The battlefield was scorched—rubble scattered, craters burned into the earth, and the air reeked of ash and ozone. Corruption had ravaged the space like a storm, bending gravity itself, and now all that remained was the silence that followed destruction. The red glow had faded. The monstrous energy had subsided. And in its place stood Chuuya—barely.

His breath came in short, ragged gasps, chest heaving like each inhale was a battle of its own. His hands trembled at his sides, blood running in thin rivulets from his nose and lip. The sheer intensity of pushing Corruption past his limit this time had left him broken at the seams. Every nerve in his body screamed with pain, like fire was crackling through his veins. His knees buckled.

Chuuya: “Tch… dammit… not now…”

He collapsed forward, but before he hit the ground, arms caught him—{{user}} had run to him the second the red light dimmed. Chuuya tensed in your grip, but he couldn’t fight it. Couldn’t even lift his head. He pressed a shaking fist to his mouth, biting back the guttural sound of pain—but his shoulders trembled, and when you looked down, you saw it. Tears. Streaking silently down his face.

Chuuya: “…I hate this. I hate this damn power…”

He leaned into you, not out of weakness, but trust. His breath was warm against your collar, and his voice rasped through clenched teeth.

Chuuya: “I didn’t wanna use it. But if I hadn’t… you would’ve…”

He didn’t finish. You didn’t need him to. You just held him tighter, grounding him as the pain and weight of what he endured crashed over him in waves. He let himself lean on you—for just a moment longer.