.

"Dunstan kept us apart whenever possible." Dunstan. Almost a year had passed, and this was the first time Dubois had heard the old man's name."...I also remember falling asleep whenever some of the talkative ones did approach me."

Dubois snickered. "Of course you did."

Paresse thought some more. They were silent for another hour as they walked.

"...I know this is…..going to be a long battle."

"Clearly. It's been over half a year with you and we have yet to fight any of them. This 'war' is going to last longer than the Great War at this point."

Paresse offered no response to that. They kept moving.

"What are you going to do when this war is over?" Paresse asked two hours later.

"This grand war between good and evil?" Dubois asked sarcastically.

"No…this…..current war. 'Great War.'"

They both stopped when they heard a rope snap. Paresse walked up and joined Dubois on his right blind side.

"What is it?" Dubois looked to his left.

"I hear someone." Paresse was looking up. "...But… I can't make out what they're saying."

Dubois quietly set his backpack down. "Where are they?"

Before Paresse could answer a gunshot was heard. His dôji lifted his arm and caught that bullet in his forearm.

"Good catch-" Dubois started, right as another shot rang and hit Paresse right between his eyes, knocking off his beret. As his dôji's head was knocked back, Michel heard a rustle on his left side and inverted just in time as a soldier ran with his bayonet pointing straight at him. He parried with his rifle, catching the sharp metal tip in his trigger guard.

"Vous êtes qui?" The blue soldier yelled, pushing his bayonet further towards Michel. He sidestepped his left foot and swung with his right, kicking the soldier off balance. He heard behind him that Paresse was now fighting two soldiers.

The scene rapidly became chaotic and filled with gunfire, shouts, and the clash of metal against metal. Dubois's senses heightened as adrenaline surged through his veins. He should have known this would happen - during the summer both sides would dispatch more troops to the mountains now that some of the snow has melted.

Taking advantage of an opening, Dubois lunged forward and aimed a swift kick at a soldier's knee, causing him to buckle under the impact. As the soldier stumbled, Dubois swiftly disarmed him, wrenching his rifle from his grip with a quick twist of his wrist and turning it on him to shoot. He turned to see that Paresse was engaged in battle, only using his Savate - they were coming at him too fast for him to use his gauntlets.

He heard a safety go off behind him and he turned to dodge just as a soldier tried to shoot him with a pistol. He swung his leg and knocked the small gun out of his hand, keeping his hands gripped on the rifle he stole from the soldier's dead companion. His opponent switched to his rifle-bayonet and charged, and Dubois grinned and raised his own rifle to shoot.

The bang of his rifle ended the fight against the soldier. He looked at his opponent, dead but still staring right at him, and he fell forward.

Dubois reached out to grab him but suddenly wheezed. He looked down at his chest, to see that the soldier's bayonet was running through it. Blood was already spurting out over the blade, dyeing his undershirt a dark red. The soldier had stabbed him just as he shot him.

I don't remember this - that was his first thought. He cursed himself for thinking about what he was shown during The Vow, for placing weight on those warped visions.

Time did not slow down, but he felt as if his movements were echoing as he fell onto his side, the dead soldier who had stabbed him slumping over him. The impact of the fall dug the blade deeper into his chest.

He heard a metallic scrape as he felt Paresse sloppily cut through the last two soldiers he was fighting. Dubois couldn't move his head to see. As with every battle they fought, only a minute or two had passed. Only a minute ago Paresse was asking him some asinine question. He was going to respond with some snark to deflect.

He didn't feel pain. He blinked. He couldn't hear anymore, but he could feel the earth rumble as someone ran over to him. He blinked again. Couldn't see anymore.

Lights flashing out the window above him. He understood that he was Paresse from his viewpoint. Only Paresse laid at this weird sideways angle.

And at the same time, he was something else. He looked down. He didn't recognize his body or the floor underneath his feet. He was sore all over. He touched his face. smooth. Too smooth. He was a child. He tried to take a step forward and he stumbled. His legs were numb with pain. Practice was difficult that morning.

He was aware that he was bleeding, but he didn't understand. A continuous and slow bleed. Unlike his stab wound - and in that instant he remembered that he was stabbed.

Am I dead? He thought. He heard a noise and he realized he spoke his thoughts out loud.

He looked down again. All he could think was - I'm bleeding. This is uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable? Michel caught that thought and it made him laugh. But his laughter made his abdomen hurt more - my stab wound? - and he stumbled another step as he clutched his stomach. No blood here, he looked at his hands.

As Paresse, he lifted his head - a semblance of worry. Not too much worry - more so wondering why his master was stumbling. Mumbling. Laughing. Being too loud.

Dubois started yelling at Paresse. Being too loud? Seriously? How about him being so weak? After how many months of training? He knew he was a useless dôji. So slothful.

He couldn't understand the garble that came out of his mouth.

Michel, as Paresse, heard and understood everything. He didn't respond. He laid his head back down. So slothful. He remembered his master would complain about that all the time.

What do you mean remember? It's happening right now, idiot, Dubois retorted, the frustration evident in his unintelligible voice.

But he did understand. He was remembering this very same moment as he was living it. Every single second was reverberating.

Lights were flashing out the window again. It made Paresse squeeze his eyes shut. He missed the forest.

Michel saw the light refract out of the corner of his left eye. He turned his head - whipped it - this child's body was light. There was a mirror in the room.

He slowly walked over to it. Grabbed the frame - not my hands - to pull himself in front of it.

He recognized his reflection, even though it was not his body. I've seen you before.

Dubois was suddenly jolted awake to an excruciating pain pumping his heart to its limits.

"FUCK!" He bent over and grasped at his chest, only to find his hand had instead wrapped around Paresse's – whose own hand was cracked open, its assorted wooden & mechanical wires digging around his torso.

"Michel," Paresse whispered, sounding both surprised and relieved. The dôji's grip on his shoulder tightened as he leaned him back; Dubois realized the robot was holding him close, inside of their tent. It was still light outside, but the late afternoon sun cast large shadows on the tent walls.

"What are you doing?" Dubois gasped as he looked down at his body, now covered in blood. He would've felt horrified at the sight of Paresse's fingers cracking open, the multicolored wires coiling back and forth around and about his chest, if he hadn't felt so cold, the coldest he had ever been in his life.

"You died," Paresse said bluntly. "Your heart was still for 2 hours and 32 minutes. I opened up your torso with my Noh and revived you via direct connection to your cardiac and nervous systems."

It was the most complete and detailed response Paresse had ever given him, and that pissed his master off.

"The fuck did you do that for?' He pushed himself out of his lap and immediately regretted it as the dôji's wires disconnected from around his chest, triggering another intense shock of pain. He shivered and felt the dirt under his hands & knees. He was naked. He looked up to see the tent resembled a butcher house - blood everywhere, his clothes strewn across, ripped to pieces as if an animal had gnashed them apart with their teeth. He cringed when another wave of pain hit him but furiously shook his head when he heard Paresse leaning behind to help him.

"... What do you mean?" Paresse's eyes, shadowed under his bangs, seemed deeply confused. "…You don't want to live?"

No. But before Dubois could articulate that, his arms gave out and he collapsed again on his side. Paresse immediately picked him up. His dôji's hands and chest were so warm that he thought they were burning his skin.

The man realized he was hyperventilating; he couldn't stop gasping for air. He tried to stop, but couldn't. The pain was too great. Paresse stared and didn't cease eye contact even when Dubois' left eye burned with tears and shuttered closed.

He woke up a day later, blinking against the dim light filtering through the fabric of the tent. As his vision cleared, he met Paresse's eyes once again. He looked like he had not stopped staring at him, much less moved a centimeter, since he had collapsed. It was unsettling, the way Paresse seemed so fixed on him, almost as if he feared Dubois might disappear if he looked away for even a moment.

"...Get off me." Dubois pushed Paresse's chest and inched off his lap once again.

He shakily stood up, even though his muscles were sore, and protested against every movement he made. He felt the warmth of the summer sun seeping through the canvas walls of the tent. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and pine, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that still lingered in the confined space.

No clothes or energy be damned, he was not staying here.

Paresse was suddenly behind him, his presence looming over Dubois like a shadow. He placed a firm hand high on his shoulder, his forefinger and thumb wrapping around his neck.

"Stop." He said with an uncharacteristic amount of aggression. "You're not running this time. Not right now."

"Are you giving me orders?" Dubois snarled. He tried to shake him off, but Paresse was surprisingly strong and held him rooted.

"Oh, now you show some strength."

Paresse's absence of a reaction was a response all on its own. Dubois knew he had hit a nerve. The stalemate lasted for a few tense minutes before Paresse released his shoulder. The man didn't leave; instead, he turned around to face his dôji.

Finally, Paresse spoke, his voice low and measured. "I'm not giving you orders, Michel. I'm trying to make you understand that you need to rest."

Dubois bristled at the use of his name, but he knew his dôji was right. He could tell that he would have only made it a few steps before collapsing again had he stepped outside their tent.

"...What you did was wrong, you fool." Dubois sank to a seated position, leaning on his right arm for support, cringing from the effort to do so. His glare bore into Paresse.

Paresse stared right back as he also moved to sit down in front of his master.

"Since when could you revive the dead?"

"Always….it's my Noh."

"No, what?"

"Noh. My special ability. Every dôji has one…mine is this. " He lifted his hand. "Netherworld."

"That old man…" Dubois shook his head in disbelief, gritting his teeth against the pain that flared with each movement. "What you have just done is the opposite of your sin."

"…I don't understand."

"Why would you bring someone back to life? Why would you even think of doing that?'

Paresse's gaze faltered for a moment, his eyes clouded with confusion. "…You're my master."

"It doesn't matter! Enemy or ally – why should you care enough to revive them?"

Dubois sighed. "Never mind." He dragged himself over to his knapsack - that idiot of a machine saved his shit too – and took out a roll of heavy gauze. The tent was silent as he wrapped the cloth multiple times around his chest. The scar from his stab wound was going to be large and ugly, he knew it.

"…You're wrong." He heard Paresse's voice.

"What do you mean?"

"You could train more often... If you happen to stop breathing…I'll wake you again."

"And leave these ugly scars all over my body?" Dubois scoffed. "You know how involved I am when practicing my Savate. Soon my whole body would be wrapped in bandages like a mummy if you kept doing that."

"…Perhaps."

Dubois finished wrapping his chest and with deliberate movements, he drew his jacket on, the fabric heavy against his wounded chest. He resumed staring at his dôji with hard eyes. What is a master? He thought again. What is the point of all this? He hadn't put much thought into it before, hadn't cared, and for the most part, that lack of concern had served him well. He was able to train with Paresse. He had someone to watch his blindside during battle. But it was also more trouble than it was worth.

"Listen to me, Paresse," he began, his voice firm and unwavering. "You represent Sloth, right? Apathy. I know that's why that insane hermit chose me as your master. He told me himself. He said something about how I don't care about anything."

He hated the wonder in his dôji's eyes, the way he hung onto every single word he spoke.

"I don't care about you," He continued, his tone harsh and clipped. But even as the words left his lips, he couldn't shake the memory of how, just moments ago, Paresse had stared at him with an intensity he had never seen anyone look at him with before. "You're supposed to reciprocate. Remember that very first command I gave you? You're not supposed to care about me. You're not supposed to want to revive me if I should die."

A moment of strained silence ensued as Paresse internalized Dubois's words. The dôji looked away.

"Look at me." Dubois said. After a minute, Paresse's green eyes slowly rose to meet his brown eye.

"Never revive me again."