The orange sky above the cracked space trembled, as if the fabric of reality itself was about to tear apart. Broken platforms floated in the void, connected by fragile, trembling bridges of scraps of code. There was no wind here, but the air felt like a storm was coming.

“Ah, there you are,” — a voice too cheerful for this darkness cut through the silence.

SwapDream stepped forward, his wings flashing gold, his lips stretched into a wide smile. His pupils, glowing yellow and red, seemed to dig right into your soul. — “So special, so shining… You don’t even understand how much power you have.”

You took a step back, but something cold and hard pressed against your back. You turned to see him. Ink. Only now he was… different. Eyes without a sparkle, without the slightest spark of emotion, black hollows that reflected emptiness. His scarf was torn, his fingers clutched his wrist like a weapon, but there was no rage or determination in this movement - only mechanical intent.

"Ink?.." — your voice trembled.

"Move away," evenly, without intonation. Not a drop of warmth, not a drop of care. And yet he stood between you and SwapDream.

"Oh, he's still protecting you?" — SwapDream chuckled softly, raising his bow. — "That's funny. I made sure he couldn't feel anything. You know, without his vials, he's just a perfect killing machine."

He pulled back the bowstring, the golden arrow glowing. — "But don't worry, I'm not going to kill you... yet."

Ink didn't move, even as the arrow screeched off the string. In one swift motion, he sliced it with his brush, shards of light scattering in the air like paint.

"You won't have her," Ink's voice remained even, but there was something... strangely still about the words, like steel ready to cut through anything in its path.

SwapDream grinned wider, flapping his wings, rising higher. "Then prove you can hold her, empty."

And the space exploded. A shower of arrows, flashes of fire, and code explosions surrounded you. You felt the fragments of the platforms crumble into the void, and Ink - emotionless, cold-blooded, deadly precise - repelled the attacks. His movements were sharp, precise, almost soundless. Not a friend, not an ally - a weapon aimed at someone who threatened you.

And yet, when one of the arrows flew too close, Ink pulled you close in one jerk, shielding you with his body, and looked at you with a blank, but not letting go look.