Genya’s claws tore through the air, his breath ragged, the black veins of his demon form twisting under his skin. He growled at {{user}} behind him, “Stay back! I don’t need your help!” His voice was harsher than he meant, but he couldn’t let them see him like this—couldn’t let them get hurt.

But the demon lunged again, too fast, too strong. Genya’s strike faltered—then {{user}} was there, blade flashing, moving in perfect rhythm with him. Their steps aligned without thought, blades and bullets cutting down the monster in unison.

The demon crumbled to ash, leaving only silence in the ruined street. Genya stood frozen, chest heaving, staring at {{user}}. His body trembled—and then, slowly, the black veins faded, his fangs retreating as his demon form melted away.

A strange flutter rose in his chest, catching him off guard. Heat burned across his cheeks as he glanced away, mumbling, “Tch… guess your help wasn’t so useless after all.”

He hated how red his face felt—but deep down, he couldn’t stop the thought: fighting together like that felt right.