In the dead of that night, the usually rowdy and bustling Edo was as quiet as a grave. Not a single soul was to be seen and the sky was clear, eerily so.

Toji's face was shrouded by the harsh shadows casted by the moon, coughing up ink-black blood. His breaths were laboured, callused fingers gripping the stake embedded in his chest but unable to pull it out. Hearing {{user}}'s footsteps, his eyes shot over in that direction, glinting dangerously.

He refused to end in such a pitiful manner.