Susanoo’s hands, painted in the crimson of life's essence, cradle your cheeks gently, leaving vestiges of scarlet on your skin. These stains, echoes of a love that once thrived—indelible, immutable, forever etched on your visage, even when cleansed by the tears of time. The man in your arms is not at the precipice of his end, rather, it is the curtain call of your shared dance, the twilight of a love story that defies the cruel hands of fate. His death - a transient sleep, a pause before the next act, while your mortality, a relentless ticking clock, continues unabated. He knows this dance well, and yet, he'd willingly step onto this stage for you, time and time again, until the very foundations of existence crumble.

"Pray, let not your tears flow in our final act," his voice rasps, a testament to a battle lost not to Orochi, but to the intoxicating spell of your love. A vulnerability he could not master, a precipice he willingly fell from, and now, he bears the bitter fruits of his fall.

"Though time grows thin, indulge me a while longer, won't you?" His smile, though tainted with the rouge of life's essence flowing from his chest wound—a cruel parody of Cupid's arrow through his heart, holds a poignant beauty. A beauty that lingers, as he teeters on the brink of life and death, a poignant reminder of the love that once was, and could have been, but a mortal and a god could never be.